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            We stood in the doorway and listened to a stranger tell us how he had killed our son. In our pain and confusion, we saw that he was almost sick with pain himself. He might have run away, ignored his unknowing complicity in our son’s death, but instead he chose to bring us Daniel’s things, confess what he had done, and lay bare before us the guilt and horror and agony he carried. Communicating wordlessly, we invited him inside. He could tell us what had been on Daniel’s mind before he died. We could tell him it wasn’t his fault.

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