The Stranger

by Harlan Coben

Purity. That was what hit you when you get lost looking

at your own child—a purity that could be derived only from true, unconditional love.

We get mad at someone for cutting us off in traffic or for taking too long to order at Starbucks or for not responding exactly as we see fit, and we have no idea that behind their facade, they may be dealing with some industrial-strength shit. Their lives may be in pieces. They may be in the midst of incalculable tragedy and turmoil, and they may be hanging on to their sanity by a thread.