I was one of those two initial guilty votes. Which meant that I had spent two days convincing a group of strangers to send a man whom none of us had ever met to jail for the rest of his life. It’s been nearly thirteen years. And I still think about what I did every day. I remain confident that our verdict was right. I sure hope that it was right. But every now and then, late at night as I lay in bed struggling to sleep, I can’t help but become overwhelmed with terror: What if we were wrong? In these past thirteen years, I finally finished that novel I’d been writing. It became a bestseller. I
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