I Let a Girl Steal a Book for Her Mother’s Grave—The Brooch She Slipped Into My Hand Saved Us Both
The bell above the bookstore door chimed softly as I was restocking the classics shelf, the late-afternoon light slanting through the dusty windows. It was usually my favorite time of day—quiet, calm, the kind of peace you only find among rows of books. That’s when I noticed her. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen….