She Was Sitting In My Front-Row Seat Holding My Novel — Smiling Like She Had Stolen My Life

placed the box on the podium, and looked at me.

I did not nod.

I did not forgive her for the audience.

Forgiveness is not a performance.

But I did not look away.

Celeste opened the box.

On top lay the first page of her manuscript.

The title was The Stolen Seat.

Beneath it was a dedication.

To the woman I tried to replace, who made me tell the truth instead.continue reading …