I transformed my grandmother's lake house into a refuge for the families of officers killed in action.
Her bedroom was transformed into a library overlooking the water.
On the first anniversary of the trial, I sat on the dock as the evening descended over the lake.
Lila offered me a cup of coffee.
"Do you miss them?" she asked.
"Sometimes," I admitted. "But I don't miss who they chose to become."
On the other side of the water, the lights inside the house turned on one by one.
For the first time in years, the silence no longer felt like loneliness.
It felt like peace.
