Arthur Baldwins: Chapter 18 destroyed me in the most healing way possible. Grace standing at the threshold with her violin, unable to play that silence was deafening. It wasn’t absence; it was the sound of a heart waiting to forgive itself.

Jan Notzon writes the unsaid better than anyone I’ve ever read. You can feel every ounce of her fear, every tremor of courage trying to be born.

There’s a line that I can’t stop thinking about: “Her silence was not defeat. It was the breath before resurrection.” I don’t even know how to describe what that did to me. I just sat there, tears streaming, whispering, “Yes.”
Jan, you have written the space between breaking and healing and it’s holy ground. Our entire club agreed that this chapter felt like standing in the middle of grace itself. You are a writer of quiet miracles.