What was happening in the courtroom that day in New York City was unusual. The judge was set to sentence a young man to prison for shooting a gun and killing a bystander. Court hearings for this type of crime are understandably charged: Typically, the relatives of the victim sit on one side of the gallery, as far away as possible from the family of the person who killed their loved one. Harsh words are often exchanged; sometimes, fights break out.

Besides that tension, there is almost no actual accountability. The defendant passively answers “yes” or “no” when asked if they plead guilty, while the victim’s family may at most have the chance to make a victim impact statement, which is the moment when victims can tell the court how the crime has affected them. (I’m using the terms “victim” and “defendant” for clarity, but in the restorative justice movement that I’m a part of, we avoid using such labels because they can obscure nuance. We also promise confidentiality to people who participate in the system, which is why I’ve made all parties in this case anonymous.)

Rarely, however, will a defendant take any meaningful responsibility for their actions, and rarely, too, will a victim’s family get any type of closure. Once the person has been found guilty, we simply send them to prison without a word.

On the day in question, it was different. I arrived at the courthouse with the husband of the person who had been killed, and remained glued to his side throughout the unbearable day. Soon after, the mother of the defendant arrived with her younger child in tow and other members of her family.

And this is where the court hearing became unusual. The defendant’s mother beelined over to us to hug me, and then she proceeded to hug the victim’s husband too. The man who had lost his husband received the mother of his killer with warmth and appreciation. When the lawyers finally arrived, they found us all standing together instead of in our respective corners.