My mother used to warn us about sins that seared the conscience.

I didn’t understand then, but I do now.

When I was little, I stole candy from the counter in the grocery store she ran after my father’s death. The first time I was caught, I cried until my chest ached, and she forgave me. Every time after that, I found excuses—she was stingy, she starved me, I deserved something sweet. I’d watch her count the day’s earnings, shoulders sagging with exhaustion, and tell myself I was owed ...