The Contemplating Thief

I reminisced at the joy my mom and I shared while walking through the familiar antique shop.

Dean, my mom's dear friend, had always shared stories behind each antique and this time was no different. I listened attentively, sometimes fascinated, sometimes bored.

My mom has always taught me gratitude and respect, but unprecedented financial struggles pushed me to seek new options.

"Need anything, son? I'm closing after taking out the garbage," Dean announced.

"No, I'm here to help," I offered, hoping to dispel any suspicion.

He was reasonably guarded against me. I hadn't come in peace or in good nature. I'd planned to rob him, betraying every value my mom had instilled in me. Somehow, Dean sensed it.

"Don't worry, I can handle this," he said, walking toward the garbage bins as I followed. Dean turns to me, his eyes gleaming.

"Son, don't let hard times darken your soul. You're better than that. I can offer you a job, but I can't undo the damage caused by greed and desperation," he said, conviction saturating each word.

His words settled deep, resonating with the part of me I thought was lost. In that moment, I fled, unable to betray his trust.