“You didn’t just steal money,” Ezra said.
“You stole ten years I could have had with them.
That, you can never pay back.”
He thought of all the specific things ten years was made of, the ones no restitution could restore.
The birthday when his father turned seventy, that he’d skipped because a forged letter had told his parents not to make him spend money on a flight.
The grandchildren his parents had never met because they believed he was too ashamed of his failures to bring them home.