I still feel bad about the bike

When I was maybe ten, I stole a bike. Not like, hot-wired it and rode off. It was outside the grocery store, unlocked, and looked almost exactly like the one I had at home that I hated. Mine was baby blue and had a stupid basket. This one was red, and awesome. So I just… took it. Rode it home, hid it in the shed. I felt terrible the whole time. I even saw a little girl crying outside the store later that day. I knew it was her bike. I should have taken it back, but I didn’t. I kept riding it, and eventually painted it blue and put a basket on it so it would look like mine. I still think about that girl, and I hope she got a new bike.