The pew is hard beneath me, a rigid, unforgiving plank that feels like their judgment. Mom’s whisper still hisses in my ear, a venomous little echo from the parking lot. That dress is too revealing, Lia. Have some respect for the house of God. As if this modest sundress, the one that covers everything from my collarbones to my knees, is some kind of whore’s uniform. They see sin in my shadow. The pastor’s voice drones on,...