I stopped.
Then came the rustling of leaves.
I handed my daughter carefully to Ben for a moment and walked toward the garden.
What I saw made me freeze.
Our neighbor, Monica, was halfway over the fence.
Her neat floral blouse was caught on a nail.
And beside her were two enormous bags.
Both were filled with Daniel’s apples and pears.
“What are you doing?”
Monica looked at me as though I had interrupted something perfectly normal.
“Don’t be selfish, Claire.”
I stared at her.
She gestured toward the bags.
“I’m going to sell them.
I need the money.”
“You could have asked.”
She shrugged.
“Would you have said yes?”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“My children eat that fruit.
Their father planted and cared for those trees.”
Monica rolled her eyes.
“Well, he’s not here anymore, is he?”
For a second, I couldn’t speak.
Then she added,
“Most of it would probably rot anyway.”
Behind me, Ben was still holding Daniel’s cap.
His fingers tightened around the brim.
That was enough.
I stepped between him and Monica.
“These trees are not yours.”
She gave me an annoyed look.
“This property is not yours either.”
I pointed toward the fence.
“Leave the fruit.
Get out of my yard.
And do not come back.”
Monica scoffed.
“Grief has made you unreasonable.”
I didn’t argue.
I simply pointed again.
“Go.”
Eventually, she climbed back over the fence, muttering under her breath.
I thought that would be the end of it.
I was wrong.
Before sunrise the next morning, Ben came into my bedroom and shook my shoulder.
“Mom?”
I opened my eyes.
“What is it?”
“I heard something outside.”
He looked frightened.
“A really loud noise.”
I kissed his forehead, pulled on a robe, and went downstairs.
The moment I stepped into the backyard, I stopped.
Every tree was bare.
Not a few missing apples.
Not half the harvest.
Everything was gone.
