Twelve Days After My Husband Died, My Neighbor Stripped Every Fruit Tree Bare—Then She Told Me Why

She was crying.

So was I.

Neither of us mentioned it.

That evening, after everyone left, I walked through the orchard alone.

A few apples remained high in the branches.

Leaves moved softly overhead.

For years after Patrick died, I believed the orchard represented what he had left me.

Then Brenda stole the harvest.