The entire harvest was still there.
I looked at Monica. “You were never going to sell them, were you?”
Monica’s anger seemed to drain out of her.
“When I inherited this house nine years ago, I told myself I’d tell Daniel about Luke. Then I saw him with Ben. I saw the two of them in that garden year after year, and every year it got harder.”
“You could’ve told him.”
“When Luke came here, I thought we’d finally do it. Then Daniel died before Luke even got the chance to speak to him.” She looked toward my garden. “I watched you come home from the funeral with his children. Ben was holding Daniel’s cap…”
“Ben is his son.”
“So is Luke!” Monica pressed a hand over her mouth. “I know it wasn’t your fault. Maybe I’ve always known. But at that moment, I wanted you to lose something of Daniel’s too. Just once.”
I stared at her. “So you took everything.”
“Yes.”
It didn’t make what she’d done right. But finally, it made sense.
The following week passed in a fog.
I barely left the house, trying to make sense of everything Daniel had left behind.
Then Ben found a few apples Monica had missed on the highest branches. We picked them together, and I baked Daniel’s favorite apple pie.
That evening, Ben and I carried it next door.
Monica stared at us when she opened the door.
“I don’t forgive what you did,” I said. “But Luke is Daniel’s son. He’s Ben’s brother. And I think we’ve all lost enough.” I held out the pie. “Maybe instead of fighting over what’s left of Daniel, we should try sharing it.”
Monica’s eyes filled with tears. Then she took the pie and stepped aside.
Luke was standing behind her.
And for the first time, I didn’t see Monica’s son.
I saw my husband’s.
