PART 3 — THE TREE SURPRISED ME

After the incident, the neighbourhood changed.

People began checking on me more frequently. Mira asked whether I would consider organising a community apple day the following autumn.

At first, I wanted to refuse.

Although I had always shared the fruit, the tree still felt deeply personal. It belonged to the memories Dean and I had created together.

Then I remembered him standing beside that fragile sapling.

“Give it time,” he had said. “It’ll surprise you.”

So I agreed.

The following spring, the tree bloomed again.

Not every damaged branch recovered, but the healthy limbs filled with white flowers. By September, apples hung from them once more.

Mira brought folding tables into my garden. Families arrived carrying jars, pie dishes, cutting boards and cider presses.

Children picked apples under supervision. Mrs Patel taught several teenagers how to make apple butter. Someone burned the first pie, while someone else added far too much cinnamon to the cider.

The entire street smelled sweet.

For the first time, Dean’s tree no longer felt like something I needed to protect alone.

It had become part of something larger.

Ryan remained inside for most of the afternoon.

I did not invite him, but I did not ask anyone to exclude him either.

Near the end of the celebration, two children carried a paper plate to his front door. A slice of apple pie rested on it beside a cup of cider.

Ryan opened the door and looked at the children.

Then he looked across the street at me.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

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