My neighbor stole the entire harvest from my garden — instead of screaming, I did something better to teach her a lesson.

My neighbor stole the entire harvest from my garden — instead of screaming, I did something better to teach her a lesson.

My husband, Daniel, died twelve days before our apple harvest.

He had cared for those trees his whole life, pruning every branch by hand and teaching our son, Ben, how to tell when the fruit was ripe.

“These trees will keep feeding you, even when I’m gone,” he once told him.

I never imagined how soon those words would matter.

When we returned from Daniel’s funeral, I was carrying our sleeping 3-year-old daughter while Ben clutched his father’s old cap.

Then I heard a branch snap.

Our 50-year-old neighbor, Monica, was straddling the fence, her flowered blouse caught on a nail. Two bags beside her bulged with apples and pears.

“What are you doing?” I gasped.