“Yes.”
“And after he met me?”
“He ended things with me.”
There was no pride in her answer.
Still, something wasn’t adding up.
I looked toward Monica’s house.
The same house she had inherited from her parents nine years earlier.
The house beside ours.
The house from which she had watched Daniel raise our children and tend to his trees year after year.
“If you weren’t having an affair with him, then why come back here? Why watch our family for nine years? Why steal every piece of fruit from
