not crying over apples.
Someone had entered my property and deliberately damaged the tree Dean had planted.
Ryan appeared on his porch holding a cup of coffee.
“Did you do this?” I asked.
He looked at the ruined fruit and smiled.
“Must have been a strong wind.”
There had been no wind.
He was waiting for me to shout, cry or lose control.
Instead, I smiled back.
“It must have been.”
Then I went inside and opened the trail-camera footage.
PART 2 — THE STRONG WIND
The recording showed everything.
At
