Mykola Petrovych, how many more apples can you bring! My cellar is packed to the brim, and I’ve got three crates sitting in the attic already!
Halyna stepped out onto the porch, wiping her hands on her apron. At the gate stood her neighbor with a woven basket filled with big yellow-green apples. He wore that old brown jacket he’s had for ages, and the same slightly guilty smile was on his face.
«These are special, Halia. Antonivka. You like them tart, don’t you?»
«Oh, I do, I do. But there’s no way I can eat all these by myself!»
«Then give them to your grandkids.»
«The grandkids buy apples in the city. They think store-bought ones look prettier.»
Mykola chuckled quietly.
«Well, then bake a pie. You used to make pies that made the whole street smell amazing.»
Halyna looked at him more closely.
«So you still remember the pies I used to make? After all these years…»
«How could I ever forget…»
He set the basket down on the bench by the gate and was about to leave when Halyna stopped him.
«Wait. I made some syrnyky. Why don’t you come in and have a proper breakfast? You keep bringing things over but I bet you’re just living on dry bread yourself.»
Mykola froze in his tracks.
«Really? May I?»
«Goodness, man! You act like it’s your first time coming to see me!»
He smiled and carefully opened the gate. Halyna was sixty-three. Mykola was sixty-seven. They’d been neighbors for almost forty years, but only recently had they really started talking to each other. It hadn’t always been this way.
Halyna got married when she was twenty-six. Her husband Petro was seven years older, worked as a manager at the local factory. He had a car, a good salary, and a big house inherited from his parents. Her girlfriends were a bit jealous.
«Halia, you’re so lucky! You’re going to be so safe and secure with a man like that!»
And honestly, the safety was real. The wall was tall and strong. But eventually Halyna realized that wall didn’t keep troubles out — it cut her off from the rest of the world. Petro didn’t like her staying late after work. He wouldn’t let her visit friends unless he came too. If dinner wasn’t ready on time, he could go a week without speaking to her. Sometimes, just one look was enough for her to fall silent mid-sentence.
When their son Andriy was born, her whole life started revolving around him. Then came their daughter Olenka. School, homework, the garden, chores, endless laundry and cooking — thirty years flew by in the blink of an eye. And on the other side of the fence, Mykola was living there the whole time.
Tall, fair-haired, with kind gray eyes. In his younger days he worked as a driver, then as a mechanic. His hands were golden — he could fix any engine, build a gate, or repair a roof.
But he never started a family of his own. The neighbor ladies would sometimes try to set him up.
«Mykola, there’s a good widow in the district. Owns her own house and property.»
«Thank you, Aunt Vira. That’s not necessary.»
«But why are you alone? You’re not getting any younger!»
«I’ve gotten used to it.»
And that was all he’d say. Every fall, Mykola brought apples to Halyna’s family. At first he’d give them to Petro. Later, he’d just leave a basket by the gate. Sometimes, if the husband wasn’t home, he’d call to Halyna over the fence:
«Halia, take the apples or they’ll go to waste!»
And she would take it. She thanked him, sometimes treated him to pies, and would occasionally wonder how their lives might have turned out if, back in their youth, he had been brave enough. But now she had her own life. And he had his. Or so she thought.
—
Three years ago, Petro passed away. His heart. The ambulance arrived in twenty minutes, but it was already too late. At the funeral, Halyna cried. Not because she’d forgotten all the hurts, but because you can’t erase forty years together in a single day. The children suggested she move to the city.
“Mom, why do you need such a big house all alone?” Andriy would try to persuade her. “Let’s sell it and buy you an apartment closer to us.”
“No, son. I’ve lived here my whole life. I’ll stay here.”
The first months felt strange. Halyna would wake up at six, hurrying to put the kettle on because Petro never liked waiting for breakfast. Then she’d remember there was no need to rush. One day, she bought herself a red robe. Bright, with big flowers.
Petro always used to say a woman her age should dress more modestly. She brought the robe home, hung it on the wardrobe door, and gazed at it for a long time. Then she started to cry—not out of grief, but from realizing how many little things she’d forbidden herself.
The next spring, Halyna planted roses by the porch. In summer, she bought new curtains. In autumn, she took her first trip with a friend for three days to Lviv. Bit by bit, she began to smile more often. It was around this time that Mykola started coming by for tea. At first once a week. Then more often. One time, he fixed her old washing machine. Another time, he helped carry firewood. And one evening, he simply showed up with a jar of honey.
“This is for you. From a beekeeper I know.”
“Mykola, how much more are you going to bring me?”
“I just like doing it.”
“Then at least sit down and have some tea with me.”
And so he would. They talked about their children, about their youth, about the village that had changed beyond recognition over forty years. Mykola was a wonderful conversationalist. He knew how to listen. He never interrupted and never laughed at her thoughts. One day, Halyna said she wished she could ride a bicycle—something she never learned in her youth.
“I can teach you,” he replied, completely serious.
“Come on! At sixty-three?”
“What, do bicycle wheels stop turning after sixty?”
She laughed so hard that tears came to her eyes. Mykola sat across from her, watching her with such tenderness that Halyna suddenly felt shy.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
He looked down.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I just haven’t heard you laugh like that in a long time.”
She didn’t pay any attention to his words. But she should have.
—
That October, the apples were especially plentiful. Mykola’s orchard glowed golden. The branches bent low under the weight of the fruit, and leaves rustled underfoot.
Halyna had gotten used to finding little presents from her neighbor at the gate almost every morning. Sometimes a few pears, sometimes some nuts, or a bouquet of the last asters. But one morning, the basket was different.
It was small, woven from dark willow. A blue ribbon was tied to the handle. Halyna recognized it immediately. She had one just like it in her youth. Once, she used to take it to the market. Later, the basket disappeared. She’d forgotten about it long ago.
“How strange,” the woman muttered.
Under the apples, there was an envelope. Yellowed, with curled corners. On it, in neat handwriting, was written:
«For Halyna. If I ever dare.» She sat down on the bench, her heart suddenly racing. Carefully, she opened the envelope. Inside was a letter, dated thirty-seven years ago.
«Halyna, my dearest… I don’t know if you’ll ever read these words. Maybe I’ll never have the courage to give you this letter. That evening, I came to you with a ring. I wanted to ask you to be my wife. But Petro met me at the gate. He said you were expecting his child. That the two of you had already decided to get married. That you asked me not to come anymore. At first, I didn’t believe him. I wanted to come in and talk to you. But he said you were crying and didn’t want to see me.
I left. Not because I didn’t love you. But because I thought: if you chose him, I have no right to come between you. I still remember that day under the old apple tree by the river. You said your greatest wish was for a small house, a garden, and someone with whom you could sit in silence and never feel lonely.
At that moment, I knew I wanted to be that person. Forgive me for not asking you myself. Yours, Mykola.»
Halyna read the letter. Then again. And again. Her hands were trembling so much the paper rustled. Suddenly, memories of the summer she’d tried to forget all her life came flooding back.
She was twenty-five then. She worked as a shop assistant in the village store. Mykola had just started working as a driver. They weren’t a couple, but sometimes he would walk her home after work. He brought wildflowers. On Sundays, they went to the river.
Once, Mykola said:
«Halyna, I’ll soon tell you something that will either make you laugh or cry.»
«Go on, try me.»
«Wait a bit longer. I want to do everything right.»
Then he suddenly disappeared. He didn’t come to meet her. Didn’t see her after work. Never replied to the notes she sent through a friend.
A few days later, Petro came into the shop.
«Don’t wait for your Mykola,» he said. «He’s got someone else. From a neighboring district. They’re already planning a wedding.»
Halyna didn’t believe it.
«That can’t be.»
«It can. I heard it myself. He just doesn’t know how to tell you.»
That night, for some reason, she cried until morning. A month later, she agreed to go to the movies with Petro. Six months after that, they got married. Every now and then, she saw Mykola in the street. He said hello, but never came close.
She decided he was just shy. And she learned to walk past him with her head held high. Now, holding the old letter, Halyna realized everything had been completely different.
«Oh Lord…» she whispered. «What have you done, Petro?..»
She went straight to Mykola’s house. The gate was open. In the yard there were two cardboard boxes and an old travel bag. Mykola was sitting on the porch, sorting through some papers. He saw Halyna and slowly stood up.
«You read it?»
She silently handed him the letter.
«Is it true?»
Mykola nodded.
«It’s true.»
«All of it?»
«All of it, Halyna.»
«Why didn’t you say anything?!»
Her voice broke.
«Why didn’t you come to me? Ask me? Tell me it was a lie?»
Mykola lowered his head.
«Because I was foolish. Proud. Young. I believed a man’s word.»
«And later? When you saw I wasn’t pregnant? That Petro and I only got married half a year later?»
He sighed heavily.
«By then it was already too late. You became his wife. I never wanted to destroy your family.»
«And my life?» she asked softly. «Did you ever think about my life?»
Mykola looked up, his eyes brimming with tears.
«I did. I thought about it every single day.»
Halyna sat down on a step. He sat beside her, leaving a bit of space between them. They stayed silent for a long time.
Finally, she broke the silence:
«So why did you never get married?»
Mykola slowly ran his hand across his knee.
«I tried, Halyna. There were good women. One even wanted to move in with me. But every time I looked at her, I knew I couldn’t promise her something I didn’t feel in my heart. I didn’t want to lie.»
«Thirty-seven years, Mykola…»
«Thirty-seven.»
«And all this time you’ve been bringing me apples?»
He smiled through his tears.
«Remember how we used to sit under the apple tree? You once said you love Antonivka apples. After that, I planted two trees just for you. I thought, one day we’d share them with our children.»
Halyna covered her face with her hands. All those years. So many autumns. So many baskets of apples she had accepted, never realizing that along with them, the man was giving her his unspoken love.
«And why give me the letter now?»
Mykola glanced at the boxes.
«Because I’m leaving.»
«Where to?»
«To my sister’s. She’s been inviting me for a long time. It’s become hard for me to manage things alone here. My legs hurt, my blood pressure acts up. And this house is too big.»
«What about the garden?»
«I’ll sell it with the house. There are buyers.»
Halyna sharply turned to him.
«You’re really planning to leave?»
«Yes. On Friday.»
«And you didn’t tell me a thing?»
«I was going to come by tonight to say goodbye.»
She stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing.
«So you kept silent for thirty-seven years, finally told me the truth, and now you just want to run away?»
«Halyna…»
«No, wait! I haven’t finished yet!»
Mykola fell silent.
«Do you still love me?»
He looked at her, confused.
«What?»
«I’m asking: do you love me?»
«Halyna, at our age…»
«Don’t hide behind age!»
He looked into her eyes for a long time.
Then he softly said:
«I love you. I never stopped.»
Halyna broke down in tears. Not quietly, hiding from her children, but fully. She cried for the twenty-five-year-old girl who once waited for her love by the gate.
For the wedding that never took place. For the evenings they could have shared. For the children they might have had. For all the years that could never be returned. Mykola gently touched her shoulder.
«Don’t cry, Halyna. Please forgive me.»
She wiped her face with the corner of her apron.
«Give me your suitcase.»
«What?»
«I said, give me your suitcase!»
«Why?»
«We’ll take it to my place.»
«Halyna, are you serious?..»
«What’s not to understand? We’ve been talking over the fence for thirty-seven years. That’s enough.»
Mykola sat there motionless.
«I don’t want to be a burden to you.»
«Did I ask you about that?»
«But your children…»
«My children have their own families. I have my own life. And for the first time in many years, I want to decide for myself whom to share it with.»
He covered his eyes with his hand.
«My God, Halyna… This is what I’ve dreamed about my whole life.»
She took his hand.
«Then let’s go, Mykola. Because if we just keep sitting here, another ten years will pass.»
That evening, Halyna called her son.
«Andriy, I have something to tell you.»
«What’s wrong, Mom? Are you okay?»
«I’m fine. It’s just that I’m not living alone anymore.»
There was silence on the other end of the line.
— What do you mean?
— I mean literally. Mykola Petrovych moved in with me.
— Which Mykola Petrovych?!
— Our neighbor.
— Mom! You’re sixty-three years old!
Halyna even laughed.
— Thank you, son, for reminding me. I was just thinking I was already twenty-five.
— That’s not what I meant! Did you at least think this through carefully?
— Andriy, I’ve spent forty years thinking everything through. Now I just want to live.
Her son was silent for a long time.
Then, quietly, he asked:
— Mom, are you happy?
Halyna looked out the window. In the kitchen, Mykola was washing the dishes. She could hear him putting the cups away and softly humming an old song.
— Yes, son. For the first time in a very long while, it feels like I am.
— Then I’m happy for you.
Things were more complicated with her daughter. Olena came by the next Saturday, walked around the yard, and sized Mykola up. Then she pulled her mother aside.
— Mom, are you sure he’s not moving in with you just because of the house?
Halyna was even offended.
— Olena! His own house is just as good as ours!
— I’m just worried…
— Daughter, do you know what I was most afraid of after your father passed away?
— What?
— That I’d spend the rest of my life as if nothing good was ever going to happen again. Waking up, making borscht, watching TV, and waiting for you to call.
Olena looked down.
— Mom…
— But now I wake up and I’m happy in the morning. Because I know someone will put the kettle on in the kitchen. That someone will ask how I slept. That in the evening we’ll go for a walk together. What’s wrong with that?
Her daughter hugged her.
— No, mom. That’s wonderful.
Their first winter together was peaceful. Mykola turned out to be incredibly attentive. He would get up earlier in the morning and light the stove. If Halyna stayed up late embroidering, he would bring her the glasses she was forever misplacing. Whenever he went to the store, he always bought her favorite cookies.
But there were challenges too. He snored loudly. She was used to sleeping with the window open, while he got cold. He liked to put everything back in its place. She would leave a book on the table or a ball of yarn on the windowsill. Once, they even quarreled over the salt.
— Mykola, why do you add salt to the borscht without even tasting it?!
— I only put in a little!
— That’s what you said yesterday too!
He got offended and went out to the shed. Halyna wandered around the house for an hour, still upset. Then, all of a sudden, she started to laugh. She realized it was the first time in her life she’d quarreled with a man and wasn’t afraid of him at all. She went to the shed. Mykola was sitting on a stool, working on something.
— Well, ‘master of the house’, are you offended?
— No.
— Then why are you sitting out here?
— I’m thinking.
— About what?
— That I won’t touch the salt anymore.
She laughed. He did too. And that night they spent a long time drinking tea, holding hands. Once, Mykola said:
— You know, Halyna, I used to think happiness was when nothing bad happens.
— And now?
— Now I realize happiness is having someone to go through everything with. Even oversalted borscht.
In the spring, Mykola went out into the yard with a crowbar and shovel. Halyna was hanging out the laundry.
— What are you doing?
— I’m going to take down the fence.
— What fence?
— This one. Between our yards.
She put down the basket of laundry.
— Why?
— Why do we need it now? Two houses, two yards, and all our lives we’ve been looking at each other through these boards.
Halyna walked closer. The old wooden fence between their houses had been there since their youth. Some boards had long since rotted, others leaned crookedly. Once, it seemed like just an ordinary boundary between neighbors. Now, it was a reminder of everything they’d lost.
«What will the neighbors say?» she smiled.
Mykola shrugged.
«That two old folks have completely lost their minds.»
«Maybe they will,» she replied.
«Let them. We’ve lived long enough always worrying about what others think.»
It took them three days to take down the fence. Mykola pulled out the old boards while Halyna stacked them by the shed. When the last section fell, a wide open space appeared between their two yards.
Halyna stood looking at Mykola’s garden. Now it felt like an extension of her own.
«It’s beautiful,» she said.
«Something’s missing,» replied Mykola.
The next day, he brought home two young apple trees from the nursery.
«We’ll plant this one on your side, and this one on mine.»
«Why two?»
«Because I would have planted one for you thirty-seven years ago. And the second—for us now.»
Halyna was silent for a long moment. Then she picked up a shovel.
«Come on then, get digging, old man. Or we’ll never get them planted with all your philosophizing.»
They laughed as they planted the trees. The earth was damp after the rain. Sunlight broke through the clouds. Somewhere beyond the village, a cuckoo was calling. When they’d finished, Mykola brushed off his hands and suddenly dropped to one knee in front of Halyna.
«What are you doing?!» she gasped in alarm. «Get up, your knees will hurt!»
He smiled.
«Wait a moment. I’ve been waiting thirty-seven years for this.»
He took a small velvet box out of his pocket. Inside was a simple gold ring. Old and a bit tarnished with time.
«I bought it back then, before that evening,» Mykola said quietly. «It took me three months to save up. I wanted to ask you to marry me under the apple tree by the river.»
Halyna covered her mouth with her hand.
«Mykola…»
«I kept it. I don’t even know why. Maybe, deep down, I always hoped one day you’d put it on.»
He took her hand.
«Halyna, I’m an old man. I won’t promise you riches or many more years. My back hurts, sometimes my heart acts up. I might forget where I put my glasses, and I’ll probably still oversalt your borscht now and then.»
She laughed through her tears.
«But I promise to put the kettle on for you every morning. To listen when you need to talk. To sit with you in silence when there are no words. And to love you for whatever time I have left.»
Halyna cried. Mykola did, too.
«So what do you say, Halyna? Will you marry me?»
She reached out her hand.
«Yes, you silly man. But stand up already, I can’t help you off your knees!»
They had their wedding in June. It was small, right in their own yard. The children came, the grandchildren, and a few close friends. The neighbors brought pies, salads, and homemade pickles. Halyna wore a light dress with tiny blue flowers. She gathered her hair carefully and pinned in a small white flower.
Mykola wore a new suit. When they walked out to greet their guests, someone joked:
«So, newlyweds, will you go on a honeymoon trip?»
Mykola nodded seriously.
«Absolutely. Down to the river. That’s where it all began for us.»
That evening, when the guests had gone, they sat together on a bench between the two young apple trees. Halyna laid her head on Mykola’s shoulder.
— You know what I’m thinking about?
— About what?
— If you hadn’t believed Petro back then, our lives could have turned out so differently.
— They could have.
— Maybe we would’ve had children together. Maybe more grandchildren. Maybe we would’ve grown old side by side all these years…
Mykola gently stroked her hand.
— Maybe, Halia. But we can’t change the past.
She sighed.
— Sometimes I feel so sorry for all those lost years.
— Me too. But do you know what I want least of all?
— What’s that?
— I don’t want us to spend the rest of our lives regretting the life we never had.
Halia looked up at him. He smiled.
— Let’s be happy that we finally found each other.
She leaned into him, holding him tighter.
Two years passed. One September morning, Halia walked out into the garden with a small basket. Two young apple trees had already grown. One had five apples hanging from it, the other three. Mykola stood beside her, proudly admiring their harvest.
— See, Halia? I told you they would bear fruit!
— Eight apples on two trees! Now that’s a real homestead!
— Don’t laugh. The first harvest is always special.
He carefully picked the biggest apple and handed it to her.
— Here you go, my lady.
Halia took the fruit, polished it on her apron and sliced it in half with the small knife she always kept in her pocket. She gave one half to Mykola.
— Just like when we were young, remember?
He smiled.
— I remember.
They sat down on the bench—the very same one that once stood by the old fence. Only now, there was no boundary between their yards anymore. Mykola took a bite of the apple.
— It’s a bit tart.
— I like them that way.
— I know, Halia. I’ve known for thirty-nine years.
She looked at him and smiled.
— Mykola, have you ever thought that our love is just like these apple trees?
— How so?
— We planted it late. Waited a long time. But it still bore fruit.
He didn’t say a word. He just squeezed her hand tighter. That evening, while Halia went to make dinner, Mykola sat a little longer out in the garden. Then he took a small folded piece of paper from his pocket, wrote a few words, and tucked it under the apples in the basket he left by the kitchen door.
Halia found the note the next morning. “Halia, once I lost you because I was too afraid to say what mattered most. Now, I don’t want to stay silent for even a day. Thank you for being here. Thank you for letting me stay by your side. And if fate gifts me at least one more autumn, I’ll bring you apples again. Yours, Mykola.”
Halia read the note and smiled. Then she walked into the kitchen, where her husband was busy pouring tea.
— Mykola Petrovych!
— Yes, Halia?
— I told you not to bring me more apples!
He laughed.
— But these are special!
She walked up, hugged him around the shoulders, and kissed him on his gray temple.
— I know, Mykola. Now I truly know.
Outside, yellow leaves twirled slowly. The tea steamed on the table, and the scent of fresh syrnyky filled the air.
And two people, no longer young, who had once lost nearly a lifetime to someone else’s lies and their own silence, now cherished every ordinary morning together.
Because sometimes real love doesn’t arrive when we’re young and beautiful. Sometimes it waits patiently behind a neighbor’s fence. It brings you apples. Helps mend the gate. And hopes that one day, someone will finally open the door.
