Moving the ramp would have required a new landing, new drainage, and a path around the side of the house.
More importantly, it would have forced Emma to enter through the laundry room while everyone else used the front door.
I said no.
He didn’t argue that day.
He waited.
The morning he tore it out began cold and damp.
I was in the kitchen packing Emma’s lunch when I heard wood scraping across brick.
At first, I thought a branch had fallen against the porch.
Then came the metallic snap of a bracket pulling free.
I stepped into the hallway and found the front door blocked from the outside.
A board shifted across the glass as someone leaned another section against it.
Emma rolled up behind me.
“What is that?” she asked.
I opened the side door and went around through the driveway.
The smell of fresh pine hit me before I reached the front yard.
Jason was on our porch with a pry bar.
Two ramp sections were already lying in the grass, and three more had been stacked against our front door.
Metal brackets hung crooked from the porch edge.
Screws were scattered across the walkway.
“Stop,” I said.
Jason turned slowly.
