Its side wall stood so close to our fence that the gutter nearly touched the top rail, and during the first hard rain, water splashed into our side yard.
I mentioned it once.
Jason said the grading would settle.
I mentioned it again after mud collected beside Emma’s ramp.
He told me I worried too much.
By September, he had a finished garage and a new habit of standing in his driveway with the door open so everyone could see the polished floor, wall cabinets, and bright overhead lights.
He was proud of it.
There is nothing wrong with pride in something you built.
The problem begins when pride needs another person to be smaller.
Jason’s irritation with the ramp sharpened after the garage was finished.
He said it made the front of our house look temporary.
He said buyers did not like “medical-looking additions.”
He said a cleaner entrance would be better for the street.
I reminded him that the ramp was not decoration.
He nodded as though he understood, then suggested I move it to the back door.
The back door opened onto uneven ground.
Moving the ramp would have required a new landing, new drainage, and a path around the side of the house.
More important, it would have forced Emma to enter through the laundry room while everyone else used the front door.
I said no.
He did not 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.
