I imagined taking the pry bar from him.
I imagined throwing it into the street.
I imagined making him feel the same helplessness he had arranged for my daughter.
Then Emma said my name.
Not loudly.
Just enough to bring me back.
Rage can feel like action when it is really surrender.
I took out my phone.
“Say it again,” I told Jason.
His expression changed.
Not fear.
Calculation.
“You heard me.”
“I want the city to hear you.”
I recorded the ramp sections in the grass.
I recorded the boards against the front door.
I recorded the exposed screw holes, the bent brackets, the muddy tracks, and the pry bar in his hand.
At 8:17 a.m., I took the first still photograph.
At 8:26, I opened the blue folder and scanned the approved accessibility permit.
At 8:41, I emailed the permit, final inspection sheet, survey, and video to the city building department.
