When I pulled into my driveway Sunday evening, everything looked normal from the front.
Mark's house was quiet, but that did not seem unusual.
His car was not there.
I assumed he had gone out or was returning rented chairs and tables.
I carried my bag inside, placed my mother's food in the refrigerator, and checked the living room.
Nothing had been disturbed.
For one peaceful minute, I believed Mark had kept his promise.
Then I remembered the gate key.
I walked toward the back door, expecting to find it on the patio table.
The second I walked into my backyard, I froze.
There was a massive hole right in the middle of my lawn.
It was not a little pit for a bonfire. It looked like someone had excavated half my yard.
Fresh dirt was piled everywhere. My flower beds were destroyed. The roses had been crushed under heavy clumps of soil. The lavender plants had been torn out completely.
