I didn’t shout. I remembered Thomas once telling me that wood punished people who rushed, and suddenly I understood that people could be the same way. “You cannot live here,” I told them. “But I won’t leave you sitting in a driveway.” I called a friend who rented cottages nearby, and by noon Megan’s parents had keys to one. Then I turned to Kevin and asked one question. “Where are my cabinets?”

His face went pale. We walked to the dumpster together and found most of the oak doors beneath pieces of drywall. They were scratched, but still usable. Kevin carried them out one by one while I watched without helping. He had wanted to rebuild my house without my permission. Now he was going to learn exactly what it took to put it back.