“He had a contractor do it,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

“It was probably just an honest mistake.”

“A mistake that takes away our swing?” Emma asked.

She stood up and walked to the kitchen window, looking out at the bright cedar wood that blocked our view of the old oak tree.

“We need to tell him today,” Emma said.

“I want to speak with a lawyer first,” I said.

“Just to make sure I understand the deed.”

Emma turned back to the table, her finger tracing the edge of the cardboard box.