“It is my land, Tyler,” I said, pointing to the tip of an orange flag still poking through his mulch.

“Take another step and I will call the cops, Joan.”

He took his phone out of his pocket and tapped the screen with his thumb.

He did not look up when he spoke, his thumb hovering over the glass.

“You are trespassing on an active construction site,” he said, his voice flat and hard.

“This is my yard,” I said, but my voice came out thin, barely louder than the rustle of the empty plastic bag.

He did not answer.