Something fundamental fractured in my chest. The fierce, unconditional instinct to protect my son evaporated, replaced by a dark, metallic clarity.

“Come with me,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, and took the damp bag from her hand.

“Tom, please.” She shrank back. “Don’t fight him. He’s so angry. Ashley’s in there with him.”

“I’m not going to fight him,” I said, guiding her by the elbow toward the side of the property, where a tall cedar fence separated us from the neighbor’s yard.

“I’m going to introduce him to reality.”

Ethan, in his arrogance, relied entirely on the sleek smart-home system he’d insisted we install last year. He thought an app controlled the world. He’d forgotten that I built the bones of this property with my own two hands before he was even born.