“Dad,” he stammered, dropping the tape measure. It clattered against the hardwood. “How did you— the gate was—”

“Locked,” I finished, stepping fully into the room. The mud from my boots stained the rug and I couldn’t have cared less. “Yes, it was. And yet here I am.”

Ashley set her glass down, her shock hardening into cold, practical irritation. She crossed her arms. “Tom, we didn’t expect you for another hour. This is awkward, but it’s really for the best.

We were trying to spare you the emotional labor of sorting through all this… clutter.”

“Clutter,” I repeated, my eyes drifting to the shattered teapot in the box.

“Dad, listen to me,” Ethan said, stepping forward, hands raised the way you’d calm a wild animal. “Mom was being completely unreasonable earlier. She was hysterical.