I came home from burying my wife of thirty-two years expecting silence, exhaustion, and grief — not a driveway full of motorcycles and the sound of power tools coming from inside my house. Still wearing my funeral suit and holding the folded flag from her service,
I walked through the back door and prepared myself for the worst. My neighbors had already called authorities twice, and I assumed someone had taken advantage of my absence on the hardest day of my life. I was bracing for damage or theft — anything but what I actually found.
