Now he stood in front of his own front door, not quite knowing what to expect from the inside, though he had been intimately involved in the planning and had been present for some of the work; like that wall being knocked out for the conservatory, that had been cathartic to watch. Mr. Guilford was waiting for him, but in that moment he couldn't make himself reach for the handle. Part of him still wished he could burn the whole place to the ground and bury the past. But if he had learned anything in three years of therapy- burying the past does nothing but poison the soil. So that wasn't an option, and he'd spent a pretty penny essentially gutting the interior. The only rooms that hadn't been touched with more than a fresh coat of paint were the library, his office and his mother's room. Those had been his safe places for years, and she had requested her room be left alone for her infrequent visits. 