I ran into the yard, shouting as loud as I could to be heard over the noise of the machine:
— Stop! That’s my house! Don’t touch it!

The driver leaned out of the cab and shouted irritably:
— Sorry, grandma, but I have my orders. The house belongs to your eldest son. He told us to demolish it.

— What are you saying?.. — I gasped. — This must be a mistake! I live here! Where am I supposed to go now? On the street?!

— Not our problem, — the driver replied coldly. — Our job is to tear it down.