I brought home a difficult 1000-piece puzzle from the bookstore. I laid it out directly onto the spare dining room table, a room central to the rest of the house. My ex-husband’s house that is.

I live here half the week in an adjacent building with a studio, it’s basically like the apartment I had, only it’s right next to my kids when I’m in the state. My parents live here too.

The puzzle depicts a snowy scene in which a group of assorted woodland creatures settle into the trunk of a tree and make tea. I’ve already gotten all the corners done. At some point my mother entered the kitchen and I could feel her stare as I sat with my headphones organizing the pieces. She seemed curious.

My younger son joined in at one point and got an entire side done without help, good for him. I’m leaving the puzzle. It can sit there until it’s finished, however long that takes. Maybe it will draw in more people from the house.

I’ll carry on learning how each piece fits only with another, and nothing else. I’ll practice patience as I refit the ends that just don’t match up. And maybe in the meantime my presence will stay long after I’m gone, in the 1000-piece puzzle.