She liked to fit people into the world like puzzle pieces.

It wasn’t always easy, but the world was a better place when it was contained, everything and everyone had a spot.

It brought her comfort, knowing that life was a puzzle she could solve.

He stuck out, though, jagged in all the wrong places. She tried to fit him into the place she’d carved out for him. She pushed, but he was stubborn. She filed away at his edges, but still he refused to sink into place.

It was a particularly frustrating session, her pushing and pounding and he holding tight. Finally, he stopped fighting. One simple nudge was all it would take to fit him perfectly in place, another puzzle solved.

She stopped, mouth open, when she saw the tears streaming down his face.

Things seemed so clear, until that moment. But life is predicated on moments like these. And so, she paused.

His chest heaved, broader than she remembered. She blinked, really seeing him. How different he’d become before her very eyes.

Her little boy, now a man. “No,” she thought. How had it taken her so long to see what he’d been trying to tell her all along?

She wove her fingers together, inhaling. Exhaling. This was a moment that would decide all the moments to come. She could see that now.

“Tell me again,” she said, tucking her hands behind her. She would not force this.

His eyes lifted, wide. She nodded softly. “Tell me again,” she told her daughter.

Hands still, she sat and listened.