I donated what was useful, filed what mattered, and turned the space into a small corner for painting.

On the wall I hung Emma’s artwork, a photograph of Thomas on the beach, and one of Oliver’s drawings of Orion.

I added a postcard of a bright blue harbor, the kind I had always wanted to visit.

Sometimes, late in the afternoon, I sat there with a cup of tea and felt an unexpected pang of loneliness.

It would be dishonest to say that setting boundaries had instantly solved every sorrow.

I still missed the days when my son seemed to need me.