I close the door and leave him in there, in his sanctuary.

Why on earth one man needs four garden sheds is beyond me.

Of course, this one is his favourite, it's the wood shed, with the tools and all the bits and pieces hung up or in jars or old margarine tubs. He didn't used to keep things this organised, but in recent years he has. A lot has changed in recent years.

I walk back up the garden towards the house. Not that you could really call it a garden, there's not a blade of grass, just a concrete floor. Not that you can see the floor with all of his contraptions and 'bright ideas' cluttering the space.

As I walk past my herb pots, I pick some parsley for our tea. Fish with parsley sauce. My daughter hates my parsley sauce. She doesn't seem to like much that I do. As I've always said, I tried my best and isn't that all that matters. She doesn't agree.  She says my best doesn't count for much when she's spent years in therapy trying to recover from the problems of her childhood.  But we took her on trips to the zoo and the beach and I loved her very much. Too much she would say. I didn't know you could love someone too much. She says it was a suffocating, stifling, strangling version of love. She overthinks things. It's best not to dwell on these things. That's in the past, I don't see why we can't be friends now. She doesn't like me calling 'too often' as she calls it. Isn't it my right to call her when I want, I gave birth to her after all.