Small solid black heart with puzzle piece cut-outs on the upper chest of a woman in a white knit jumper.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Solid black heart and puzzle pieces on the chest

Chest · Black and grey · Photo

A small solid black heart sits on the upper chest, with a white puzzle piece shape cut into its centre and a separate black puzzle piece beside it. The ink is a flat, uniform black with crisp edges and no visible shading. The tattoo is set against pale skin and a white knit jumper, with the subject's lips and chin at the top of the frame and red-brown hair falling over one shoulder.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The wrong piece came back to the workshop in a padded envelope, postmarked Hastings, with a note in pencil that said only: this one is not ours. Maud tipped it onto the bench under the lamp. It was a solid black blank, a little heart with a knob cut into one side, and it was too dark for the jigsaws her father used to cut, which were all painted in the cheerful greens and yellows of seaside postcards.

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Her father had worked this bench for forty years, a fretsaw in one hand and a mug of stewed tea going cold beside the blade. He never sent out a piece that did not belong to a picture. A puzzle, he used to say, is a promise that the pieces will find their way back to each other, and the only real sin in the trade is the spare piece that goes nowhere. She had thought that was the sort of thing fathers said until she opened the bottom drawer and found the ledger.

Every order was there in his square capitals, and beside one from the winter of 1979 he had written a name, an address in Hastings, and two words underlined twice: HOLD BOTH. Beneath it was a sketch of a heart with a puzzle piece pressed against its edge, and a second piece set slightly apart, as if they had been cut from the same wood and then sent off in different directions.

Maud wrapped the black piece in tissue, found the second one still tucked in the drawer where he had left it, and posted them both back on Monday morning. The wait for the envelope to come home felt longer than any frost she had known on the marsh. Then the reply arrived, a single line on card: they fit.

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