She'd only given in because she was lonely.

She'd only given in because she was lonely. She had never wanted to open her own bookstore. It had been a point of contention their entire relationship. But thats just who Peter was; the go getter, motivated, always on to the next best thing kind of guy. She had always been the exact opposite - she rather preffered staying inside, sticking to her books, and allowing life to pass her by. The waves of life had been gently smoothing over psyche until one day around 2 years ago they had come crrashing down on the shore.

She had just returned from a trip to the grocery store - she hadn't bought anything special; just a few pieces of chicken and fruit to abide by Peter's self imposed all organic diet. "Honey, I'm home," she remembered chiding as she set down the canvas tote bag of groceries.

The first indication that something was wrong had been the lack of an answer. If Peter was home, and as a stay at home computer programmer, he almost always was, he would respond almost instantly with his soft and yet intense "I'm in the den." There was no response that night. Sarah continued through the open floor plan to the den - remarking to hersef that they needed to buy more furniture and she was just about fed up with Peter's "fung shwe" ideas of minimalistic interior design.

She reached the den and shrieked. In front of her, Peter lay on the floor. His face was mottled green and was starting to turn a shade of light green. His mouth was foaming up and his legs were still twitching. In his hand was the root of a plant.

"Oh not the plant," Sarah thought. For weeks, Peter had been researching an African plant which was rumored to increase theta wave brain activity. It was another piece to his lifelong puzzle of maximizing his productivity and creativity. Sarah had warned him against it. "You don't know anything about it, " she remembered saying. "Just because some farmer swears by it doesn't mean that there's any credible proof for it working! Don't be foolish. I have to go now, see you later." That had only been 8 hours before. This morning, but it felt like weeks ago. Those were the last words Sarah would ever speak to Peter. He had an allergic reaction to a rare chemical compound in the plant, the coroner would later tell her.

It had been around two years since his untimely death and Sarah was just now starting to function again. She decided she wanted a project. And so, as anyone who's been through unspeakable trauma, or just familiar with the general malaise of life would know, you have to find something which you're passionate about. Only this will give you purpose.

Her friends had encouraged her to do something with books. They couldn't recall a time they had convened where she hadn't brought a book along with her. Sarah the worm, they would call her, due to her book worm tendencies. "Open a bookstore," they had said. And so, 2 years nearly to the day of Peter's passing, she had reluctantly opened her first bookstore.