What can YOU say in six sentences?
She'd been everything to everybody for so long... good daughter, good wife, good mother, good friend, good grandmother, good custodian, good cook, good dog groomer for crying out loud.
Now she only had cats, now that her parents were gone and her kids were grown.
The husband and dog has also died, and sure, she'd grieved, long and hard, but then one day she'd found herself making a name badge for a latecomer to the twice-annual writer's workshop that she chaired for her writer's group (that she also administrated) while all around her the scratch of pencils moved toward the dinging of the five minute bell, leaving her behind, again.
And that was it... she'd given up her position with the writer's group, given up her membership, and built herself a house, a house big enough for her and two cats and a hell of a lot of vegetables and only one coffee cup on the hook.
And she'd started writing, every single day, taking care of no one but herself and sometimes the cats and sometimes the plants, and she wrote pages and pages and pages, and she drank coffee and stared out the window for as long as she wanted.
And she was happy, damnit, very happy, but... she took a swallow of almost-cold coffee... now there was this boy, this boy out there in her garden, walking through her summer squash.