The story so far:
She sliced open the ruby red grapefruit along its equator. Ran the serrated blade around the perimeter, then down, separating each juicy segment from its brother, its sister, its mate. She planned to pop the husband into her mouth and let his dying liquid hydrate her parched tongue while his wife looked on.
As she removed the seeds from each hemisphere, she noticed one had split, its crooked stalk of birth emerging from the rigid husk.
Slightly interested in this phenomenon, she planted the seed, sure that it would die like everything else she'd attempted to cultivate. No lush job, no fruitful marriage, no fertile womb...
The grapefruit seed paid no heed to her past failures. In its ignorance, it continued to thrive in the grey stone pot on the back porch.
Hope broke through the dusty soil of her heart and she began to speak to the sprout daily. Now a seedling, it wobbled and stretched as it reached upward and pulled itself towards the sky. She smiled, touched the tip of a leaf with her ring finger and left for the garden center.
She asked a blue aproned man- little more than a boy, actually- for the best fertilizer for citrus trees. He was focused on moving pots and did not look up as he replied, "Aisle three, I'll show you." However, she found she could not move forward. A hanging ivy plant had lovingly wrapped a long tendril around her waist. She carefully untangled herself, gave it a pat and followed the blue apron to aisle three.