Once Upon a Time, There Were Two Sarahs

One of us had just watched her professional world collapse without warning. After years of dedicated work, replaced overnight by a technology she had been watching from a distance, she understood what her life as a mother had already whispered to her: the most beautiful stories are sometimes the ones you have to write yourself.

The other had just left her country. She was searching for her place, her independence, a new way of inhabiting the world. Everything felt like it needed rebuilding — except for this quiet conviction that something else must exist. What do we tell our children?

We shared the same first name. And the same need to believe that a new chapter was still possible.

At a time that celebrates individual success, our story tells exactly the opposite. We chose to trust each other before we had any proof it would work. We decided to bet on one another when nothing on paper was remotely reasonable. We moved forward — because we moved forward together.

For more than a year, we built. Without instructions, with many mistakes, many moments of doubt, and that strange, stubborn certainty that something important was being born.

Petunia Chatterton was not born from a market study. It was born from a need. To create tenderness in a world that sometimes runs short of it. To tell childhood as a precious territory. To prove that at the heart of life's most fragile seasons, it is still possible to build something beautiful.

Behind every page of our books lies another story — ours. That of two women who met at a crossroads in their lives and who, by reaching for each other's hand, found the strength to go further than either of them could have imagined alone.

If you ask us how it all began, we will tell you that sometimes all it takes is a blank page, a little courage, and an outstretched hand for a story to start.

And if our books invite children to dream, our story reminds adults of a truth too easily forgotten: it is never too late to write a new chapter.