New Evidence

It had all been so flawlessly planned. Everything and everyone had fallen perfectly into place at exactly the right moment (or were, at the very least, forced into place just in time to play out their role). No cracks or faults had been permitted more than a brief appearance. And yet…

Rose had always known exactly what her future would hold simply because she planned it in that way. Her plans were meticulous lists, revised weekly to ensure that each was up to date with current events, detailing every part of her life and the life she wanted.

The man she wanted to marry, at 22 years of age precisely (he being two years her senior), would have to be two inches taller than her with dark hair and green eyes. He would be an architect. The wedding would, of course, be faultlessly planned. No hiccups. Rose would be the pure and fragile bride while the groom would be strong and handsome.

They would have two children. The first would be a girl, when Rose turned 24, and her name would be Sarah. At 25, Rose was going to have a boy: Thomas.

Rose was going to be a housewife. She was not incapable of working and keeping a home, but preferred the status a housewife ensured her and her husband. He would be their sole breadwinner.

Mealtimes were quiet banquets. Rose performed her role of chef extraordinarily well and her family was well fed and healthy. The homework would be done before hand and so the children could be sent off to bath and bed after dinner.

Once the children had been attended to, Rose became her husband’s lover. She gave, and did, everything he desired of her. No one could fault her on neglecting her husband. And yet…

The house they lived in was modestly decorated. Rose spent most of her mornings admiring the pages of Homemakers magazine to ensure her home was perfectly fashionable. Other mornings, Rose invited the other housewives in her neighbourhood to enjoy tea and cakes. The cakes were, of course, homemade. The guests, of course, never forgot to compliment Rose on her lovely home and delicious food.

Rose’s life was, by her own standards, perfect. Her children achieved well in school. Her husband was swiftly moving up his career ladder and they had enough savings for a peaceful retirement. And yet…

If it had not been for all her meticulous plans, her life would not have been as it was. The plans and lists were the very source of her confidence in the life she had chosen, the roles she fulfilled, the choices she made. And yet, they were the very source of the biggest crack in her perfect world.

Rose had faced many hairline cracks in the perfect world she had created. Each, in her own mind, had been dealt with in a manner that solved the problem completely. Of course, Rose took no action without first planning her attack.

One of the biggest fractures that Rose had faced had been her husband’s career. Philip had never been the most brilliantly minded and was hardly an achieving architect. But, Rose made a plan. It was not necessarily what others might have done but she made no apologies. In the end, Philip’s career soared (as did their income) and he was none the wiser. And yet…

Rose had always assumed that Philip had no interest in her plans and lists. She made no effort to conceal them from him, but made even less effort to share them. It was perfectly reasonable for her to be surprised, then, when he confronted her with one particular page from her notebook on an evening when both the children were at their friends’ houses.

“You slept with him! You fucking slept with my boss!”

It was definitely not a question. She had written it, planned it, and played it out. It had also worked extremely well, achieving the exact effect she had desired. Blackmailing Philips married boss was the perfect plan to fast forward Philips failing career.

“Oh my God.”

Why was he so unhappy? Rose had done everything for him, for them. He should be grateful. Hopefully, the neighbours wouldn’t hear his shouting. That would be far too embarrassing. Rose guessed that she could explain any questions away with the simple explanation that Philip and herself had been enjoying a movie that was rather loud…

“I want a divorce. I’m leaving you, Rose.”

What? Rose cut short her mental planning of the next day’s meals.

“You’re upset right now, and I understand that,” Rose enunciated each word perfectly. “We can discuss this when you have calmed down.”

With that, Rose effectively ended the conversation. Over the next few weeks, however, it became clear that Philip was not going to let it die.

For a brief moment, Rose envisaged her life falling apart. A hundred notepads, filled with perfect plans, torn up and strewn all around her. The image was enough to remind Rose who she was. She was in charge of her own life and no one was going to upset her perfect plans.

At Philips funeral, Rose played the grieving widow. The neighbours brought food and comforts and paid their respects. Rose wore black and spoke quietly. The flowers, along with everything else at the funeral, were perfect. She had planned it all herself.