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Chapter Six: A Mother’s Code

As the twins settled into their school routine, the demands of Rosemary’s professional life began to stabilize. Her leadership style at Luxor IT Designs had matured; she now successfully delegated many of the high-level duties to her subordinates. This shift meant she was no longer required to personally attend every workshop or promotional conference, allowing her the rare luxury of time.

At home, a similar peace had descended.

Out of a deep-seated love and respect for their mother, Joshua and Caleb had become slightly less demanding, sensing perhaps that she had carried the weight of their world on her shoulders for long enough.

One evening, after a warm shower and a light dinner, Rosemary retired to her room. She bypassed her usual technical journals and reached instead for her record collection. The wild, rebellious rock music of her youth had long since given way to the soulful, melodic rhythms of blues. As the needle dropped, the velvet voice of Roberta Flack began to fill the room with “Killing Me Softly with His Song.”

As she listened, a strange, hollow ache began to unfurl deep within her psyche. It was a profound sense of loneliness that she hadn’t permitted herself to feel in years. Her family was her universe, but as the music ebbed and flowed, she realized with startling clarity that she needed a partner—someone to share her thoughts with, someone to offer companionship that was not rooted in duty or blood.

She shed a few quiet tears, but her analytical mind quickly took over. A companion had to be chosen with care; she would not fall for the first “pretty boy” who crossed her path. If her “Ice Princess” title was to be retired, it would be on her own terms. The long winter of her heart was finally showing signs of a coming spring.

The following morning at the breakfast table, the change in her was palpable.

“You’re quiet this morning, Rose,” Cally observed, her maternal instincts immediately picking up on the softer light in her daughter’s eyes. “Is everything all right?”

“Just thinking, Mum,” Rosemary replied, waving the concern off with a non-committal smile.

A week later, an invitation arrived from the school’s governing body for a Parent-Teacher Association (PTA) meeting. Though she was usually reluctant to add more evening commitments to her schedule, Rosemary recognized the importance of school policy.

Being a punctilious person, she arrived at the school hall at ten minutes to seven. She took a vacant seat near the rear, observing the heated discussions about transport and curriculum with her usual professional detachment. When the meeting concluded at eight-thirty, the parents were invited to stay for refreshments.

Rosemary was quietly enjoying a cup of tea and a small plate of sandwiches when a man in a green checked blazer sat in the seat to her right. He offered a polite nod.

“Bit of a marathon, wasn’t it?” he remarked, his voice carrying a pleasant, low timbre.

“It certainly had its moments,” Rosemary replied, offering a measured nod in return.

“I’m Jeremy Clay,” he said, extending a hand. “My daughter, Mary-Jane, is in grade one.”

“Rosemary Ascott,” she replied, shaking his hand. “I have twin boys, Joshua and Caleb, in the same grade.”

The conversation was brief and civil, ending as the hall began to empty, but the encounter lingered in her mind. On the drive home, she found herself wondering if he was married, and if so, why he had been alone. It was a small flicker of interest, but for the “Ice Princess,” it was a significant thaw.

That flicker of interest was temporarily extinguished by a whirlwind two-week trip to Zurich, Switzerland. Rosemary’s expertise was required at an ad hoc conference regarding newly developed software for the medical field. Between the twelve-hour flights and seven days of intense technical briefs, she had little time for personal reflection.

Upon her return on a rainy Monday, she discovered that the “thaw” had continued in her absence.

“You had a visitor while you were away,” Cally said, handing her a slip of paper as she walked through the door. “A Mr. Jeremy Clay. He seems quite determined; he spent a fair bit of time trying to track down our address.”

Rosemary couldn’t hide the small, involuntary smile that played across her lips.

“What’s that about, Mum?” Joshua asked, his brow furrowed as he watched the unfamiliar expression on his mother’s face.

“Nothing for you to worry about, love,” Rosemary said, though her father and brother were already puffing out their chests.

“If this fellow is harassing you, Rose, just say the word,” Timothy declared, his tone shifting into a protective, ‘manly’ register. “We can deal with him.”

“Don’t you dare,” Rosemary interjected, her voice regaining its icy, authoritative edge. “It’s my life and my business. I am more than capable of handling it without two goons—and ugly ones at that—interfering.”

The next day, after a morning of catching up on emails, Rosemary dialled the number Jeremy had left. A man answered with a remarkably gruff, clinical tone.

“This is the hospital mortuary,” the voice said. “There is no one here by that name.”

Rosemary froze, her finger hovering over the disconnect button. “Oh, I am so sorry, I must have—”

“Hi, Rosemary,” the voice suddenly shifted into a warm, melodic chuckle. “It’s Jeremy. And no, this isn’t the mortuary. It’s my office at the hospital trauma centre. I’m a heart specialist.”

Rosemary exhaled, a laugh bubbling up despite her best efforts to remain professional. “The man I met at the PTA meeting seemed so serious. Now I’m speaking to a joker. Which one is the real you?”

“I’m both, actually,” Jeremy replied, his tone softening into something more intimate. “The doctor and the clown. However, before we proceed, I’d like to invite you out for dinner. Your parents were kind enough to confirm my assessment that you’re unattached, and I’d very much like us to be friends.”

Rosemary leaned back in her chair, her competitive spirit rising to the surface. “That is a big step, Jeremy. I’ll need time to mull it over. Can we arrange that dinner for, say, six months from now?”

“Impossible,” Jeremy countered without missing a beat, his voice as calm as ever. “My doctor informed me this morning that I only have two months left to live. It’s a terminal case of wanting to see you again.”

“I’m truly sorry to hear that,” Rosemary shot back, her wit matching his. “Either you survive the next six months, and we meet then, or you pass away quietly, and I live with no regrets. Your choice, Jeremy.”

They both burst into laughter, the shared wit creating an instant, easy bond. By the time they hung up, a dinner date was set for the coming Friday. Jeremy had to arrange a house-sitter for his daughter, Mary-Jane—a rare occurrence for a man who, like Rosemary, had spent the last several years devoted entirely to his child and his career.