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Now, almost a decade later, I have a job in journalism. And I have a wife. I try not to look confused when someone calls us the "perfect couple," a phrase whose meaning is often lost on me. I do believe that we are as happy as any couple can be, married or otherwise, and that I've improved immeasurably as a human being, thanks to a woman who sees through all my bullshit.
I rarely think of Rose, but when I do, it's usually when my wife and I are having a problem. Other times, her name floats to the surface under mundane circumstances, like when I'm sitting on the couch watching a movie that I know my wife has no interest in. When this happens, I try not to worry as I rifle back to the last time I did something just for her, or I wonder what she might want to tell me that she can't find a way to say. I know how naïve it is to think, She'd never ... . Rose's husband probably had the same idea. All I can hope is that Rose's and her husband's mistakes warned me.