Once, when I was young and true,
Someone left me sad-
Broke my brittle heart in two;
And that is very bad.
(…)

A Very Short Song – Dorothy Parker

I could go somewhere else, Rosie thought, lying in bed, nothing left to occupy her mind now. It wouldn't change anything, but at least it would be something different. Maybe Sydney, to visit Mary Stanton or Canberra to see Josephine again after all these years.

She guessed she could but for the time being, she knew these were only empty plans, almost desperate pleas to fill her mind with something other than what had unravelled over that day.

Many hours ago, Rosie had woken up to a morning where her father was the Chief Commissioner and her fiancé a respected businessman. Now, they were both behind bars for such hideous crimes she had to force herself to think about them and all the harm and victims those two men had done. It was baffling to comprehend and maybe worse was having to deal with the hurt and anguish that came over her when that bewilderment lessened its grip.

When she had confronted her father at the station, it had felt that doing so had brought her some relief, a way to try make sense of all the facts that had suddenly been sprung on her. His vacant replies and 'please try to understands' had been even a harder blow. She had always regarded him as a fair and honest man and in that moment he hadn't even lived up to those values he had always held dear and instilled in her by acknowledging his own blinding greed. In a way, her father had died in that moment. Devoid of the core tenets that made him the father she knew and had loved and feeling betrayed beyond measure, it was nearly impossible to feel differently.

Rosie had felt bereft and lonely as if the world could have swallowed her up right there. Yet when Jack had come in her line of vision, she had tried to fight the urge to cry in his arm and his implied support and availability to comfort her. No, not him. But in the end, she was only human and once the sobs had shaken most of the anger and the sadness out of her for that instant, she was glad it was him by her side.

Jack. She didn't exactly regret they had gotten divorced, but she did wish things could have been different. That the war hadn't happened, that he hadn't come back understandably damaged, that she had been able to bridge the gap that had opened between them. She had loved him so much. It had probably been a first-love-burns-everything kind of love but so bright and she had never doubted he loved her too even if his shy demeanour didn't coax grand gestures out of him. Rosie hadn't minded, that calm and the little ways he did reveal how he felt about her had been of her favourite things about him. How comfortable they could be around each other without having to say much, the accurate little jokes that made her laugh so easily. Those memories rushed to her brain and muddled her feelings even more. Rosie didn't yearn to get back with Jack, but in a way it was hard not to when the man she had loved over the past year had turned out to be a monster (and yet 'monster' didn't seem strong enough but no word seemed to, if Rosie wanted to be true to her feelings).

Because she had loved Sidney. Perhaps not as engulfingly as she had loved Jack, but she was a different person now. She had loved him and had been looking forward to starting and having a life with him. There were the convenient family connections, the money, and the social standing to recommend the match but Rosie had truly fallen in love with him. At first, it had felt good to meet an old friend again, to have someone by her side who had known her 'before' and, as time when by, it also felt very pleasant to be courted and she couldn't deny that it did gave her a bit of a thrill seeing how Jack had reacted to the news of her engagement. She had believed that love had been mutual, but now she second-guessed every word and every gesture, feeling used and discarded. How could she have been so blind? She had always considered herself an intelligent woman who wouldn't be swindled out of her senses so easily and yet it had happened. For a moment, she felt embarrassed, but Rosie shook her head and refused to go down that road. She had been honest, truthful, and earnest, Sidney had been the one who had taken advantage of her and who had led her wrong. He should be the one to be sorry and feel ashamed.

As she did when she felt nervous, Rosie started rotating the ring on her finger. At first it had been a silver one her parents had gifted her with when she was 5, followed by a golden one with a pearl her grandmother at given her when that first gift had become too small, issuing a succession of family presents until it had been her first engagement ring - a three-garnet lovely and understated piece. It had been replaced by one of her girlhood gifts when they had gotten divorced and then by the glittering set of diamonds in an intricate platinum mounting with which Sidney had proposed to her one afternoon in the garden of her father's house. Rosie took it off as if it burned. It had certainly been bought with profits from his crimes. Part of her wanted to throw it dramatically into the bay, but the practical side of her decided to sell it and give the money to a properly vetted charity. It was a beautiful and valuable ring, it would fetch good money.

Rosie's mind was sort of drifting again. She had confronted her father because they had come across each other at the station but she still hadn't seen Sidney. She knew he had been shot but didn't inquire about seeking him at the hospital or in jail afterwards. She might eventually, but right now she couldn't bring herself to look at him without wanting to bash his face in with her fists. And that was when she wanted to see him at all because most times she felt so utterly disgusted she couldn't even picture his face without feeling her whole self clench in revulsion.

She did need to get out of Melbourne. She hadn't been able to be in her own house that night and had checked in The Windsor instead. Rosie had never fancied herself a particularly sentimental person but the photographs and the little mementos had seemed ready to smother her at any moment and she had had to throw a handful of things into an overnight bag and get out of there as soon as possible. The trials would be long and taxing, she better get some rest before they happened. She would be in the front row ready to shame and confront George and Sidney every single day, after all, and even more ready to support those girls who had gotten embroiled in such awful scheme and had been able to escape – some hadn't been so lucky.

Rosie got up from bed in a swift moment, turned on the small lamp on the desk and picked up a pen and a blank sheet of paper.

Dear Mary, she wrote, addressing her old school friend.

In spite of her vulnerability, Rosie Sanderson couldn't be brought down that easily. She would gather her bearings, get herself together, and face the world with her head held high.

A/n: Thank you for reading my contribution to June's challenge of MFMM Year of Quotes.

First of all, I have to assume that by taking only the first stanza of the poem into account I'm basically denying the whole message, but when I read the quotes for this month I wondered about writing something about a different character other than Phryne, Jack, and the people closest to 221B and Rosie came across my mind. Something in different lines of the poem brought me back to her and I went from there even if, for some reason, I never wanted to cower Rosie for long.

I hope it's not too trite. I have to confess that I didn't mean to drag this for long. After all, I still have Homewards to finish and who knows when that will happen. (Sorry. I'm working on it though, I promise).

Thank you for reading once again. Feedback is appreciated as always