Chapter 1: Lazy Rich Caucasians

Rosemary appears to be getting by just fine without Mark Jr. around, but a little surprise just might throw a wrench in her plans.

It's been a while since the five women in the group went their separate ways and headed back to their respective homes in all corners of the country. And in the case of Rosemary, she resides in a small Montana town by the name of Kicksburg, a place bereft of chain establishments and tourist traps, and almost completely surrounded by a thick ring of pine trees. She lives at Simmons Manor, Jr., which is one of the larger houses within the town's borders.

She normally shares this place with her husband, Mark Simmons, Jr., though as one may guess, he is currently serving overseas alongside his father. Out of everyone else in her assigned group, Rosemary has been married to her spouse for the shortest amount of time, so one might think that she would have the hardest time getting accustomed to living alone. But whoever thinks that would be in for quite the surprise, as Rosemary seemingly has no problems with the new arrangement.

Of course, this could just be a side-effect of her background. Growing up on a farm in the deep south, Rosemary was a hard-worker to a fault, quickly getting used to and enjoying the tons of chores she had to do, even to the point of deliberately putting off homework and asking for even more tasks to carry out. Even well into her adulthood, Rosemary cannot stand the idea of doing nothing or letting others slave away for her sake; she's the kind of person who will attend a dinner party at someone else's house and insist that she stays late and helps clean up, simply because she adores productivity so much.

So it comes as no surprise that Rosemary would stick to the same lifestyle now that she's a mansion-dweller. With a larger house comes a larger amount of housework, but she doesn't care in the slightest. Junior often tells her to take it easy and spend more time relaxing, or maybe even take up some hobbies to keep her busy instead, but she refuses almost every time he asks. And with her required task of managing her husband's share of the Simmons empire in his absence being absurdly easy, it only gives her more time to work herself to the bone.

Every day, she wakes up shortly after sunrise and briskly moves through her morning routine, making sure to put on the golden crucifix necklace and white bandana with black fleur-de-lis that she never goes a day without wearing. She then spends almost the whole day working, save for the times when she stops to eat, sleep, or go to the bathroom. She rummages through her well-stocked kitchen to prepare all her meals in advance, dusting and polishing the furniture and maybe reorganizing a room or two. She also takes her duties outside, shoveling away the leftover snow from the previous two months, which is piled up in the driveway or on any of the balconies. When it eventually melts, she will start tending to her vegetable garden out back again.

Rosemary wouldn't dare take issue with this setup and routine if she weren't facing some unforeseen personal obstacles that make it considerably less fun. Every morning begins with her rushing to the master bathroom and regurgitating whatever she ate last night. She almost considers not bothering to have dinner in order to prevent that, but no matter how many times this occurs, she keeps forgetting to. In addition, she often finds herself running out of breath very easily, which prevents her from getting around and knocking out her housework as quickly as she would like. Mood swings frequently kick in and influence the speed at which she works, sometimes leading to accidental errors. Bizarre cravings sometimes halt her in her tracks, distracting her from her chores as she fantasizes about indulging in pickles with Nutella, peanut butter on a grilled cheese with grape juice-infused tomato soup on the side, and various other revolting things.

But the worst... the absolute worst... is Rosemary's damn near inability to bend over or crouch down to accomplish certain tasks. She can hardly remember a day where she didn't have a slight pot belly and/or a large bust, but never before have they gotten in her way. Normally, her stomach will just squish inwards whenever she needs to hunch over, but these days it provides a bit more resistance. Not to the point where it hurts, but it happens enough to where she notices and quickly gets annoyed at it.

As previously stated, Rosemary endures all of this for almost a week. It's Saturday now, and she is officially at her wit's end with this madness her body is putting her through as it commits mutiny against her brain. The way it tries everything it can to get her to stop doing what she loves, and the way it acts as though it's on an extended menstrual cycle.

Wait a minute... menstrual cycle? a thought quickly enters her mind.

It then dawns on her that she's been missing her period for almost the past couple of months. She's been irregular ever since she started getting them at age eleven, though she's never gone quite this long without having one before. Maybe all these random changes are connected somehow?

In a moment of slight panic, Rosemary hurriedly gets dressed and rushes to the local pharmacy to grab a small box of pregnancy tests. She finalizes her purchase and then rushes to the in-store bathroom, far too anxious to get this over with. Ripping open the box, she skims over the instructions and inserts that misshapen piece of plastic. The packaging promises instantaneous results; Rosemary has rarely trusted wrappers, but today she's placing every ounce of trust she has in this damn box.

"Oh my god..." she sucks her teeth within the stall, her navy-blue eyes widening at what she sees on the screen. "Yep, that confirms it alright."