Rose Hope by Barb Greenberg
Sometimes saying “yes” to the wrong invitation is exactly what your heart needs.
Rosie never imagined her life would look like this—divorced, disoriented, and trying to piece together who she is when she’s no longer somebody’s wife. Attending a bridal shower during the wreckage of her own marriage might be a mistake, but Rosie is tired of playing the “nice girl” who always does what’s expected.
As the celebrations swirl around her, Rosie wrestles with the ache of grief, the sting of self-doubt, and the quiet fear that she may disappear altogether if she doesn’t reclaim her dreams. Through heartbreak and hesitant steps toward hope, Rosie’s journey reminds us that even in life’s darkest seasons, there’s always the possibility of a new beginning blooming just beyond the pain.
With warmth, wit, and deep emotional insight, award-winning author Barb Greenberg delivers a tender, relatable story of resilience and rediscovery. Rose Hope is a novel for every woman who has ever felt lost—and for every heart that dares to believe in second chances.
Rose Hope by Barb Greenberg
Sometimes saying “yes” to the wrong invitation is exactly what your heart needs.
Rosie never imagined her life would look like this—divorced, disoriented, and trying to piece together who she is when she’s no longer somebody’s wife. Attending a bridal shower during the wreckage of her own marriage might be a mistake, but Rosie is tired of playing the “nice girl” who always does what’s expected.
As the celebrations swirl around her, Rosie wrestles with the ache of grief, the sting of self-doubt, and the quiet fear that she may disappear altogether if she doesn’t reclaim her dreams. Through heartbreak and hesitant steps toward hope, Rosie’s journey reminds us that even in life’s darkest seasons, there’s always the possibility of a new beginning blooming just beyond the pain.
With warmth, wit, and deep emotional insight, award-winning author Barb Greenberg delivers a tender, relatable story of resilience and rediscovery. Rose Hope is a novel for every woman who has ever felt lost—and for every heart that dares to believe in second chances.
There are no murders in this story, which doesn’t mean the thought of one hadn’t crossed her mind for more reasons than she could have ever imagined. There are no car chases either. Who has the time or enough insurance? The only things waiting to jump out of the dark shadows are her insecurities, which she needed to be on speaking terms with if she would ever make it out of her own darkness. And there is no wild sex. Actually, there is, just not with Rosie, at least not for a very long time, which is quite disappointing.
This past week Rosie’s story has been about the broken vacuum cleaner, the colony of ants living contentedly under the refrigerator, and the aging water heater that stopped working while she was in the shower, shampooing her hair. She could handle the vacuum and the ants, but when Ron’s divorce attorney insisted he was obligated to replace the old water heater, there was a problem. At first he refused, then said he’d get to it when he had the time. Rosie wasn’t a fan of cold showers, and after checking with her attorney, she had it replaced herself and made sure the bill was sent to him. Sometimes she was not someone to mess with; other times she was just a mess.
Sunday’s story would be quite different. She couldn’t imagine what she’d been thinking, RSVPing yes to a bridal shower luncheon during her divorce. To prove she was successfully maneuvering through this overwhelmingly painful time, Rosie decided to find a new outfit. It wasn’t to make her feel better but to use as camouflage so she could safely blend in with the other guests while concealing the tenuous hold she had on her new reality. A good outfit is a basic tool for the social survival of many women.
In her twenties, Rosie could always find the newest, hottest clothes, the style that no one was wearing yet, and soon everyone would be crazy about. She learned this skill from her mother, a master shopper. Her mother was the daughter of Russian immigrants who had fled persecution and very possibly death. Struggling to start again in America, every penny was precious to them. One way they saved money was to buy their little girl shoes that were two sizes too big. Until she grew into them, one of her parents would stuff the toes with old newspapers every morning before she left for elementary school.
It’s no wonder her mother grew up with a longing for great shoes and a love of the stylish outfits that went with them. It was not a frivolous pursuit. It was survival. She believed that with a winning combination of color, texture, and tasteful accessories, she would be safe. Rosie’s social survival instincts had disappeared. She wouldn’t know the newest style if a copy of Vogue hit her on the head and wondered if this was a sign that she was close to extinction.
The shower was on Sunday. Saturday at 3:00 p.m., after procrastinating as long as possible, Rosie forced herself to drive to the Oakwood Mall, a jungle of glittering boutiques and department stores. With the promise of a small bag of Mrs. Field’s cookies when she finished hunting, she attacked the Macy’s sales racks and found a stylish ankle-length black skirt and matching long black jacket that covered her butt, which is always a plus when you bribe yourself with cookies. To go with it, she picked out a sleeveless lime green top and another that was bright orange, optimistically hoping that the two separate tops would make her believe that she had two new outfits instead of one. Does that ever really work?
Returning home, Rosie pulled into the driveway, finishing off her second double milk chocolate-chip cookie. Licking the last of the crumbs from her fingers, she made her way inside and hung her new clothes in the bedroom closet. The lime green top looked fresh and modern next to the black skirt, but the orange and black combination looked dated and oddly familiar. What was it?
“Oh, geez,” she said to Nicky, the small black kitty sleeping soundly on her pillow, curled around his toy mouse like a child with a favorite stuffed animal. He didn’t move when Rosie mumbled, “These are Halloween colors. I can’t believe I did that. It’s going to make me look ridiculous!”
Of course, no one would even notice the Halloween connection but her. Still, that was all it took to push Rosie over the edge into yet another black hole. Or was it the same familiar black hole? It was hard for her to tell the difference anymore. After filing for divorce from Ron, she was certain that the ramifications of the smallest misstep would be disastrous for her future, and often the most insignificant things threw her into a panic.
“Okay, Rosie. Relax. Breathe, honey, breathe,” she said out loud, glancing at Nicky and rationalizing that she was not really talking to herself if there was a small animal in the room.
She’d been reevaluating so many things in her life, she decided that she might as well add Halloween to the list. Rosie wondered if this constant reevaluating was one of the reasons she got frightened so easily. The ground underneath her, the foundation she thought was solid and strong, kept shifting and sometimes disappearing completely.
So what’s with Halloween, anyway? she wondered. Dressing up in costumes is fun when you are young, and people give you candy. Black cats are beautiful. What else?
Ah, witches. Maybe witches had gotten a bad rap. Maybe what made them so frightening was that they were role models for independent women who wouldn’t follow the rules. Is that why they are portrayed with green complexions, hook noses, and hairy moles on their chins? That’s certainly one way to discredit someone. Rosie felt tremendous empathy and respect for these women, disenfranchised yet making their way. She wanted to share her story with them. They would understand. Seeing truths others did not want to acknowledge, they had retreated to the woods, to grieve, for safety, to separate from what they knew was dark. But where do they go when there are no woods to provide shelter, and how would she find them? An apartment in the city, a small drafty room above a garage, or a restored farmhouse in a neighboring county? Rosie didn’t imagine there would be any at the bridal shower, so as a private nod to her recently acquired role models, she decided to wear the orange top on Sunday.
Rosie rarely wore makeup anymore since she cried most of it off, but woke up knowing she’d need it for today’s luncheon. Staring at the bathroom mirror, she was surprised at how the lines around her eyes had multiplied, seeming deeper and more permanent than she had remembered, and the circles under them were so dark you’d need a flashlight down there. These dark places seemed more the window to her soul than her blue eyes, now framed by a thin, sparse row of lashes that used to be so thick. It was the dark circles where the pain showed the most, and the fear, and the rage, and the terrific sadness. That was her private life, her private story, and not for others to see, so she hid them with concealer. Next came foundation, some eye color, mascara, and a touch of lipstick. She’d even taken time to curl her straight, shoulder-length hair, somehow still a golden brown, naively believing the curls would still be there by the time she arrived at the shower.
Rosie now felt ready to face the world. Well, probably not the world, but hopefully she could handle lunch with a group of women and watch a young, optimistic twenty-something bride-to-be open her presents.
Pulling out of the garage into another hot July day in Eau Claire, Rosie looked back at the house she’d lived in for over twenty years of her married life. She had cherished her role as a wife and mother. Unfortunately, her leading man didn’t follow the script. That’s not totally true. Ron had the script down pat. He was great with words. He projected sincerity and had a presence that, along with his expressive brown eyes, made him a natural for the stage. It didn’t hurt that he was classically tall, dark, and handsome with a crooked smile that made him seem approachable.
Ron loved the spotlight and the spotlight loved him, but when Rosie discovered that he was often off stage rendezvousing in dark corners of the theater with the stage manager, the props lady, the costume designer, and random cast members, it was time for her to leave the theater and find some fresh air to breathe. She had no idea what role she’d be playing next or if people got through life without playing roles. Was that even possible? Not having the answer, Rosie put on her sunglasses and drove to the shower.
Barb Greenberg’s Rose Hope is classic women’s fiction: one woman’s story of rediscovery after heartbreak leaves her feeling lost. It’s a story that will inspire women in challenging circumstances to find the courage and strength to reshape their lives. It will remind those who feel they have lost themselves somewhere in the course of an unfulfilling career or a relationship gone wrong that new beginnings are possible. It carries a message of hope, a recipe for dealing with grief and anger, and, ultimately, a recipe for forgiving.
Rosie’s story is relatable. Rosie comes across as real and a character with whom we can’t help but empathize. Tired of playing the ‘nice girl’ who always does what is expected, she sets out to reclaim her identity and redirect her life. Though she initially struggles to accept the truth about her husband and her marriage, she ultimately accepts the painful reality. Supported by friends and loved ones, she closes doors and opens new ones, moving into a new life and adopting a new name that is symbolic.
Sprinkled with witty quotes and deep emotional insights, Greenberg’s Rose Hope is a story for everyone who believes in second chances. It is a story filled with hope, reminding us that whatever circumstances we might find ourselves in, there is always a blossoming promise of a new beginning. And sometimes, that new beginning is where you least expect to find it.
The poor formatting of this work was disappointing and detracted from the enjoyment of an otherwise well-written tale. But looking at the image on Reedsy Discovery and Google Books, I wonder if the problem was the specific PDF file version I downloaded, as it had neither cover nor title. Barb Greenberg’s Rose Hope is definitely a work worthy of that essential final coat of polish. It’s a pleasurable read and one I hope Barb can find the energy to properly prepare for what I believe to be a promising market.