THE WIFE WHO FORGOT

CHAPTER 4: THE RED DRESS & THE GOODNIGHT - PART 1

INT. ROSE’S APARTMENT — 6:55 PM

Knock knock.

Rose takes a breath — slow, steadying — and opens the door.

THE RED DRESS.

Not the blue one he’d half-expected.

Not the sharp black pantsuit she’d hidden behind that morning.

This one was hers.

Silk, deep and rich, falling just below her knees. Simple lines. Her hair down, soft, catching the warm hallway light — no armour.

Just Rose.

Jason stands there — suit jacket draped over one arm, sleeves rolled to his elbows, car keys loose in his hand. He’d been ready for distance. For walls. For Miss Leving.

His gaze lands on her — and slows. From her face, down the dress, back up. And for a second he doesn’t speak. Can’t.

His thought: Red. Always red. Years ago, you wore one to Katie’s birthday. I’ve never forgotten it. Not really. And you’re not the little Rose I remember. How did I never see…

It hits him then — quiet, unspoken, startling him. A flicker rises up, old and familiar — that moment in the study, after Katie’s funeral. Him broken on the floor, every wall crumbled away — a side of himself he’d never shown anyone. Not his dad. Not even Katie. But she had seen it. And even then, something had stirred in him — something he’d ignored, pushed down, told himself it was just grief, just gratitude. Anything but what it actually was.

He blinks, pulls himself back, but his voice is softer, rougher than he means it to be.

JASON: — quiet, honest, no grand words —

“Red suits you. Always has.”

He pauses, eyes searching hers — still figuring this out, still reeling from his own realisation.

JASON: — half to himself, almost —

“I… I mean it. You look beautiful, Rose.”

He holds out his arm — steady, sure, but his eyes give him away — warm, uncertain, seeing everything differently now.

JASON: “Shall we?”

She rests her hand on his forearm. Fingers brush the fabric — and something shifts between them, unspoken but undeniable.

IN THE CAR — DRIVING

City lights blur past. Streetlights sweep over them — gold, shadow, gold.

No Sam. No contracts. No one else.

He glances over once, quick, before his eyes go back to the road — but that look lingers, like he’s still piecing it all together.

JASON: — quiet, careful —

“It’s been a long time. Since we’ve just… talked. Like this.”

A beat. Then, softer —

“I’m glad we are, though.”

Rose’s heart thuds. She looks out the window so he won’t see how much it lands — but she feels it too. That pull. That quiet thing neither of them can quite name yet.

ROSE: “Me too.”

INSIDE THE RESTAURANT — 7:45 PM

A quiet corner. Dim amber light. Candles flickering between them.

They sit — and for a moment neither speaks. Just the quiet clink of glassware, soft music somewhere far off.

His thought: I spent years seeing you as David’s little sister. As Katie’s best friend. As one of the kids. And all this time… you were here. And I never looked close enough. The signs were always there — the way you listened, the way you cared, the way you saw me when no one else did. I just wouldn’t let myself see it.

He leans forward slightly, elbows resting lightly on the table, eyes never leaving hers — but he keeps it gentle, keeps it light.

JASON: “It’s good to see you… happy. In your element.”

ROSE: — smiles, soft, unsure —

“You sound surprised.”

JASON: — a small, real smile tugs at his mouth —

“Not surprised. Just… noticing. Things I should’ve noticed before.”

His hand rests lightly on the table, close to hers — not quite touching, but close enough that she feels the warmth of it.

JASON: “You’ve grown into quite the woman, Rose.”

The waiter comes — soft interruption — leaves menus. Neither picks them up.

THE WALK UP — GOODNIGHT

They walked from the lobby together, side by side, neither hurrying. The elevator doors slid shut, and suddenly it was just the two of them in the warm, quiet light.

No one spoke. The hum of the lift was the only sound. They stood close — close enough that their arms almost brushed. Rose could feel the warmth of him beside her, could smell his cologne — familiar, steady. Jason stared at the numbers ticking upward, but his mind wasn’t on the floors.

His thought: This was never hard before. Saying goodbye. Walking away. Why does it feel impossible now?

The elevator gave a soft ding, and the doors opened onto her floor. The hallway was quiet, warm lights glowing down the length of it. They walked slowly to her apartment — just a few doors down — and stopped right outside her door. Neither moved to unlock it. Neither turned to leave.

They stood there for a long moment, just looking at each other — the quiet hum of the building around them, everything else falling away.

JASON: — voice low, softer than before —

“Thank you, Rose. For tonight.”

He stepped a little closer — slow, like he was giving her time to step back if she wanted. She didn’t.

He leaned in, slow and gentle. His lips brushed her cheek — soft, warm, lingering just a heartbeat longer than a friend’s should. When he pulled back, he stayed close — close enough that she could see the flecks in his eyes, close enough that his breath fanned her skin.

JASON: — barely a whisper —

“Goodnight, Rose.”

Rose’s hand came up to touch her cheek where his lips had been, her heart hammering so hard she was sure he could hear it. “Goodnight… Jason.”

He stepped back then, slowly — like he was forcing himself to go. Walked a few steps toward the elevator, then paused and looked back — just for a second — before he kept walking.

Rose stood there until she heard the elevator doors click shut. Only then did she turn to her door, hand still pressed to her cheek, and let herself in.