The Perfect Woman

Walking down the corridor to my apartment, I shake my head. We didn’t even get along.

His nose is big, he’s not particularly tall, and he makes this strange squint when he’s thinking, as if his face disagrees with his own thoughts. There was no chemistry, no movie moment that made me want to twirl in the rain. Just another failed date.

I step into my cozy apartment, give my roommate a quick nod, brush my teeth, take my tablets—two, dissolved in water—and fall asleep.

Three days later, I catch myself staring at the phone, almost expectantly. Isn't it a rule that guys call three days after a date?

Four days later—still nothing. I clearly don’t care, just making an observation. After all, I’m an independent woman in charge of her own life. I certainly don’t need male validation to feel whole.

My life is perfect. A beautiful apartment with a valley view, an amazing job interacting with women from all walks of life, and enough savings to cover my expenses for the next decade. Plus, my roommate’s moving out today. I'll have the place to myself. By all accounts, I’m thriving.

But if I’m so great, why hasn’t he asked to see me again? We didn’t get along. That was the reality in my mind, not his. He laughed at my jokes. He asked about my life. We even shared the same love for true crime documentaries and conspiracy theories. From his perspective, I was the perfect woman.

I am the perfect woman.

Sure, I may have little personality wrinkles and small kinks here and there, who doesn’t?

As I lay in bed, swallowing my two tablets, the date replays in my mind, over and over. Just as I start to wonder if I did something to drive him away, I snap myself out of it. No. I’m adorable. I deserve to be adored. He will adore me.

This morning, I woke up with clarity. I’ve made a pinnacle decision. If he won’t come to me, then I will go to him. Sometimes men just need a little push to realize what they have. I am now ready to give him that push.

I get dressed and walk straight to the main desk.

"Good morning, Clara. Did you sleep well?" the woman behind the desk asks, smiling too brightly for my liking.

"No," I reply. "Call me a taxi."

She blinks. "A taxi?"

"Yes, I have somewhere very important to be."

"Clara, I heard you’ve been moved to a better room in the south hall. The view from there must be wonderful. You can see the valley, right?"

"I’m leaving today," I say, ignoring her. "I’m going to start a life with the man of my dreams."

Her face softens, like she’s talking to a child. "Was it the lawyer? The handsome one?"

"That’s none of your business. Just call the taxi."

She sighs, the kind of sigh that makes my skin tighten. "Clara, have you taken your tablets today?"

"Of course I’ve taken them. I take them every day. If you must know, I’ve been getting fresh air, reading, and meeting new friends. I’m in the best mindset I’ve ever been. I’m ready to leave."

Her hands hover over the keyboard. "That’s great, Clara, but you know that’s not possible."

"I am not staying here. I’m not like the others."

"Sweetie, you still have another eight years or so left. Let’s just keep that positive mindset and work on your behavior record, okay?"

I clench my fists. "I’m not a criminal. I shouldn’t be here."

She looks up with pity in her eyes. "Clara, you killed your husband."

Her words hang in the air like smoke. I turn on my heel and walk back toward the south hall. This conversation is going nowhere. I’m clearly the only sane one here.

Killed my husband? Ridiculous.

It’s not my fault he fell off the balcony. It’s not my fault I am a strong woman who takes initiative.

Sometimes men just need a little push to realize they’ve found the perfect woman.