They Will Prove Evils

You call them goods, but if you do not take care, they will prove evils to some of you.

Rose watched through her window as the mailman left a packet of mail in her mailbox. She saw the bulging manila envelope in his hand that indicated that her new necklace had arrived. It was always much too awkward to go and get the mail directly from him, but she had been waiting for him for at least twenty minutes. She waited for him to drive away, and waited until he was four houses away to go and grab her mail.
She opened the door and ran to her mailbox. She brought the mail inside to her table. She briefly contemplated calling her husband John down to open it with her, but decided against it. She ripped open the envelope containing her new necklace, but found instead that the envelope contained a letter and a book.
Flummoxed, she contemplated what to open first. She decided to open the book. She opened it to a random page, page 94. She read an excerpt:

Rose could not believe her good fortune at getting a date with John. John was everything that she dreamed of having. The problem was, John was also what everyone dreamed of having. And everyone was smarter, prettier, more rich, and much less awkward than her. How was this even happening?
She couldn't find a single dress to wear. She didn't have very much, just some rather worn dresses not fit to wear to a date with an investment banker. Perhaps she should go buy one.

Rose’s jaw dropped. She remembered this exact moment. It had happened to her in the past. Just reading the passage, she could smell the perfume she had worn to their first date and the crême brulée they had shared that day. She could remember the excitement she had felt when she had found the perfect dress for that day. But how was this in a book?
She grabbed the letter and tore it open. She began to read it:

Dearest Rose,
I know that it is not customary for authors to send their story to the characters they made up, but I feel obliged to send you the book about you. It is selling quite well, so I feel like you have the right to know that it exists. Thank you for letting me create you. You have been quite a pleasure to write.
Sincerely,
Marvin Mofftiss

She was a character in a book? Her life was made up in some mysterious author's mind? Was this the reason for her improbable happy ending?
This premise was so unbelievable, but the book was real and she had surely never written it. She grabbed the book again, and began flipping through its pages. Surely enough, everything she saw written down was something she remembered. She decided to try something.
She opened the book to the part in the story where she was in a shop. She clearly remembered deciding against buying a certain charm bracelet. She had thought she hadn't had enough money, but just a day later, she found out that the price of her rent had been reduced. When she came back to buy the bracelet, it had been bought.
If she was actually a book character, maybe now she could buy the bracelet? Rose grabbed a pencil that was lying on the table. She began liberally crossing out sections of the scene, scribbling in what she wanted to happen instead.

Rose stared at the charm bracelet wistfully for several minutes. She wanted it so badly; it was so beautiful. Eventually, the beauty of the bracelet  won over her. She had enough money for it. Buying it would just mean a week or so where money was extremely tight. She called over the man selling the jewelry to where the bracelet was.
"I would like to buy this bracelet," she said.
"Wonderful choice, ma'am," he said. "That would be 114 dollars." Rose handed over her credit card. "Thank you," the seller said.
A few minutes later, she was walking out of the store, bag in hand. She paused at a nearby bench and put the bracelet on. At least for now, she did not regret her purchase.

Rose finished scribbling in the alternate story. Suddenly, there was a loud bang and a flash of light. Rose glanced at her right hand. She saw the bracelet, just as pretty as it had been the day she had wanted it so badly. 

"Are you okay down there?" yelled John from the second floor.

"Yep!" Rose projected. "Just dropped something!". For some reason, she didn't really want to tell John about the book. Rose bought so much jewelry these days that he would never notice a new charm bracelet.
If she could change the past with just a few scribbles of a pencil, what else could she change? Could she go back and fix all her mistakes and regrets?
Rose turned a chunk of pages.

Rose’s shoes were beginning to get very worn. They were once quite nice, but she had been wearing them every day to work for several months. The leather was beginning to rip from the rubber soles, and the heel was almost completely worn. It was time to buy herself some new shoes, but she had put it off for weeks. It just wasn’t worth the worrying. Plus, they were very comfortable. She hadn’t tripped once since she had gotten them. For an extraordinarily clumsy person like her, this was a very significant achievement.

Rose could change this part. She could buy herself new shoes. She took a piece of paper and began writing on it.

As she was walking to the bus stop, she passed by a shoe store. She went in and bought herself a pair of pretty, comfortable heels. Then, she went to go catch the bus.

Rose took the piece of paper and pasted it into the book. She waited a moment, wondering if anything would change. Her question was answered with a loud bang and flash. She felt the ground beneath her shake, and she held on to the book for dear life.
When the smoke cleared, she was in her old tiny apartment. It looked just like it had always had. Frantically, she flipped through the pages of the book she was still holding, wondering what had gone wrong. On page 72, she found it.

Rose ran to the bus stop to not miss the bus, but tripped on the way there, because she was wearing her new heels. When she got to the bus stop, she saw the bus already pulling away. She would have to wait for the next one.
“Hey,” said a man who also clearly had just missed the bus.
“Hi,” said Rose. “Missed the bus?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “The name’s Mike.”
“Rose,” she said.
“Nice to meet you.” he replied.

Rose stopped reading. This had never happened.
It then came to her. She had met John on that bus. She flipped to the ending.

Rose was now married to Mike, a mechanic. They loved each other, but more out of necessity than anything else. Her life really hadn’t changed much.

Married to Mike?
She frantically grabbed an eraser and tried to erase the edits she had made, but the edits may as well have been carved in stone. The pencil had turned into pen, and the tape she had used to paste in the excerpt had turned to superglue.
She was stuck. The doorbell buzzed. She opened the door. It a man she assumed to be Mike.
“Hey Rose,” Mike said. “I’m home.”