“I'm your wife.” She was fighting for her life now, but she wasn't winning with him, she could see that too. “I don't want to just be your friend.”

“It's better than the alternative. One of these days, you're going to get involved with the wrong guy, maybe one of my friends, or someone I care about, and I'm going to get seriously pissed off at you and him. It won't be pretty between us after that.” He was also amazed that she hadn't caused some real scandals for him, but at least she'd been careful about that.

“I won't do that anymore.” She cried and blew her nose, it was humiliating to have him speak so openly of her indiscretions to her. It was embarrassing to hear that he had known about them all along, she had always told herself that he never knew. And she liked to tell herself that he was probably doing the same thing. But he was too serious for that, too loyal, and too deep, and she knew she should have realized it then. It was why he probably was in love with Isabelle. Because he was a profoundly decent man, and what he felt was far more dangerous. When he loved someone, it was the real thing. “I won't have any more affairs. I'll stop. I swear. I'm not involved with anyone now.” She had broken off her last liaison only four weeks before, after three months, with a man she'd met at their country club. He had a wife and three kids, and he drank too much. He'd been great in bed, in spite of it, but she was afraid he would talk about their affair when he was drunk. And she didn't want to risk the embarrassment he might cause.

“You'll do it again. We both know you will. And maybe you're right. We're both lonely as hell. We're a million miles apart, even when we're together. That's not what either of us wants, or what we deserve.” As he spoke to her, he thought of Isabelle again. He was haunted by worry about her in the daytime, and dreams, where he wandered aimlessly, looking for her, all night long.

“Are you going to marry her?” She ended the question on a sob, and he hated what he was saying to her, but it was time. He had realized it when he was with Isabelle, and in spite of the accident, he wanted to end it with Cynthia now. It was only going to get worse, and it wasn't fair to be dependent on her. She would come to hate him eventually. She wasn't the kind of woman who could spend years, and surely not the rest of her life, nursing a man. And if he wound up in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, that was the last thing he wanted to inflict on her. He had only one choice, he knew, and that was to get out and take care of himself.

“No, I'm not going to marry her. She won't leave Forrester, if she lives. He's a son of a bitch, and he's rotten to her. But she has a very sick child. I told you, this isn't about her. It's about us. You'll thank me for this one day, when you find the right guy. I never was. We had a hell of a good time at first, but we never wanted the same things. And I don't believe in all that ‘opposites attract’ crap anymore, not at our age. At this point in life, we both need people who want the same things we do. You've always wanted a very different life than I. I didn't think it mattered when we were kids, but I was wrong. You need some fun-loving, happy-go-lucky guy who wants to go to parties and has lots of time to spend with you. You don't need a maniac who's obsessed with his work and gone all the time, and worries more about who's going to be the next president than he does about his own kids.” He knew he would feel guilty forever for the time he had missed with the girls, no matter how close he felt to them now.

“You're a great father, Bill. You've always been wonderful to the girls. And they couldn't love you more.” She meant it too, both his daughters worshiped him, even if they were used to his not being around. They had a deep respect for all he did, and were proud of him.

“I wasn't around enough,” he said guiltily. “I know that now. I'll never be able to make it up to them. But I'm going to try one of these days. Maybe I'll slow down a little, for a while.” But it was almost too late. They were both in college, and had their own lives, and he knew that too. In many ways, he had already missed the boat, and those opportunities, once lost, would never come again. All he could do now was be there for them, to the degree they would allow him to be, as adults.

“What are you saying to me?” she asked, blowing her nose again. She looked panicked and distraught.

“I think we should get divorced. It's the only way we'll manage to preserve whatever we've got left. Cindy, I want to be your friend.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she said, and then smiled through her tears. “I never thought you'd walk out on us.” She couldn't believe this was happening to them, particularly now. All she had wanted three days ago was for him to live, and then for a flash of an instant, she could remember thinking that morning in Connecticut, when they first called her about the accident, that if he was going to be crippled for the rest of his life, he should die. She hadn't wanted that to happen to him, or to her, and now it had, and he was leaving her. And she couldn't help wondering if he was just depressed and reacting to the accident in some hysterical way. “Are you sure this is what you want? You've had a terrible shock. It's natural for you to … “

He cut her off before she could say the rest, and he looked calm as he spoke to her. “We should have done this years ago, Cyn. I just never had the balls.”

“Well, I'm sorry you do now. I've been falling in love with you again all week. And now you want out. I'll tell you one thing, Bill Robinson. Your timing stinks,” and then she started to cry harder again, and looked at him with heartbroken eyes. “Why didn't you stop me if you knew what I was doing for all those years? Why didn't you say something?” It was horrifying to realize that he'd known about her affairs. But they both knew it hadn't been his responsibility to stop her, it had been hers.

“I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to face it myself. I told myself a lot of stories at first, that it wasn't really happening. And then I just got used to it. I don't know, Cyn … maybe I didn't want to be that honest with myself. But now I have no choice. It's too late in the day for me to be anything else. I don't have the energy to tell myself a lot of fairy tales anymore. And maybe I'll never have anyone in my life again, after all this, but at least neither of us will be living a lie. That's got to be better. Don't you think?”

“No, I don't,” she said honestly. “I'd rather live a lie than lose you. And we don't have to live a lie. We could try to do it right this time, if you give me another chance.” As she said it, she looked like the girl he had married, and seeing that broke his heart. He almost did wish that he'd confronted her years ago, but he hadn't been ready to then, and it was over for him now.

“It's too late. For both of us. You just don't know it yet.”

“What am I going to tell people?” It hit her like a blow. The whole idea of his divorcing her was so humiliating, she wanted to run away and hide.

“Tell them you finally got smart, and kicked my ass out. You probably should have when I went nuts and started working a hundred-and-forty-hour week. We both did a lot of stupid things. This isn't just your fault.” As always he was being decent, and kind, and fair, which only made it hurt more. She knew what she was losing, and that she'd never find anyone like him again. Men like Bill were very rare.

“What'll I tell the girls?”

“That's another story. That's going to be hard. I think we should both think about it. They're old enough to understand, but they probably won't. No one likes change.”

“Neither do I,” she said in a choked voice. She didn't think about it, but it was going to be hardest for him. He had a long, tough road ahead of him, and he had chosen to face it alone. He had no illusions about his recovery, he knew there was an excellent chance he'd never walk again, and rehabilitation even to the degree he was capable of was going to be agonizing for him, particularly alone. But he also knew that Cynthia wouldn't have been able to tolerate it. Whatever nurturing abilities she'd once had had long since been spent on the girls. She would have gone crazy living with him if he was impaired in any way. Cynthia was not Isabelle. She could never have done, or lived, what Isabelle did for her son. And Bill was willing to face his new burdens alone.

Cynthia stood up and walked to the window then, she was staring into space, looking heartbroken, when the American ambassador walked in. He had heard about the accident, and read about it in the Tribune. He was devastated, and he looked somber and worried when he walked in. And when Cynthia turned, with red swollen eyes, he could see that she was devastated by it too. He had no idea what they'd been talking about, and it never occurred to him that he had walked into a domestic drama, as he hurried to the bed and took Bill's hand with a look of profound concern.

“My God, Robinson, what happened to you? I was supposed to see you last week.” He hadn't been able to believe the news when he heard, and he saw Cynthia and Bill exchange an odd look.

“I got in a fight with a bus moving at high speed. And the bus won. It was a damn fool thing to do,” Bill said with a smile, but he looked tired. The exchange with Cynthia had worn him out, and then he said to her, “Cyn, why don't you hang out with the girls for a while? It'll do you good to get out of here.” She nodded, unable to speak. She didn't want to cry in front of the ambassador, and she knew she would if she stayed. She didn't want to see her daughters either, she thought it would be better to go back to the hotel and cry for a while, on her own.

“I'll come back tonight,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes again as she kissed his cheek. “I love you,” she whispered, and then hurried out of the room, as the ambassador watched her go.

“Poor Cynthia, she's had a hell of a shock,” the ambassador sympathized. He'd known them for years. He was from New York, and had thought of running for the presidency once, and Bill had discouraged him. He'd never have won, but he was doing a great job at the embassy, and he was loving it. He'd already been there for three years, and Bill knew that the president was going to ask him to stay for another term.

“Are you doing all right?” he asked Bill with a worried frown.

“Better now.” In spite of the morning he'd just had. He hadn't been looking forward to talking to her, but he knew he'd done the right thing. He had been planning to do it when he got home. And he knew he couldn't let the accident change his mind. If anything, it had solidified his resolve. And he hadn't wanted to leave her any illusions about him, painful as that was.

“Do you need anything?” the ambassador asked as he sat down. His wife had told him not to stay long.

“Nothing much. New neck, new spine, a good solid pair of legs, the usual stuff.” Bill tried to make a joke of it, but his eyes looked sad, as the ambassador smiled. If nothing else, Bill Robinson was the consummate good sport, and a good man.

“What are they saying to you?”

“Not much. It's too soon to know. I figure if FDR could run the country from a sitting position, it shouldn't make too much difference to me.” But they both knew it did. His entire life had changed in the blink of an eye, not only his political life, but very probably his life as a man. The full implications of the accident were impossible to assess at this point, but aside from not being able to walk, he had no idea if he'd ever be able to make love to a woman again. He had been cognizant of that too when he told Cynthia he wanted a divorce. She would have been absolutely incapable of adjusting to that. But there were even more compelling reasons for them to get divorced, which was what had motivated him. His infirmities were just icing on the cake.

“Do you have any idea how long you'll be here?”

“Probably a long time,” Bill said, sounding depressed. He was very tired. The morning hadn't been easy for him either, and it saddened him deeply to be ending his marriage. He had not only lost his wife, and chosen to, but with the accident, he appeared to have lost Isabelle, his closest friend. When he thought about it, his horizon was looking pretty bleak. He had nothing to look forward to, except a very hard year ahead of him, trying to get healthy again. But at least he was alive.

“Well, you can count on us,” Ambassador Stevens said jovially. “Grace was going to come to visit you too, but she said she'd come another day. She didn't want to wear you out, and she was afraid I would. If you need anything, anything at all, I want you to call the embassy. Just have Cynthia call Grace. I assume she'll be staying with you.” The poor woman had looked distraught when she left. But facing the fact that he might be an invalid forever now, Jim Stevens thought, couldn't be easy for her. “I'll have Grace call her in a few days.” Bill didn't tell him that he was going to tell Cynthia to go back to Connecticut with the girls. He just smiled and let him talk. They were old friends, but he didn't want to share the news of the divorce with him. It was still too fresh. He didn't want to tell anyone till they told the girls, out of respect for them.