Chapter 3: The Senator Plays Victim

I collapsed. Of course I was faking it.

The oldest trick in the Senate is playing powerless. Men love to help a damsel in distress—they let their guard down, spill secrets. Tomorrow’s headlines would paint me as the betrayed wife, the one who’d been forced to her knees by a scheming husband. Self-defense, politically speaking.

The scent of antiseptic and lilies filled my bedroom. My phone buzzed with texts from half the Cabinet. The president’s chief of staff called within the hour. "I can handle it," I told him. He just said, "You always do, Eleanor."

That night, aspirin in hand, I lay in my own Georgetown bed, alone for the first time in decades. No Robert shuffling in slippers, no familiar creaks—just distant sirens and the occasional helicopter over M Street.

A shadow puppet show flickered across the privacy screen—Robert’s old trick for making me laugh after a rough day. The male voice squeaked, "Oh no, oh no, I made Eleanor angry!" The female replied, "Hmph, I’m never speaking to you again." He pleaded, "I’ll jump in the Potomac! I’ll leap from Key Bridge! Eleanor, what must I do for you to forgive me?" She demanded three somersaults. He obliged, grunting and hamming it up—"my poor back," "my leg is broken," "where’s my chiropractor?"

For a moment, laughter threatened to escape, but I bit it back, jaw tight. Martha watched from the bedside, lips pressed together, disapproving but silent. My young assistant giggled and then clapped a hand over her mouth.

Twenty years ago, this would’ve charmed me. Now it felt like a routine he’d performed for someone else—maybe for Linda, in some suburban love nest. My stomach twisted.

"Come in," I called, voice flat.

Robert appeared, tie loose, jacket gone, trying for vulnerability. He sat on the bed, the mattress dipping, and grabbed my hand—his palm was clammy. His eyes were red. "Ellie, I never meant to hide it from you. I was scared you’d be hurt. Every year I thought, 'This is the year I’ll tell her,' but then… another year went by."

I looked at him—still handsome, still that silver fox my friends envied. What a waste, I thought. What a goddamn waste.

I slid my hand from his, giving him a mocking smile. "You weren’t afraid of hurting me when you schemed on my birthday. In front of the Deputy Secretary? Judge Walsh’s daughter? Half of Washington?"

He hesitated, mask slipping. Then he sighed, running his hand through silver hair. "Come on, Ellie. You’re bigger than this. It’s not the end of the world. We’re old now—grandparents. Linda can’t compete with you. She’s nothing. She just wants Mia recognized. Let it go. Think of your legacy."

I closed my eyes, every one of my sixty years pressing down. "Forty years. Forty years you could have told me. Over coffee, on anniversaries, every time we renewed our vows. But you wanted it all—the first wife, the senator’s sister, the power, the invitations. Robert Hastings, you truly disgust me."

His jaw tightened. The mask was off.

He’d been humble, even kneeling in front of everyone. He thought that was enough. He couldn’t stand my refusal to forgive him. Decades of being flattered, always the big shot—he couldn’t take it.

He sprang up, the bed creaking. "Eleanor, get this straight. Linda is the first wife, you’re the second. By law—and I know the law—you should defer to her. She’s not asking for your money or your house. Don’t be ungrateful! I could’ve sent lawyers, but I’m being civilized!"

I let my voice go full Senate committee: "Security! Mr. Hastings has shown disrespect. Get him out!"

Martha, always the quiet one, marched up and smacked him across the face with her flat. The sound rang out like a gavel in an empty courtroom.

Robert clutched his cheek, stunned. "How dare you! I’ll have you arrested!"

I allowed myself a smile. "Well done, Martha. You’ll get a bonus. Maybe a vacation. Ever been to Martha’s Vineyard?"

Robert glared, but the power was gone from his eyes. He stormed out, slamming the front door. Good riddance.

Martha flexed her wrist, a hint of regret in her voice. "If this were my younger days, I’d have knocked out all his teeth. My aim’s not what it used to be."