She felt a faint glimmer of hope as she started down the hallway toward her husband’s study.

As she approached the study she saw that the door was open slightly, and she could hear John’s voice speaking in a subdued tone. He’s probably on the phone, she thought, but when she reached the door she heard a second voice: It was Brad, their chief of staff. She stopped at the door and quietly listened.

“I only get one shot at this, you know.”

“I agree, John. Timing is everything.”

“My question is, will we be able to recover from this? Will there be time before the election?”

“The public has a short memory.”

“Not that short, Brad. Watergate, Iran-Contra, Monica Lewinsky— nobody has forgotten those.”

“They don’t need to forget—they just need to overlook it at the polls.”

“But will they? That’s the question we have to answer.”

“Your wife is a very beautiful woman, John. She’s intelligent; she’s accomplished. Women like her; they connect with her; men would like to connect with her too, if you’ll forgive the crass expression.”

“I quite understand. Victoria is no ordinary woman; she’s an ideal, you might say.”

“Exactly. A symbol to other women of what they might become; a symbol to men of what they wish they could have. Your wife has brought you publicity and recognition that you never would have received without her. Victoria smiles and the camera clicks, and all that goodwill rubs off on you.”

“But what if the ideal has become tarnished? That rubs off on me too.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

Victoria stepped closer and strained to hear. She heard her husband say in an even lower tone of voice, “What I want to know is, are Victoria and I still a winning ticket?”

“This is your wife we’re talking about. It’s a moot point, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily.”

“She’s not just a running mate, John. You can’t just replace her.”

There was a long pause. “No—not yet. But I could go on alone.”

Victoria stumbled back from the doorway; she felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. What did she just overhear? Is that all she was to her husband—one half of a “winning ticket”? And if he now calculated that she was more of a liability than an asset, was she about to be dropped from the ticket—or replaced by another “ideal” with a little less tarnish so that her husband might have a better chance four years from now?

She felt a series of different emotions washing over her like storm surges crashing ashore. She felt shock, then disbelief, then sorrow, then indignation—but it was anger that took the stage last, and it was anger that remained.

Who does that weasel think he is—and why in the world am I trying to protect him?