Completely demoralized, her world collapsed at her feet, Bette had moved into a small Chicago apartment five months ago and had remained there until two days ago. Hale had sent her a check in the mail for five thousand dollars as if she was a whore whose services were no longer needed and therefore was to be paid and forgotten. She had wanted to send the money back to him, to refuse to allow him this one final slap at her pride, but she had no funds of her own, no means of support, and so she had swallowed what was left of her feelings and had cashed the check.

Living alone, seldom going out, she had plenty of time to think – and to repent. She realized that she had made a mistake in destroying the home she and David had made, in denying his love and that of their son Tony, that she had been a fool to think that Hale loved her so much as to want her with him for the rest of their lives. She knew that there had been other women, too, before the red haired actress – a long line of women that she had been blind to the existence of during their marriage; and she knew that the only reason Hale had kept her around as long as he had was that he had not found a suitable replacement among those women, not until the redhead came into his life. Oh God! What a terrible romantic, naive fool she had been! She had given up happiness for excitement and adventure, and now that there was no more excitement and adventure, what did she have? Nothing – no husband, no home, not even a son any more.

Finally, Bette had reached her decision. She had known that her only hope for salvation for even a glimmer of renewed happiness, lay in returning to Westridge. But could she go home? Did she dare face Tony again? And Ken? Yes, she dared – she had to dare. It was the only way.