I feel so trapped here, so alone. Franklin refuses a divorce for his politics, and I can't help but feel completely alienated from him, so far away, with him always in that library and me alone in this huge home. And Sara…it's hard to think of Sara sometimes. She has everything under control here, and I feel I have no purposes anymore. The home is run well, the children are growing and are being taken care of. Where do I come in? Franklin is too far away to even talk to me anymore. Why am I here?

I find it relaxing sometimes to take a walk along the western side of the house, toward the valley that leads to the Hudson. The view calms me, sedates me. Especially when it's about to rain, and the ground is covered with mist and the sky is gray and there's not a sound. I pull my skirts up to my knees and I walk as the dew tickles my ankles. It's the only place I feel truly at home, with the view. Sometimes I think that nature is my home, the only nurturing thing I have left.

Franklin does walk alongside me sometimes, always a few feet away. We're so strained now and it hurts me so much. To think of how I used to love and trust him. What has he done for me but cause me suffering? I could never hate Franklin, though, as much as I think I should; he is still too dear to me. But it's hard: some days I think of all that he has accomplished and I am so proud of him. And I remember the Franklin I fell in love with.

And sometimes I remember how he ripped away my heart, my trust for him--for I know I can never  trust him again. I just cannot understand. Was I not pleasing enough for him? I gave him five beautiful children and what I thought was an enjoyable marriage--what was I lacking, I wonder? Could I have prevented that affair somehow?

But I try to push those thoughts away: they are too taxing, too painful and confusing to entertain. I have to let them go.

I have so much free time now--too much of it. My hands are idle, strolling around this property alone. I have to do something now--I feel so empty. But what can I do, the wife of a hopeful politician with not much connection to the outside world?

I start to think about my uncle at times like this, how he had not let his illness as a child stop him from living the life he wanted. Looking at him now one would hardly believe that he had ever been less than healthy. What about me? I am in a similar position: I have no help, no strength to do what I want. But I could make it, build it up with time. I could do something.

Somehow.