A/N: I started working on this story a very long time ago and abandoned it for a while at the end of TWW. But I could never put it out of my mind and would steal moments to work on it even though I never thought I'd publish it. I finally decided that I had to finish it. It's a story of betrayal and love, and if you think, 'No way Josh would ever do that!' you're not alone. Fear not and keep reading. I love happy endings.

Summary: Donna Moss had everything she'd always dreamed of: a husband she adored and two beautiful, healthy children. She and Josh hadn't planned on starting a family immediately, but when she learned she was pregnant with Peter she was overjoyed despite having to give up her career. And she never regretted the direction her life had taken; she was born to the role of wife and mother, and she loved it--until an anonymous call shattered the very foundation her life was built on.

If someone had told Josh that he would someday betray Donna in the worst way a husband could betray his wife, he would have said 'impossible'. Yet it appeared he'd done just that, and as he struggled to make sense of it, he faced the fight of his life: hanging on to the woman he loved more than life itself.

Genre: Drama/Angst/Romance

Spoilers: None. Set six years into the Santos administration.

PART ONE

A high-pitched wail cut through the Lyman's Foxhall Village townhouse early Saturday morning. In the kitchen, Donna winced. "The neighbors heard that," she muttered, shaking her hands free of suds. She quickly dried them on a tea towel before marching out to the breakfast nook to console her three-year-old daughter whose older brother had been testing Donna's patience lately.

Glaring at her son, she lifted a crying Sarah out of her booster seat. "Shush, honey," she cooed as she gently brushed her fingers down her daughter's pale, watery cheeks. "It's okay."

Holding on tightly to her mother's neck with one arm, Sarah pointed at her brother and lisped between hiccups, "S-tole Mis-ty!"

Donna sighed, and then between clenched teeth, said, "Peter Lyman. Give!"

Defiantly, Peter pulled Misty from behind his little pajama-clad bottom and flung her across the table. "It's just a stupid doll."

Donna glared. "Are you trying to get out of going to the park today?"

Peter slid off his chair and returned her glare. "I don't want to go to the stupid park!"

"That's not what you told daddy last night."

"Daddy's not home," he said testily, "he's never home!" His chin started to quiver, and his dark brown eyes clouded with more emotion than he'd ever displayed in his young years. But Peter only pressed his lips together tightly. Her little Josh, as Donna often thought of him, with his mop of unruly russet curls and deep dimples, would not cry, and for that, her heart broke.

"Honey, he'll be home soon," she reassured him in a gentler voice. In good conscience she knew she couldn't make that promise. Josh had learned never to promise his family anything ever since accepting the Chief of Staff position in the Santos White House. He always qualified their plans with, 'If Daddy can be home.' For Peter's sake, Donna prayed that today he would be.

But Peter had stopped believing in fairytales, and so he shouted, "You're lying. You're a liar and so is Daddy. I hate you!" And he ran up the stairs to his room.

A knot formed in Donna's throat as she watched his little feet take each step with determination. Sarah, fortunately, was mostly oblivious to what was going on in their lives. As long as she had her trusted Misty, she seemed happy enough. But soon, she too would start to notice that her father wasn't like other fathers, and it wouldn't matter that he was an important man, doing important things. She would only know that he wasn't there.

Where are you, Josh?

He usually called when he was going to crash at the office, but last night he hadn't. He had called just after dinner, as he always did, and briefly spoken to the kids, then told her that he would see her later. Lately, their time together consisted of an hour over breakfast when he talked to the kids, teased them, and made them laugh, always with one eye on the morning paper. But they didn't seem to notice that they only had half his attention. Donna did. She would watch them silently and wait for her husband's absent-minded goodbye kiss before he left for work again. Donna sometimes thought it fortunate that they'd decided not to have another child; with his schedule, especially these past few weeks, she'd have to rely on Immaculate Conception for a third.

But this was the weekend, and unless he was away on a foreign trip, which was rather rare, Josh should be home. Granted he spent most of the weekend working in his study, but he never turned Peter and Sarah away when they sought his attention, and Donna didn't disturb him unless absolutely necessary. She was determined to give him the time and space he needed to fulfill the demands of his job. The decision to continue as Chief of Staff for President Santos's second term was not made alone, or lightly. They'd both been aware of the sacrifices they'd have to continue to make, but agreed that it was important and that they could survive another four years of the daily demands of the job.

And Donna wasn't about to renege on her end of the bargain. She simply refused to be that wife.

"Daddy'll be home soon," she promised her daughter with renewed confidence. Sarah gave her a toothy grin that made her smile.

She was crazy about her children—and Josh. She loved her beautiful home. Josh had given her everything she'd always wanted. So the fact that she missed him fiercely would remain her little secret. She wouldn't guilt him. And somehow, she vowed now, she would help Peter understand that he had a very important dad who had a country to run, and that was why he couldn't be like other fathers.

She lowered Sarah to her booster seat and fluffed her pale, silky tresses. "Finish your breakfast, honey." Her daughter dipped two delicate fingers into her cereal bowl and Donna was about to force a spoon on her when the phone rang.

She ran to the kitchen to pick up the cordless.

"Hello?" she answered, breathlessly.

"Is this Donna?" asked a woman with a pronounced South American accent.

"Yes," she answered, disappointed it wasn't Josh.

"Do you know where your husband spent the night?"

"Huh? Who is this?"

"A friend," the woman said. "You must open your eyes, Donna."

Donna's heart lurched. "Who is this?"

"It does not matter. Ask your powerful husband who he spent the night with."

Click. Dial tone.

Donna's heart began to race. This was…strange. She sank against the counter, staring in disbelief at the phone. It had to be a mistake, a wrong number. 'Donna' was a common name. This could have been one of those weird coincidences, like the time, a few years ago, she got a call from a woman who sounded so much like her high-school friend, Jenny, they'd chatted a few minutes before realizing the woman had misdialed, and she was not the Donna she'd been trying to reach.

But as her heart tried to rationalize what had just happened, logic was turning her insides into a quivering mess. What were the odds that another Donna with a phone number so similar to theirs it could easily have been misdialed, was also married to a powerful man who hadn't come home last night?

Donna pressed a hand against her mouth as a violent rush of bile rose to her throat. There had to be another explanation. A prank. She shook her head. It didn't sound like a prank. Who would do that anyway? The more likely scenario was that it was a deliberate attempt to hurt Josh by shaking her trust in him. Someone who wanted his attention diverted from government business. That could be it.

Couldn't it?

Donna inhaled deeply, breaths to steady her so she could cast her doubts aside. She wasn't about to lose faith in her husband on the strength of an anonymous call. Josh would be home soon. She would tell him about the call and together they'd come up with a plausible explanation. Then they'd take the kids to the park as planned, have a nice dinner, and later when they went to bed, he would reach for her and make love to her the way he used to before this latest government crisis that he couldn't discuss with her had started keeping him away from home.

By tonight, they'd be laughing about this, she told herself. Her marriage, her trust in her husband would be intact—as they should be.

And I still believe in fairytales.

The sound of a key sliding into the front door lock just then had Donna guiltily scrambling to return the headset to its cradle, but her hand was shaking so violently that she missed and it fell to the floor in a loud clatter. Swearing under her breath, she rapidly picked it up and shoved it to the back of the counter behind the cereal box, then grabbed the dishcloth and began scouring an already gleaming stainless steel toaster.

It was silly to feel guilty. What sensible woman wouldn't know a moment of doubt after being told her husband was cheating on her? It was a natural reaction. And if there was any truth to this—and it was highly unlikely; she knew Josh as well as if she'd knitted him and he simply wasn't the type of man who'd cheat on his wife—she'd know immediately. She wouldn't even have to ask. If there was any truth to this, he wouldn't be able to hide it from her.

Of that, she was sure.

So, it was with sharpened senses that Donna listened from the kitchen as her daughter yelled, "Daddy!" And she knew the moment Josh lifted her into his arms to hug her.

"How's my little princess?"

Sarah giggled. She loved it when Josh called her Princess. And then the giggling stopped to be replaced with a whine. "Daddy, you're squishing me too hard."

"Oh. Sorry, honey. Here you go," he said as he lowered her into her seat. "Where's your brother?"

"In his woom."

"Is he being punished?" Sarah whispered something that Donna didn't catch, but it didn't matter for she caught the gist of it when Josh next spoke. "Why does he hate mommy?"

"Mommy's not a liar. It's not nice to lie," she answered in a non sequitur befitting a three-year-old.

"No, it's not. And mommy's not a liar. Finish your breakfast, sweetheart."

Josh entered the kitchen with a husky, "Hi," and a look that fell somewhere over Donna's left shoulder. "Problems with Peter?" he asked as he carefully bypassed her to get to the coffee pot.

She didn't answer, instead watched him as he retrieved a mug from the cupboard and filled it with coffee. He was still wearing yesterday's suit and it looked as worn and tired as he did. His white shirt was opened at the collar and severely wrinkled; he wasn't wearing his tie. But none of that was unusual.

The aberration was that he hadn't kissed her.

As if sensing her scrutiny, Josh glanced at her over the rim of his cup. Their eyes met and held for an awkward moment before he sharply looked away, and something deep into Donna's heart shifted.

She knew. In that moment, she knew.

Blindly, she turned away and started loading the dishwasher. "Go talk to Peter." Donna sensed his hesitation, but resolutely would not look at him. If she did, she feared, she would hit him, or do something else equally juvenile and beneath her. It seemed an interminable time before he left her alone, though it was but a moment, and when the kitchen door swung closed on its well-greased hinges, she collapsed against the counter.

And fought for her next breath.

Minutes passed, the wall clock ticking away the seconds. At the breakfast table, Sarah chatted happily to Misty. The fifth tread of the hardwood staircase creaked under Josh foot. A door opened upstairs and tiny feet shuffled on the floorboards in the hallway. The sounds of her home, each one familiar and well loved, now white noise blending with the incessant pounding of blood in her ears.

It was Sarah clamoring for attention that finally drew her out of her daze. With extraordinary effort, Donna made herself move. There were dishes to clear, a dishwasher to finish loading, children to dress, and her daughter was finished with breakfast and wanted down from her chair. She launched into her morning routine, tidied the breakfast nook and kitchen, and then carried Sarah upstairs.

Walking past their bedroom, she heard the splash of water from the shower in the ensuite bathroom, and her stomach churned at the unwelcome image of Josh scrubbing the scent of another woman from his skin. She sucked a breath deep into her lungs, releasing it slowly, willing the nausea to subside, but there was nothing to soothe the dull ache that had already settled on her heart, making breathing painful.

The pain Josh had unwittingly inflicted on her years ago during the Amy era was nothing compared to how she felt now. This kind of hurt was new, harsher, and something told her she'd better get used to it because it wasn't about to go away.

And she really didn't want Amy Gardner in her head right now, she told herself, her nerves on edge, but despite herself, she couldn't help that nagging suspicion from surfacing. She wondered if it had been just under her level of consciousness ever since President Santos had hired her. She hadn't expected Josh to agree with President Santos about Amy, and when he did, Donna kept her misgivings to herself.

She didn't tell Josh that she wasn't thrilled with the amount of time he'd be spending with his ex-girlfriend—especially this ex-girlfriend, a woman who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. And what she wanted most was a challenge. It was all about winning for Amy, and she had lost Josh to Donna. Amy wasn't the sort of woman even a trusting housewife should turn her back on.

Still, Donna kept her uneasiness over the amount of time he was spending with Amy to herself. In the grander scheme of Josh's life, her insecurities seemed insignificant. So she buried them and tried not to obsess about Amy.

Easier said than done this morning.

Sarah placed a soothing palm on Donna's cheek. "Are you cold, mommy?"

"No honey, I'm not cold." It's shock, she told herself. Her husband had just spent the night with—

She couldn't go there. This could still be a big misunderstanding. Josh would never… Not the Josh she knew. And then she wondered how many other women had thought their husbands incapable of deception only to find themselves in divorce court.

Donna was beyond cold. The blood in her veins was turning to ice.

"You're shaking, mommy."

In a fog, Donna entered Sarah's creamy buttercup room and lowered her to the floor. "I'm fine, honey. Are you going to help me make your bed?"

Sarah grabbed Donna's right hand with both of hers and started pulling her towards the small wooden table underneath the window. "Sun," she said. "The sun is warm."

With its white furniture and fabrics and periwinkle accents, it was a cheerful room, even on a rainy day. But not even the sun pouring into the east-facing window this morning would lift the dark cloud over her. Still, for her daughter's sake, Donna managed a reassuring smile.

"Tell you what," she said, dropping down to kiss Sarah's rosebud lips, "you sit in the sun while I make your bed, and then we'll decide what you're going to wear to the park today."

"Princess outfit," Sarah shouted joyously as she scrambled up onto the small wooden chair.

Donna sighed and started making the bed, glancing at Sarah over her shoulder. "What did I tell you about the princess outfit?"

"It's for Halloween?"

"That's right. And is today Halloween?"

She puckered her lips and tapped them with the tip of an index finger, giving the matter serious consideration…or Donna suspected, buying time. She wondered not for the first time where her daughter had picked up the habit.

"Halloween's not until I go back to school," Peter announced softly from the doorway.

Donna looked up at him as she finished stuffing the pillow in the lacy pillow sham. "That's right, Peter. Not until October." She fluffed the pillow and dropped it on the bed, then took in the tortured look on her son's face. He was already dressed in navy blue shorts and a striped blue and yellow T-shirt. His little hands were jammed into his pockets; his gaze hugged the floor. It still astounded her how much like his father he was, in looks, in mannerism, even in personality.

Donna approached him. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"I don't hate you," he said in a small voice. His shame wouldn't let him look at her.

She crouched in front of him and hugged him. "I know you don't."

"Daddy said I have to apologize."

Donna pulled back and smiled at him. Then, ruffling his hair, said, "Apology accepted."

He smiled back, and just like that all was forgotten. "Can I go outside to play?"

"Is your bed made?"

He nodded.

"Really?" He was still young to make his own bed, and he didn't do a very good job of it, but Donna firmly believed that giving children chores as soon as they could handle them was key to raising mature, responsible adults.

"Uh-huh."

"Okay. Go, but remember—" Peter was already at the top of the stairs. "—Peter…"

"Yeah…don't play in the street," he finished for her as he rushed down the stairs.

Meanwhile, Sarah had occupied herself with her favorite pastime. Coloring. Outside the lines. Still, she was the artist in the family, and when she was especially proud of a picture, she would insist on displaying it somewhere. There were several hanging from magnets on the refrigerator, and an almost entire wall in her room covered with them. And, of course, she loved her fan base's oohing and aahing over her work.

Sarah didn't object to being dressed in pink Capri pants and a matching Tee, her request to wear her princess costume forgotten. Donna longed for the attention span of her children as she left Sarah to her art and made her way to her room. She'd heard Josh go downstairs a few minutes earlier, and expected he would already be in his study.

If the weight on her chest hadn't been reminder enough of the doom that had fallen on her house this morning, half an unmade bed and the lingering steam from Josh's shower would have.

With a sigh, she picked up the clothes he'd discarded—some on the floor, some on the chair—and made the bed. If Rachel had given Josh chores when he was a child, his wife wouldn't have to pick up after him she'd once told him when he questioned her about giving Peter household chores. Josh believed childhood should be about playing, not working. Donna had scoffed and ignored the comment. Josh hadn't brought it up again. Raising the kids was one job he seemed more than willing to let her handle.

The bathroom was still steamed from Josh's shower. After hanging up the towel he'd discarded on the floor, Donna wiped the mirror with her sleeve, then looked up and paused at her reflection. The blue terrycloth robe she was wearing had faded and thinned with wear. There was a coffee stain on the chest fold, too miniscule to notice unless you were looking for it, but she knew it was there. Josh probably noticed it too. Her long blonde hair had lost its luster around Sarah's birth three years ago. Her skin was far too pale, even for her, and when she opened her robe, all she saw was the puckered skin around her navel and the white stretch marks crisscrossing her lower abdomen.

Who'd want to come home to this?

Her throat clogged and burned, and she swallowed. And then she started her shower. But even as the hot water began to warm her skin, she was still shivering inside. There wasn't a spray strong enough, or hot enough, to thaw the ice burning in her veins. She reached for the soap; her hand was shaking. She turned her face up to the spray and it stung her skin, and for a moment, she endured it.

Nothing will ever be the same again, she thought. And she began the painful process of grieving a life that had been perfect for a while.

DONNA TUCKED THE hems of her cream, sleeveless cotton-knit top into the waistband of her brown jeans, and slipped a wide, western belt through the loops. Although the day would get much warmer, she opted to leave her hair down. Josh had once had a thing for her hair, a fascination she'd never really understood, but this morning, she washed it and gave it a thorough conditioning, then brushed it to a fluffy shine. The next twenty minutes, she spent on her make-up, something she never did anymore unless she was going out somewhere special, which was almost never. The final touch was a sexy red coat of polish on her toenails and a clear-coat on her fingernails. What she really needed was a professional manicure and pedicure; she made a mental note to make an appointment later.

Taking one last study in the tall wall mirror, she decided she looked pretty good for a thirty-something mother of two. She was no longer ramrod thin, but there wasn't an ounce of excess fat on her either. Since her pregnancies, her body had gone from angular to curvaceous—not a bad thing—and though she was critical of the discolored skin on her abdomen and her sagging breasts, when covered with flattering clothes and her breasts propped-up in her favorite bra, she liked her body.

Donna hadn't spent this much time grooming since…well, since the second Inauguration, the last formal evening she and Josh had attended together.

This morning, she needed confidence, and satisfied that she looked like a woman a man would want—half-way through her make-up, she realized that was why she was making the effort, and then convinced herself that if she were going to the guillotine she wanted to look her best—she grabbed her sandals from the closet and carried them downstairs, leaving them by the front entry before making a stealthy, barefoot approach toward Josh's study.

For a long moment, Donna observed him from the doorway. His head was flung back to the headrest of his soft leather chair; his eyes were closed. The room was bathed in gloom—he hadn't bothered opening the blinds. But what struck her was how tired he looked, and for a fleeting moment, her heart went out to him.

"Are you okay?"

His eyes flinched open and landed on her, unguarded, and for a moment, he couldn't hide the tortured look on his face.

"Fine," he responded abruptly, sitting up straight as he blindly reached for a blue White House folder on his desk.

Donna advanced into the room, worry and compassion overriding her earlier doubts and fears. Perhaps she'd been wrong to doubt him. He didn't look like a man who'd spent a relaxing night in bed with another woman. He looked like he'd been raked over the coals. "You look exhausted," she spoke gently. "Are you sure you're—"

"What the hell's wrong with you?"

Donna flinched. "W-what?"

"I didn't come home last night, Donna," he said as he shoved himself to his feet and crossed the room to yank open the blinds. "Has that escaped your notice?" He stopped in front of her, his hands on his hips, staring at her angrily. "You used to be sharper than this," he muttered as he swiveled back to his desk and sat down. He shuffled papers in the folder, his manner dismissive.

Donna didn't know what stunned her more: that he was mad at her or that he was condemning her for being kind to him. She was standing there, looking better than she had in months, and not only had he not noticed, he was treating her like a moron.

White-hot anger flared and burned in her chest as the last vestige of hope that her husband was innocent of any wrongdoing faded. "How dare you," she said, her teeth clenched. His eyes flickered up, his expression guarded. "How dare you," she repeated, brokenly.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, running a hand down his face. His voice had dwindled to a whispering sadness. "I shouldn't be taking this out on you when I'm the one—" He stopped himself, his eyes darting away.

"You're the one… What, Josh?"

"I…uh, I'm sorry I didn't call last night. You know how it is."

Donna folded her arms across her chest and gave him an indignant look. "No, I don't. Why don't you explain it to your stupid, little wife?"

"Donna, don't. I didn't mean that and you know it."

"I'll tell you what I know, Josh." She braced her hands on his desk and pinned him with a glare. "I know that you're rarely home anymore. I know that you didn't come home at all last night, and I know there's at least one person in Washington who wanted to make sure I also knew that you didn't pass out in your office."

His chin snapped up, and his eyes widened in alarm. "What are you talking about?"

"Where were you last night, Josh?"

He stared at her, slack-jawed, and for a moment he didn't respond. Then, when Donna figured his skin couldn't get paler, his gaze shifted and he released a long, defeated breath. "Did Amy call you?"

Donna straightened to her full height as overwhelming hurt drained her body of strength and heat as soon as that name left his lips. She began to shake, uncontrollably, and her eyes burned with unshed tears. "So th-that's who you were with?"

Josh was on his feet, rounding the desk. He reached for her but she swiftly moved back, avoiding his touch. "Honey…it didn't mean anything. It just…happened." He frowned then, as though confused himself by the turn of events. "I'm sorry. I swear it won't happen again. It meant nothing, Donna."

He reached for her again and it was all she could do not to slap him. Instead she took another step back and squared her shoulders. The cold was slowly seeping out of her body to be replaced by white hot heat. Anger was finally settling in. When she spoke, her voice was so hard and spiteful, she barely recognized it.

"Your children expect you to take them to the park today. Peter is angry because you're never home. Sarah's too young to understand, but she misses you. Don't disappoint them again." With that she turned and headed for the door.

"Aren't you coming with us?"

Turning back swiftly, Donna glared at him. "I can barely stand to look at you. The kids don't need to see that," she spat as she left, slamming the door behind her.

TBC