A short time later, I arose and fixed myself breakfast. While eating, I debated what to do for the day and decided to pay another visit to the bookstore I'd gone to the previous day. Perhaps one of my new friends would be there, and I could explain what had happened the previous night.

I arrived to find the bookstore almost completely deserted. Disappointed, I turned to leave when the cashier called to me. "Excuse me, but are you Carrie Bradshaw?"

"Yes, I am!" I practically shouted. "I'm looking for the people I was supposed to meet up with last night. I wanted to apologize for not being able to make it to the party. At the last minute, my boyfriend needed me to do something with him, and I couldn't cancel out because I didn't have anyone's telephone number."

"Oh, I know who you mean!" the cashier exclaimed with a smile. "I remember overhearing the conversation you had with them yesterday. They come in here all the time. The next time I see them, I'll tell them what you said."

Feeling immensely better about the ruined party, I set out to see what further adventures I could find on my second day of roaming around Paris. I saw the little girl who'd hit me in the head and then stuck her tongue out at me the previous day riding on her father's shoulders again. I made a mean face at her, and she burst out crying.

I realized that now that I was no longer working, I had a tremendous amount of free time in the daytime. Surely seeing all the sights of Paris wouldn't take longer than two or three weeks at the most. What should I do after that? Look for a new job? Write a new book?

I turned a corner, and a park filled with running, laughing children came into view. I felt the familiar ache as I thought of Miranda and her son Brady, Charlotte and her new baby girl from China. I remembered Aleksandr telling me that he wouldn't change his mind about his vasectomy. Tears came to my eyes as I desperately tried to think of something else.

I had lunch in one of the fanciest diners in Paris. With Aleksandr, money was no object. After that, I went to an afternoon movie and then back to the apartment.

It was the second night of Aleksandr's exhibition, so he wasn't nearly as nervous as he'd been the first night. I'd resigned myself to a quiet night of French television and wine when my doorbell rang, and there stood the man and one of the women from the bookstore.

"I'm Gerard, and this is Aimee," the man told me. "The cashier at the bookstore told us that you came in and explained what happened with your boyfriend last night. Is he all right now?"

"Oh, yes! He's much better now," I replied. "He was just feeling really anxious because it was the first night of his exhibition. Won't you come in?"

It turned out they'd brought leftovers from the previous night's party, so we had a really nice time eating and drinking, talking and laughing. The party was just winding down when Aleksandr got home.

"Oh, you have company," he remarked.

"This is Gerard and Aimee," I told him. "They're a couple of the people I was supposed to meet at my party last night."

"How do you do," Aleksandr said in a voice completely devoid of enthusiasm. "I'm very tired, and I'm going to bed now. You may carry on."

Gerard and Aimee left shortly after that. Aleksandr was already snoring by the time I joined him in bed.

For several weeks, life went on in a similar manner. I explored Paris by day and socialized with my new friends in the evenings. Aleksandr's exhibition eventually ended, and he had more time to devote to me. He pampered and spoiled me just as he had when we'd been in New York. Many times we passed by the park with the running and laughing children, and every time we did, the yearning within me grew greater and greater, yet I knew that I dare not say a word about it to Aleksandr.

Then came the day I returned from an outing with my friends to find him sitting shaky and pale, all the color drained from his face.

"It's Chloe," he told me. "She's been in an accident. A terrible one."