In the glittering world of morning television, where scandals simmer just beneath the surface of polished smiles, few stories have lingered in the public imagination quite like the unraveling of Gayle King’s marriage to William Bumpus. For over three decades, the tale of their 1982 union and its bitter 1993 end has been whispered about in Hollywood circles and dissected in tabloids. Gayle, the unflappable co-host of CBS Mornings and Oprah Winfrey’s ride-or-die confidante, has long portrayed herself as the phoenix rising from the ashes of betrayal. But now, in a bombshell exclusive interview that’s set social media ablaze, her ex-husband William Bumpus has shattered the silence with a raw, unfiltered confession. “It wasn’t just a mistake,” he tells us, his voice cracking over a crackling phone line from his quiet Connecticut home. “It was the cowardice of a man who couldn’t face his own emptiness.” What follows is the untold truth behind one of TV’s most enduring divorces—a story of ambition, isolation, and a single night that changed everything.
William Bumpus, now 72, cuts a far cry from the suave attorney who once swept a young Gayle King off her feet. Born in the UK and raised in the US, Bumpus traded a brief stint as a police officer for the high-stakes arena of law, eventually rising to become Connecticut’s Assistant Attorney General. With a net worth estimated at over $20 million from four decades in legal practice, he’s the picture of quiet success: silver hair neatly combed, a wardrobe of understated suits, and a LinkedIn profile that reads like a legal thriller. But beneath that veneer lies a man haunted by regret, one who’s spent years in therapy and self-reflection. “I’ve been silent too long,” he admits. “Gayle deserved the full story years ago. Our kids deserve it now. And frankly, America deserves it too.”
Their romance began like a scene from a rom-com: whirlwind, passionate, improbable. It was 1981, and 27-year-old Gayle—fresh-faced and ambitious, already making waves in local journalism—was interviewing Bumpus for a story on rising legal stars. Sparks flew over coffee in a Hartford diner, where Bumpus, then 28, regaled her with tales of courtroom battles and his dreams of reforming the justice system. “She was electric,” he recalls, a fond smile evident even through the phone. “Smart, funny, with this laugh that could light up a room. I knew right then I had to marry her.” They tied the knot just a year later, in a intimate ceremony that should have been the stuff of dreams. But as Oprah Winfrey later confessed in a 2006 O, The Oprah Magazine interview, even the media mogul sensed trouble brewing. “I felt sad at the wedding,” Oprah admitted. “Mostly because I just didn’t think it was going to work out.”
Oprah’s intuition wasn’t far off. The early years were a blur of bliss and building blocks. Gayle juggled her burgeoning career—landing gigs at WDIV in Detroit and later Baltimore—while Bumpus climbed the legal ladder. In May 1986, their daughter Kirby arrived, a bundle of joy with her mother’s bright eyes. A year later, in April 1987, son William Bumpus Jr. followed, completing what seemed like the perfect family portrait. The Bumpuses settled into a spacious home in Hartford, hosting barbecues and holiday gatherings that blended Gayle’s media flair with Bumpus’s buttoned-up charm. “We were the golden couple,” Bumpus says. “Picnics in the park, family vacations to the Cape. Gayle would read bedtime stories with these dramatic voices that had the kids in stitches.”
Yet, cracks formed quietly. Gayle’s star was ascending faster than her husband’s. By the late ’80s, she was rubbing elbows with network executives, her name whispered in Oprah’s inner circle. Bumpus, meanwhile, felt the weight of his role as the family’s steadfast provider. “I was proud of her—God, so proud—but it gnawed at me,” he confesses. “Late nights at the office turned into doubts. Was I enough? The job was demanding, but the real pressure was internal. I started pulling away, burying myself in work to avoid the conversations we needed.” Friends later speculated that Bumpus’s ego bruised under Gayle’s glow, but he pushes back. “It wasn’t jealousy. It was fear. Fear of not measuring up in a marriage where one partner is touching the stratosphere.”
The powder keg ignited on June 24, 1990, at precisely 9:16 p.m.—a timestamp etched into Gayle’s memory like a scar. She’d returned early from a reporting trip in New York, kids in tow, eager for a surprise family dinner. Instead, she walked into their bedroom to find Bumpus entangled with a mutual friend, a married woman from their social circle. “The room spun,” Gayle recounted years later in a 2006 XM radio chat with Will Smith. “I was married to a cheater. I went to marital counseling. But by then, the trust was shattered.” The betrayal wasn’t just physical; it was a violation of their shared world. The other woman? Someone they’d toasted at barbecues, confided in over wine. “It felt like the ultimate stab,” Bumpus admits now. “Not just to Gayle, but to everything we’d built.”
What Bumpus reveals for the first time is the “real reason” lurking beneath the infidelity: a profound personal crisis he hid even from himself. “I was depressed,” he says flatly. “Undiagnosed, untreated. The stress of the AG’s office—high-profile cases, ethical minefields—piled on top of fatherhood and a marriage evolving faster than I could adapt. I sought escape in the worst way. It wasn’t about her; it was about my inability to communicate my pain.” Therapists later diagnosed it as situational depression, exacerbated by the era’s stigma around men’s mental health. “In the ’80s, you didn’t talk about therapy unless you were ‘crazy.’ I suffered in silence, and it cost me everything.”
The divorce dragged on for three grueling years, a courtroom saga that tested both their resolves. Gayle, ever the picture of poise, fought for custody and emerged victorious, raising Kirby and Will Jr. in a stable, love-filled home. “I told the kids Daddy made a mistake, but we’d always be a family,” she shared in a 2016 Vanity Fair questionnaire, where she quipped about despising the “naked woman” in question but insisted she’d healed. Bumpus, stripped of daily access, threw himself into fatherhood from afar—coaching Little League, attending every recital. “Losing them daily was hell,” he says. “But Gayle made it possible. She never badmouthed me, never weaponized our pain.”
Publicly, Bumpus stayed mum until 2016, when Gayle’s Vanity Fair jab reignited the scandal. Through a spokesperson, he issued a heartfelt apology: “I have been haunted by this life-altering choice… I publicly apologize for the major transgression that dramatically changed all of our lives. Gayle was a great wife, an excellent mother, and a fantastic co-parent.” It was a start, but not enough. Now, in this exclusive, he goes deeper. “The real reason? I was running from myself. Infidelity was the symptom, not the disease. I’ve spent 35 years atoning—therapy, books, even a men’s group for divorced dads. But owning it publicly? That’s the final step.”
The revelation has stunned Hollywood. Oprah, reached for comment, offered a terse but telling response: “Gayle’s journey is her own triumph. William’s words are his to live with.” Social media erupted, with #BumpusConfession trending worldwide. Fans praised Gayle’s resilience—”Queen handled it with grace, as always”—while others dissected Bumpus’s timing. “Why now?” one X user posted. “SI Swimsuit cover got him nostalgic?” (Indeed, in May 2024, Bumpus cheekily called Gayle’s Sports Illustrated feature his “teenage fantasy come true,” a lighthearted nod that hinted at lingering admiration.)
Today, the Bumpus-King clan thrives in unexpected harmony. Kirby, 39, is a powerhouse attorney married to Virgil Miller, with whom she shares grandson Luca, now 4, and a newborn daughter, Poet Willow. Will Jr., 38, followed his father’s legal footsteps, specializing in civil rights. Family holidays? They’re a blended affair, with Bumpus and Gayle exchanging polite texts and shared grandparent duties. “We’ve forgiven, if not forgotten,” Bumpus says. “Gayle’s success—CBS, the covers, the empire—proves she didn’t need me to shine. But I needed her to learn what loss really means.”
As for romance, Gayle remains famously single, quipping in a recent CBS segment, “Divorce taught me self-love is the best plot twist.” Bumpus? He’s on wife number three—Jennifer, a schoolteacher—with whom he shares a daughter, now 15. Their marriage, he insists, is “rock-solid,” forged in the fires of his past mistakes. “Tell men reading this: Don’t wait 35 years to unpack your baggage,” he urges. “It might save your fairy tale.”
In the end, William Bumpus’s confession isn’t just a mea culpa; it’s a mirror held up to the fragility of even the sturdiest unions. Gayle King’s story— from heartbroken wife to unapologetic icon—remains a beacon for women navigating betrayal. And Bumpus? He’s no longer the villain in his own narrative, but a man remade by remorse. As he signs off our call, his voice steady for the first time: “The real reason we divorced? My silence. But today, I’m speaking up. For her. For us. For good.”
