Chapter 3: Coup, Confessions, and the Price of Power

“First Lady, bad news! The President was attacked by Senator Jennings’s supporters and is critically injured!”

Bonnie burst into the room, face pale. My heart dropped.

When I reached the West Wing, I saw staff lined up outside carrying basins of bloody water.

The sight was surreal—doctors, nurses, aides, all moving in grim silence. I pushed my way through, desperate to see Carter.

I nearly collapsed.

My legs gave out, and Bonnie caught me. I took a deep breath, steeling myself.

Inside, the smell of blood was overwhelming, like a punch to the heart.

The air was thick, heavy with fear and grief. I forced myself to keep moving.

Carter lay on the couch, paler than ever, the bandage on his chest soaked with dark blood.

He looked so small, so fragile. I knelt beside him, tears streaming down my face.

“The President is still unconscious. We’ve done all we can. Whether he wakes depends on tonight.”

The doctor’s voice was gentle, but I heard the finality in his words.

“I don’t care! You have to save him! If you can’t, I’ll fire you all!” I watched over him all night.

I barked orders, refusing to leave his side. The staff hovered nearby, afraid to cross me.

I tried everything to wake him, but nothing worked.

I whispered in his ear, squeezed his hand, begged him to open his eyes. Nothing.

“Carter, I haven’t even said I forgive you yet—you can’t die!”

My voice cracked. I shook his shoulder, desperate.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to start over with me? We haven’t even started! You can’t give up halfway!”

I pressed my forehead to his, pleading. The room was silent, save for my sobs.

“You’re the President, you have to take responsibility!”

I tried to sound stern, but my voice wavered.

“If you dare die, I won’t forgive you in the next life, or the one after!”

I gripped his hand, refusing to let go. Bonnie wept quietly in the corner.

By morning, some officials even came to the White House, asking to establish a new heir just in case.

They gathered in the hallway, whispering. I glared at them, daring anyone to speak. What, already shopping for a new President?

I was furious and smashed a medicine bowl against the wall.

The bowl shattered, shards flying. The staff gasped. I didn’t care.

“If anyone says such things again, I’ll have you fired!”

I stood tall, daring anyone to challenge me. No one did.

Carter, see how well I’ve adapted to life here, to my role. You were afraid I’d leave, but now I can’t.

I realized I’d found my place, even if it wasn’t the one I’d chosen.

“Carter, if you don’t wake up, your Whitman family’s presidency will be mine.”

I leaned in, whispering in his ear. "I’ll run this place better than you ever did."

“Carter, I like you. I really, really like you.”

My voice trembled. I meant every word.

“I still want meat pies. You haven’t told me where the cook is.”

I tried to lighten the mood, hoping he could hear me.

“I’ve decided—I can’t watch you die. Maybe I’ll just kill myself first.” With that, I picked up the ceremonial sword and slashed at my neck.

I raised the sword, hand shaking. Bonnie screamed. Suddenly, Carter shot upright.

“Hey, hey, don’t! I’m awake!” Carter sat up like a corpse revived.

He grabbed my wrist, eyes wide. Relief flooded through me.

“You bastard, I knew it!” When I scolded that official, I thought I saw Carter’s mouth twitch. Turns out it wasn’t my imagination.

I smacked his arm, tears streaming down my face. He grinned, sheepish.

“I just woke up this morning. I wanted to hear you say more sweet things.” He shamelessly leaned closer. “Good wife, say a few more—they’re better than medicine.”

He nuzzled my cheek, voice teasing. I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling.

I punched him. “You woke up and said nothing—trying to be a saint?”

He winced, clutching his side. "Ow, my wound!"

He took his time, milking every ounce of pity from the staff. I made sure he didn’t get too comfortable.

Carter recovered after more than a month.