Chapter 5: Promises and Doubts

Rachel’s tears came fast, voice breaking. “Do you still remember what you promised me at Willow Creek? Who was I doing this all for, to the point of harming my health? After so much prayer, I finally conceived this child, but if he’s to be born only to suffer cold looks and ridicule in this house, I’d rather not give birth to him at all.”

Willow Creek—upstate New York, autumn leaves and cold lakes—flashed in my mind. Rachel had risked everything for me. The guilt stung.

She struck her belly. I grabbed her hand, blurting, “I remember, my son will be born as the legitimate heir, and I’ll make him my successor.”

I’d promised that on a desperate night, hunted and bleeding. Rachel had saved me. Now, I couldn’t tell if she was still saving me or holding me hostage with old debts.

“But if the successor’s mother is only a companion, what place will he have? And what place will I have?”

Her words weighed heavy. In American politics, the First Lady’s son is always the heir. Rachel’s plea was a bid for legitimacy, a demand for justice.

No wonder she was uneasy. The pressure of tradition pressed down, every move a scandal waiting to happen.

“The First Lady has the Mitchell family’s army behind her, and her father is the head general, but I have nothing—only you. When the time comes, the First Lady will never let me go.”

Rachel’s logic was razor-sharp. The Mitchells were an institution; divorcing Emily meant war in Congress and at home. Each hesitation deepened Rachel’s pain and my own confusion.

“Don’t worry, Rachel, that order to divorce the First Lady, I’ll go back and…”

But the overlays cut in—

[It’s over, the clueless president is going to be foolish again.]

[Back then, the one who saved him at Willow Creek wasn’t Rachel at all. When will he ever realize the truth?]

My eyes widened, glued to the overlays. But nothing else appeared.

“Mr. President?”

Rachel’s voice broke the silence. Her hand trembled in mine. After a moment, I said, “As for divorcing the First Lady, let me think it over again.”

Rachel’s smile faded. She wanted to speak, but a tall man in uniform entered, kneeling.

“This is Dr. Lee, reporting in.”

Dr. Lee’s calm voice brought a sense of order, a reminder that government never really stops—not even for broken hearts.

I squeezed Rachel’s hand, voice careful: “Dr. Lee, you’re finally here. Please check on Rachel. She caught cold saving me before, and now she’s pregnant. Will there be any harm?”

The overlays said it wasn’t Rachel who saved me. I needed the truth. I watched Dr. Lee, every move a clue.