We are not going back

Chapter fifteen

Doug sat on the couch, an easy grin on his face as he ripped open a bag of popcorn. “You’d think it was movie night,” I teased, but the truth was, I couldn’t help but find his excitement infectious. He’d prepared snacks like it was some big blockbuster. I hadn’t seen him this into anything in a while.

“Well, it’s not every day you see the Coleman-Le Rouxs on national television,” Doug chuckled. “Besides, they’re an attractive couple. You have to admit it.”

I didn’t say anything, but I couldn’t argue. Olivia and Eleonora were stunning. They sat side by side in perfectly tailored dresses, their hair styled with that effortless precision that made them look like they’d stepped out of a magazine. Doug might have taken the words out of my mouth, but I couldn’t let him know that.

The host welcomed them with all the usual formalities. “We have with us tonight the formidable Olivia Coleman, current Republican frontrunner, and her wife, Eleonora Coleman-Le Roux, an advisor in the Harris administration. Welcome.”

Doug leaned forward, his brow already furrowing. “This is gonna get weird, isn’t it?”

I nodded, hoping for the best but knowing these interviews rarely stayed on script. The first few questions were harmless enough. Simple things about their careers, how they manage life as a power couple in politics, how they spend their weekends.

Then, the host leaned in, voice dropping into that probing tone. “There’s quite an age gap between you two—four years, right? You were what, 22 and 26 when you got married?”

The age gap wasn't even that bad. They were bluffing.

I shifted uncomfortably on the couch, catching Doug shaking his head. He looked like a teenager watching a horror movie, his face scrunched in disbelief. “Why is that even relevant?” he muttered.

Eleonora’s smile faltered, just for a second, but Olivia took over, effortlessly smoothing over the question. “Yes, that’s correct. We were young, but it felt right. Love doesn’t wait for the perfect timing.”

I could see it though—Eleonora wasn’t just uncomfortable, she was retreating into herself. Olivia was doing most of the talking, answering for both of them as if protecting her from the more invasive questions.

But it didn’t stop. “Eleonora,” the host began, “you changed your surname to Coleman-Le Roux. Was there a reason you didn’t want the full Coleman title? Is it a sign of—independence?”

I felt my jaw tighten, my pulse picking up as I watched Eleonora fumble through her answer. “I—I just thought it was a good way to honor both our families,” she stammered, clearly caught off guard. “It wasn’t about avoiding anything. It was a decision we made together.”

Doug and I both reacted at the same time. “Are you serious?” Doug practically yelled at the TV. I found myself shaking my head, eyes glued to Eleonora as she struggled to maintain composure. My hand twitched, wanting to reach for her, even through the screen.

The next question felt like a punch to the gut.

“Eleonora, do you ever think about Elivio? Your son?”

The silence was deafening. The entire room, hell, the entire country, seemed to freeze. My chest tightened. I felt it. I could feel the weight of that name, the pain it carried for Eleonora. On-screen, her eyes glistened as the tear fell, slow and inevitable, like the wound had just been ripped open.

Doug’s hand went to his mouth, his eyes wide. “What the hell is going on?” he whispered.

Eleonora swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper at first. “Elivio… yes, he was our son. He passed when he was just a few months old,” she said, her voice trembling but steadying as she continued. “We haven’t… we don’t talk about him publicly. It’s—it’s too painful, but yes, I think about him every day. He’s with me in everything I do.”

Olivia sat silently beside her, offering no interruption, no visible support beyond the gentle hand she placed on Eleonora’s back. I wanted to scream at the TV. I wanted to reach through the screen and pull Eleonora into a hug, to protect her from having to relive that trauma in front of the entire nation.

But I couldn’t.

Without thinking, I grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, ignoring Doug’s startled protest. “Kam, what the—?”

“That was wrong,” I said, my voice tight, the anger rising in my chest. “They had no right to bring that up. It’s cruel. Elivio… that’s private. That’s something they should never have exploited.”

Doug sat back, his expression softening as he nodded. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right. That was low.”

I wanted to do something, anything. But I was the President. I had to keep my distance. I couldn’t act on what I was feeling—not for Eleonora, not for anyone. No matter how much I wanted to, no matter how much seeing her like that tore me apart inside.

I couldn’t allow myself to feel this way. Not for her. Not for the woman married to America’s biggest Republican in decades.