Chapter 9: Waiting for Fate

From then on, I attended every event, but never once did I see Rachel. The parties blurred together: crystal chandeliers, hushed conversations, the smell of cologne and old wood.

Maybe he was busy with official duties and had no time to attend.

I comforted myself and urged Dad to support Rachel. I dropped hints at the dinner table, trying to nudge Dad’s old political friends toward Rachel’s campaign.

That autumn, Rachel became president. Election night, our family watched the news in the living room, popcorn bowls in our laps, and when the results came in, we cheered with the rest of the country.

The following spring, I waited joyfully for the engagement list. I imagined my name, my heart skipping in anticipation.

But I heard that there would be no selection that year. My hope crumpled.

A few days later, the president issued a statement: Jessica Lynn, gracious and gentle, was to become First Lady and take her place in the White House. Her official portrait was splashed across every paper, her smile calm and composed.

He even personally shot a pair of wild geese—a symbol of lifelong loyalty—and sent them to the Lynn family. The story made the evening news, everyone talking about the President’s old-fashioned romance.

Just like in my previous life, Jessica Lynn became the First Lady.

Even though I knew Rachel hadn’t been given a second chance like I was, and couldn’t fulfill the promise of our past life…

When I looked at the sachet I’d embroidered for him, I couldn’t hold back my tears. The tiny stitches blurred as I sobbed, the fabric damp beneath my fingers.

I pressed the sachet to my chest, wishing the stitches could hold me together as tightly as I once held his hand.

In a fit of anger, I tore the sachet to pieces, the scent scattering bit by bit on the carpet, and suddenly regretted it. I gathered the pieces in a panic, hating myself for the outburst.

In my previous life, I entered the White House the following year—maybe I could still wait.

I picked up the scraps, wiped away my tears, and sewed it back together. My hands shook, but I forced each stitch, determined to hold on to hope.

A drop of blood appeared on my pricked fingertip.

Dad knocked and entered. I quickly lowered my head, hiding the evidence of my heartbreak.

“Anna, you can start meeting suitors now.”

I choked up and refused. “Let me wait a bit longer. Maybe next year I’ll enter the White House and become his partner.”

Dad’s eyes widened, as if I’d lost my mind.

“What’s so great about the White House?”

I retorted softly, “But I just like the president.”

Rachel was good to me in every way. I couldn’t help but cling to that hope.

He fell silent, thinking for a long while, before finally speaking slowly.

“Anna, I’m selfish. I don’t want you to go there. I just want you to stay by my side, and even if you get married, you can come home often.” His voice broke a little, and for a second, he looked smaller—just a tired man who'd lost too much.

I looked into his eyes.

My heart was suddenly moved.

When I was little, he’d tuck me in with a story about how strong girls always got second chances. Mom died early, and Dad raised my sister and me alone. Even my mom’s family told him to remarry, but he was afraid we’d be mistreated and never did. He built his life around us, and now I understood how much I meant to him.

“Dad…”

He waved his hand. “As long as you’re happy, I’ll support you.”