Chapter 1: The First Lady's Last Wish

The nation called her radiant, but in her last hour, the First Lady gripped my hand and whispered, “I regret it all.”

Her words still echo in my mind—sharp, aching, impossible to forget. The country adored her, the media painted her as untouchable light, but none of it mattered to her in the end. I can still see the late afternoon sun slanting through the hospital window, throwing long, golden bars over the bed. Her grip on my hand was desperate, knuckles white, her voice barely more than a breath.

“If there’s a next life, I want to switch places with you. I’d rather be a lowly White House maid, endure until I turn twenty-five, leave the mansion, and finally be free.”

Her voice trembled, every word more sincere than I’d ever heard from her. I squeezed her hand back, the clean linen sheets rough beneath my knees. For a heartbeat, I imagined us together on the South Lawn, just two regular women beneath the cherry blossoms, far from this suffocating room.

“This so-called presidential favor, this hollow wealth and glory—whoever wants it can have it.”

Her words cut through the sterile hush of the hospital room. I wanted to scream that she was wrong, that she’d mattered, but the words tangled in my throat. Outside, a crowd held candles and American flags, praying for her. Inside, she looked so fragile—more so than anyone could have guessed.

She wept, saying all she ever wanted was a pure and genuine love.

Her tears soaked the pillow. She squeezed my fingers tighter, and I stroked the back of her hand with my thumb, wishing I could ease her pain. I wanted to tell her about the little things that make life bearable—morning coffee, laughter in the break room, fresh air on the city streets—but she was lost in regret, unreachable.

Even in her final moments, she clung tightly to my hand.

I could feel her pulse fluttering, the warmth of her skin fading. I leaned in, the faint scent of lavender from the hospital soap lingering in the air, and tried to give her something honest to hold onto.

"Emily, would you be willing? Would you switch places with me?"

Tears streaming down my face, I pressed my lips close to her ear.

My voice broke as I answered, barely more than a breath. "I’m willing."

After a lifetime spent cleaning up after her, I truly am exhausted.

All those years, all those hidden corners of the White House, the late-night messes, and silent sacrifices. The weight of it all felt heavier than ever.