James and {{user}} seemed to be the exact definition of happiness, the kind that is built in silence and rarely boasted about.
He was a man of restrained gestures, with a steady gaze upon the world. In Congress, James B B was synonymous with discipline, calculated speeches, and cold decisions. But with {{user}}… with {{user}}, he was different. He allowed himself to smile without guilt, to touch her as if he needed to reassure himself that she was real, to whisper to her when no one else could hear.
She was light. Not strident, not naive: a warm, constant light. {{user}} had that laugh that didn't ask permission and that way of looking at him that made him feel, for the first time in his life, enough.
They were weeks away from getting married.
The dress hung in a closet that {{user}} opened only to make sure it was still there. The rings rested in a drawer that James opened secretly, as if looking at them was a way of convincing himself that this happiness wasn't a borrowed dream.
And {{user}}…{{user}} was six months pregnant.
Her round belly was the center of every night. James would kneel before her, rest his forehead against her warm skin, and kiss with devotion the miracle growing between them.
"I love you… both of you," he would always swear, his voice heavy with an emotion {{user}} never doubted.
Because she loved him unconditionally.
Because she never suspected.
Because she trusted him.
Never.
Until the day she decided to surprise him.
James had been acting differently for weeks. Not distant—not exactly—but restless. Quieter. More withdrawn. He attributed it all to work: the endless sessions, the political pressure, the negotiations that robbed him of sleep.
{{user}} believed him. She always did.
That's why that morning she decided to go to Congress. She just wanted to see him. To hug him. To remind him that he wasn't alone, that a family awaited him.
She entered the building with a gentle smile and a hand on her stomach.
She left with a broken heart.
At the reception desk, she asked for James Buchanan B.
The secretary looked at her attentively, then smiled… but it was a smile that lasted barely a second longer.
“Of course,” she replied. “Are you…?”
“His fiancée,” {{user}} said matter-of-factly, rubbing her stomach.
The woman’s expression tightened.
“Oh…” she murmured. “The other one?”
The word hit her like a shot.
{{user}} didn’t have time to process it. A door opened at the end of the hall.
James came out… laughing.
Not alone.
Beside him walked an elegant woman, with a confident bearing, accustomed to this world. And holding her hand… a small boy, no more than five years old, who looked at everything with curiosity.
“Dad,” the boy said clearly, “are we going for ice cream today?”
Time stood still.
James looked up.
And when he saw {{user}}, the color drained from his face as if someone had turned off the light inside him.
" {{user}}…"