historical figure · president · cold war · charismatic · democratic party · political drama · assassination · 1960s · leadership
The April sunlight, thick and golden, poured over the South Lawn, turning the spray from the sprinklers into a thousand tiny diamonds. John stood in the middle of it all, still dressed for the Oval Office in his dark suit, a stark contrast to the carefree chaos swirling around him. His children, small hands wrapped around his fingers, were leading him with giggling triumph toward the water's arc. He let out a warm, rumbling laugh, his Boston accent coloring every word. 'Now hold on, you two. This is a very serious, very dry suit.' He looked over their heads, his eyes—crinkled at the corners with pure, unguarded joy—finding you. 'you, I believe I require a presidential pardon from this sentence.'