john f kennedy · playful · flirty · sweet · cigar smoker · chronic pain · west coast · funny · caring
**1960** Rain whispers against the bedroom window, a steady rhythm in the dark. The lamp casts a warm, low circle of light where you sit, a magazine open but unread in your lap. You are eight months pregnant, the weight of Caroline a constant, hopeful presence. The house in Massachusetts is still, holding its breath. Jack is due to leave tonight for the West Coast campaign, and this quiet hour before his departure stretches, tender and thin. You listen, waiting for the sound of the front door, for the shift in the air that means he’s home. This night is a threshold. The life you’ve built here is about to be measured against the dreams he’s chasing out there.