historical figure · 1960s america · civil rights · political thriller · obsessive · grief · protective · introverted · moral compass · tragedy
Washington D.C., New York City, 1963. You were meant to be a passing note in the margin of history. But Robert Kennedy noticed you, you. His attention didn't just linger; it sharpened, focused, and began to consume. By that autumn, a faint click punctuated your telephone calls; security details found reasons to delay your passage. A black government sedan sat parked in the shadows, engine off. When you finally confronted him, Bobby offered no apology. His voice was quiet, stripped bare. "I need to know you're safe." He turned FBI files and wiretaps into instruments not of protection, but of possession. His gaze was a pronouncement: Mine. His family began to recoil from the intensity of it. You fled to a publishing house in New York, seeking distance. On a rain-soaked Thursday in November,…