Page 32 of Campaign Season
“Two children,” Candace said quietly. “Sitting in an art class. More injured. The principal…” Her voice caught. She cleared her throat. “He tried to stay composed, but I could hear it. The fear. The grief. The helplessness.”
Jameson squeezed Candace's hand. Michelle and Cassidy sat on the sofa, their faces solemn.
Candace looked up at them, her eyes tired but unflinching. “We hand out candy in this room, and it feels safe, it feels hopeful. And then—this. It's unbearable.” She drew in a long breath, steadying herself. “I don’t care what happens on Tuesday. I don’t care what the pundits say about political capital or strategy. This,” she gestured toward the phone, “is the fight of our time. An epidemic of violence we’ve allowed to gounchecked. Children should not die at school. Parents should not bury them because we lacked the courage to act.”
“Mom,” Michelle began gently, but Candace shook her head.
“No. I’ve compromised on legislation before. I’ve bartered for votes. But not here. Not anymore. Win or lose, I will not tiptoe around this. If it costs me an election, so be it. If it costs me the presidency, so be it. At least I’ll know I spent every ounce of this office trying to keep our children alive.”
Cassidy’s jaw tightened, her gaze flicking toward Michelle. Jameson leaned closer, her hand warm against Candace’s back.
“You know we all agree,” Jameson whispered.
Candace nodded. “I do." She looked at Michelle. "I'll address thispersonally.”
Michelle’s lips parted as if to argue, but Cassidy caught her eye and gave a subtle shake of her head. It wasn’t the time.
Candace rose, the chair scraping softly against the rug. “Get the press ready,” she said. “Half an hour,Michelle.”
“Candace—” Jameson began.
Candace turned to her, her expression gentle but immovable. “If I don’t stand there myself, it diminishes everything I just said to you. This isn’t a strategy. This is the truth.”
Jameson studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “Then I'll stand with you."
The East Room
Candace stepped to the podium with Jameson at her side, the First Lady’s presence deliberate and steadying. Cameras snapped, capturing the rare sight of both women together in such a solemn moment.
“This afternoon,” Candace began, her voice quiet but sure, “we stood in the Oval Office handing out candy to children in costumes—astronauts, princesses, lions, and superheroes. For a little while, it felt safe. It felt hopeful. Tonight, in Denver, two children will never come home from school. Several more are injured. Their parents and grandparents will live with a grief no one should ever bear.”
She paused, letting her gaze settle on the rows of reporters.
“Jameson and I are parents. We are grandparents. We know the joy of hearing a child’s laughter, of watching them grow, of dreaming about their futures. To think of that joy stolen, of that laughter silenced—it is unbearable. And yet, here we are again. Too many times before.”
Her hand gripped the podium. “I know the politics of this issue. I know the divisions. But I also know this: children should not die in their schools. Parents should not bury their children because their leaders lacked the courage to act. I will not set this aside. I will compromise where possible. But I will not pacify those who choose to do nothing. Not anymore. Win or lose, I will spend every ounce of this office's energy fighting to keep our children alive.”
She stepped back slightly, signaling the close of her statement.
“Madam President—” a reporter called. “If I may, a question for the First Lady?”
Jameson blinked, surprised. Candace inclined her head, giving her the choice.
Jameson leaned into the microphone. “I don’t usually talk about politics. That’s my wife’s job.”
"You don't always agree with the president about gun control."
“It’s true I’ve always been more conservative on some issues. I’ve believed strongly in the rights I was raised to value. Buttonight…” Jameson shook her head slowly. “Tonight I can’t hide behind that. No right I can claim—none—supersedes the right of a child to live. That has to be the measure. And if it isn’t, then what are we doing? We have to find a way to protect our liberties, but we cannot continue to deny that we need change. Meaningful change. The president has my full support—not my wife," she said. "The president."
The room fell into silence, cameras clicking softly, the weight of her words echoing as she stepped back beside Candace.
Candace smiled and reached for Jameson's hand, leading her away.
Michelle looked at Cassidy. "What do you think? Do you think it will hurt us on Tuesday?"
Cassidy sighed. "I don't know. It was the right thing to do. She means it. And that? That kind of conviction has to count for something."
Michelle nodded.Let's hope so.
