Chapter 1: 1. Liability

Liability - Lorde

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Washington, D.C. – The Residence, White House

The world outside is quiet. Snow drapes the South Lawn in soft, undisturbed sheets, and in the distance, the Washington Monument stands like a silent witness to what’s about to happen.

Inside, the room is warm, but you feel nothing but cold.

Kamala stands before you, arms crossed, her face carefully neutral—too neutral. You know her well enough to recognize the signs of restraint: the slight flare of her nostrils, the way she presses her lips together just a second too long before speaking. She’s spent her career mastering control, but here, with you, it used to always falter at the edges.

That should give you hope. But it doesn’t. Not right now- not ever.

"We can’t keep doing this," she says finally, and the words land like a gunshot to your chest.

You force out a breath, steadying yourself. "Doing what?" you ask, though you already know. You just want to hear her say it—to force her to look at what she’s throwing away.

"This." She gestures between you, like what you are—what you’ve been—is just a vague, nameless thing. As if it never had weight.

"Don’t reduce us to a 'this,’" you snap. "Say what you mean, Kamala."

She hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, but then she straightens her spine. Presidential. A woman of duty, of sacrifice. Not yours. Not anymore.

"It’s over," she says.

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms. There it is. Two words, clean and sharp like a scalpel, meant to cut neatly and leave nothing behind. But you know better. There will be wounds. Deep ones.

"Why?"

Kamala exhales through her nose, the way she does when she’s trying to steel herself. "Because it has to be. Because I’m the President now, and this—us—it’s a liability."

Your laugh is sharp, humorless. "A liability." You shake your head, taking a step closer. She doesn’t move away, but she doesn’t close the space either. "We survived the campaign. We survived the election. And now, suddenly, I’m a problem?"

Kamala flinches, just barely. Good. Feel it.

"You were never a problem," she says quietly.

"Then don’t do this."

"It’s not that simple."

"It is," you counter, voice rising now. "You love me. I love you. That’s as simple as it gets."

Her jaw tightens, and for a split second, you see it—the war raging beneath her polished exterior. The part of her that wants. That aches. That might be seconds away from breaking.

And then, just as quickly, it’s gone.

"This is bigger than us," she says, and it feels like a blade slipping between your ribs. "It’s for the good of the country."

You take a step back, stunned. The country. The same country that demands her perfection. That asks her to be everything to everyone, but leaves nothing for herself. Nothing for you.

"That’s bullshit," you spit, because it is. "You think this country gives a damn about your happiness? About our happiness?"

Kamala doesn’t respond. She just stands there, silent, absorbing your words like a hit she expected but still wasn’t ready for.

"Look at me," you plead, voice raw now. "Look at me and tell me you don’t love me. That this isn’t what you want."

She does look at you then. Finally.

And what you see makes your stomach drop.

Her eyes are glassy, her throat working like she’s swallowing back everything she really wants to say.

But she still says the wrong thing.

"I have to put the country first."

Coward.

Your breath shakes as you reach up, fumbling with the delicate gold chain around your neck—the one she gave you months ago, back when forever still felt possible. The clasp sticks for a second, and you nearly break down right there. But then it comes loose, and you slide the necklace off, the weight of it suddenly unbearable.

You step forward, closing the last bit of space between you, and press it into her palm. She doesn’t move to take it at first, but after a beat, her fingers close around the chain like she already knows she’ll never wear it again.

"You’re not my homeland anymore," you whisper, voice thick with unshed tears. "So what am I defending now?"

Kamala exhales sharply, her lips parting like she’s about to say something—maybe take it all back, maybe beg you to stay, maybe just let the truth slip out just this once.

But you don’t wait to find out.

You turn and walk out before she has the chance.

And this time, she doesn’t stop you.

A/N : im not sure if you guys will.be into this but I just had this vision about writing this so here we go lol

Votes and feedback appreciated as always <3