Celestina sat at her desk, her head bowed as another stack of documents was placed in front of her. Her chief advisor, a stoic man named Anton, rattled off updates on the nation’s struggles.

“The drought in the south has worsened. Crops are failing, and the farmers are growing desperate,” Anton said. “We need to allocate additional resources, but the treasury is already stretched thin.”

Celestina massaged her temples, the weight of every word pressing down on her. “Add it to the list,” she said weakly.

Anton frowned. “Madam President, there isn’t any more room on the list. Something has to give.”

Her voice was sharper than she intended. “I don’t need another lecture, Anton. Just… handle it.”

Anton nodded stiffly and left the room. As the door clicked shut, Celestina slumped in her chair, staring at the endless to-do list in front of her. The weight of the presidency, the protests, and her pregnancy felt unbearable. For a fleeting moment, she let herself imagine what it would be like to walk away from it all—to disappear somewhere quiet and leave the chaos behind.

That evening, while going through some of her old belongings stored in a chest, Celestina found a folded piece of paper tucked between two books. The handwriting on the front stopped her cold: it was Dimitri’s.

Her heart raced as she unfolded the letter. It was dated from months before their fallout, back when things between them had been simpler.

“Celestina,

I know this path we’re walking is dangerous, but I can’t imagine doing it with anyone else. I dream of a future where the struggles we face now lead to something beautiful—something worth fighting for. You give me hope, and for that, I’ll always be by your side.

Yours,

Dimitri.”

Her fingers tightened around the letter. The words were raw and honest, a stark contrast to the strained silence that now defined their relationship. It brought back memories of the trust they’d once shared, but also a pang of