And, of course, there’s me—the daughter he sent away to a place where I was abused, sexually harassed, belittled, and forgotten.

Leaning forward, I hand the bills over to the driver, including a nice tip. He looks between the cash and the entrance. “It says Authorized Personnel Only.”

I look over my shoulder as I open the door. “I know a guy.”

I step onto the sidewalk and make my way down Pennsylvania Avenue to the entrance we passed, sliding my bag across my body. I didn’t bring much with me, apart from a small duffle bag which I left at the hotel where I plan to stay for a few more days until it’s showtime.

The security guard leans out of his booth as someone brushes past me, scanning their ID to be let in. “Are you looking for the tour entrance, sweetheart? It’s on the other side.”

I straighten. It’s go-time.

The security guard twists his mouth. “Hon, this entrance is for White House staff.”

“White House staff who serve at the pleasure of the president, I’m aware. Is he here today?” I look through the iron gate.

The security guard sighs and steps out of his booth. “Ma’am, please return to the sidewalk.”

“I asked,” I start before clearing my throat. “If the president is here today.”

“I’m afraid that kind of information isn’t shared with me, doll.” He reaches over the partition, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I step away from his touch. “I’ll wait.”

“Wait?”

“I’ll wait while you don’t touch me and instead call and ask if he’s in.”

At this point, some of the staffers making their way through the security entrance begin to drag their feet. Others keep their heads down and continue on with purpose. They’re probably a little more seasoned and have seen this kind of thing more than once.

But not from me.

The security guard chuckles. “Okay, sure. I’ll call the Oval Office. And who should I say is waiting?”

“You can tell the president his daughter is here.”

Rolling his eyes, the security guard now grabs me by my elbow. “Get out of here before I call the police.”

“If you value your job,” I say, looking down at his hand, “you probably should let go.”

“Yeah?” he asks as I bend my knees to avoid stumbling. “Is Daddy going to get upset?”

Over my shoulder, I get a look at the scene beyond the gate, smiling as four Secret Service agents in black suits jog in our direction.

“You must be new here. You should be more worried about my mother.”

* * *

“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

I cross my ankles. “No, thank you.”

“The First Lady is on her way back now. It shouldn’t be long.”

It’s been over ten years.

“That’s okay,” I say. “I don’t mind waiting.”