“Matt,” I groan. I stop his hand, look down at our fingers. His hands obsess me. Why they obsess me, I don’t know, but they’re so big, look so powerful. He holds SO MUCH in those hands.

He grabs my shoes and looks at me as he slips and straps them back on, his fingers touching the same toes that are still tingling. Neither of us says a word once my shoes are on, and he keeps his hands on the top arch of my foot for several long, extra heartbeats.

“I love you,” he says simply, grabbing my face and pressing a kiss to my lips.

Exhaling, he stands up to get ready, and I glance at the clock and leap to my feet and follow him.

We are traveling extensively. Sometimes Matty travels with us, the times he doesn’t choose to remain in D.C. with my parents or Matt’s mother.

The crowds follow wherever President Hamilton goes. People want to see him, they want to see his first lady, they want to dote over his son, they want to pet Jack, and they want pictures—goodness, are the media covering us everywhere we go?

Matt is, as usual, a good sport with the press, but I get nervous when I’m walking with little Matty and reporters are snapping pictures and causing Stacey and the guys to work extra to push them all back.

Still, I love being out in the country, seeing the changing scenery. Deserts to forests, cities to small towns, farms and pasture to stoplights and highways. And the people—different and unique, everyone hoping for the glory to keep shining on the United States. Everyone trusting Matthew Hamilton to keep bringing it.

Today we’re in Philadelphia, and I get to introduce him to the people.

“Well, it really is such a pleasure to be here,” I say, breathless. “What an amazing crowd!” They all clap and cheer. “I know why you’re all here. It’s because my husband is quite charming and gives quite a good speech.” They laugh. “And also, because I know you know that Matthew Hamilton genuinely cares about you, about this country, about what’s right. I have witnessed firsthand his dedication, his effort, his complete devotion to this country, and if I weren’t already hopelessly in love with him, that would be enough to seal the deal for me right now.” More laughter. “The changes he’s put into effect these past few years . . . Millions of new jobs. Better education for our children, a more comprehensive healthcare plan, a thriving economy, and our outstanding free trade, which enables you, as Americans, to have any product for the best price available at your fingertip . . . this is only the beginning of the more extensive changes he’s been working to address . . . and I definitely hope you sit tight and listen to him share them with you tonight. So without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, I present my husband, Matthew Hamilton, the President of the United States!”

He takes the stage, leans into the microphone. “She’s better at this than I am.” He smirks, winking at me as I take a spot on the sidelines, and I laugh at the same time the crowd does.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton,” he tells me with a nod as he takes in his doting crowd. “She’s right. It’s a great crowd today . . .”

“HAMMY! GO GET IT, HAMMY!” someone shouts.

“I will,” he promises, grinning, then falling sober.

“Today, I want to discuss something with you. Last night, I got word that I’m to be a father again. The first lady is expecting.” The smile on his face is absolutely dazzling, and so contagious there’s not a sad face in the house.

I feel giddy remembering when I told him—how he plucked his glasses off, then just grabbed me to him and swept me clean off the ground. “You make me so happy, so fucking happy,” and the rest was smothered with his kiss.

“So it’s something I want to talk to you about. Our children,” he continues—and pauses. “It is with our children that our greatest potential as a country lies. We are raising world-changers, leaders, girls and boys who can make a real difference. And it all begins with you. With me. With us.”

I feel Matty’s hand slip into mine, and he’s frowning—not too happy he’ll be dethroned soon. “You’ll still love me best?”

“I’ll love you as my best firstborn, yes,” I promise, and he nods and starts to get restless. “Sit here with me. Watch Dad,” I whisper, hushing him, clinging to Matt’s every word.

I just love for people to see him as I do, to know the real man, the one behind the façade, the name, and the presidency.

The Matt Hamilton we all love.

I watch out the windows of Air Force One, the clouds beneath me looking like a carpet of cotton candy.

I lay my hand over my belly and think of Matt.

I’m so in love with him and I can’t believe I’m four months pregnant with our second child.

The debates are over, the campaigning has been exhaustive but inspiring, and now we’re heading back home.

Our little family of three, soon to be four.

I know from looking at my parents that no matter how strong the love, relationships are always tested. Boundaries are pushed, some promises broken, and disappointments happen. That’s just life. No road is ever perfectly smooth or straight.

But I also know from looking at my parents that love is a choice. Sometimes the hardest choice of all. And I know as I turn to look at Matthew, his profile showcasing perfect masculine beauty, his lips pursed thoughtfully as he looks quizzically at a stack of manila folders in front of him with his glasses perched on his nose, that I will always choose him.

A realization that comforts me.

I chose him over a normal life. I chose him over privacy. I chose him over insecurity about whether or not I would ever be enough, as a wife, as a mother, as a first lady. I chose him over fear. I chose him over everything . . .

Love can be passionate, wild, consuming, mesmerizing. It catches you in the wake of what seems to be an ordinary life and it turns it upside down until you are fully living with every cell, every pore, every atom in your body. It makes you live life to its fullest potential. Love heightens all your emotions, until your past life looks like you were living on mute, like you were living with senses that were partly numbed.

This awakening to experiencing everything to its fullest potential is what makes life the most joyful and blissful experience, and also the most painful one. Looking down at the clouds beneath me and the blue sky stretching out before me, I simply let myself embrace it all, whatever comes.

I see myself with Matt. I see myself having kids with him. I see myself stretched out between his legs, reclining on him, while holding hot cocoa in my hands, hearing the crackling of a fireplace.

I see myself holding his face to my chest, quietly soothing him after a hard day. After having to make some tough decisions.

I see him climbing into bed beside me and nuzzling my neck, telling me how much he loves me, how I am his angel.

I see him holding our daughter’s hand (yes, it’s a girl—we got confirmation just last week!), her red hair in two little pigtails as she skips besides her father, looking up at him with all the love and awe in the world, and him looking down at her as if she were the greatest treasure.

I see myself thirty years from now, sitting next to an old and still ruggedly handsome Matt, talking about how we met, how he won the presidency, how he proposed, the life we’ve had.

Because even if he wins, four more years as president is not much compared to the years he will be an ex-president, and I his wife. The term is not the only thing that counts. What really lasts is what you did, your legacy for all time.

It’s a simple choice, really. I choose him. Always.

And despite his own fears and concerns, disappointments and ideas about his ability to be both president and husband, president and father, president and man . . . he chose me.

Whatever happens, we chose each other.

It’s cold outside, but that’s where Matt and I spend the November evening of Election Day. I bring out a small speaker and I play some music, settling for a song Hozier played on our wedding, “Better Love.” And we dance, like we sometimes do. I sway in his arms while our team watches television in one of the White House rooms, and Matt Jr. sleeps, and the country waits with bated breath, and I just dance with Matt.

And that’s how Carlisle finds us, when he steps outside.