A Republic Can’t Run on Lies
Barbara didn’t doom-scroll. She didn’t argue online. She simply turned her phone face down, pulled a sheet of paper toward her, and wrote the sentence that kept coming back like a warning: A Republic Can’t Run on Lies.
Barbara didn’t doom-scroll. She didn’t argue online. She simply turned her phone face down, pulled a sheet of paper toward her, and wrote the sentence that kept coming back like a warning: A Republic Can’t Run on Lies.
Hannah didn’t come to The Shepherds Cafe for coffee. She came because rebellion had started to feel like the default setting of the world—and she was raising three children alone. “I need clear lines,” she told Barbara. “Biblical lines. Not ‘mom is in a mood’ lines.”
The winter air outside The Shepherds Cafe had that sharp, metallic bite that makes people talk faster than they think. Inside, the café was steady—soft jazz, warm lights, the quiet clink of mugs—like the world had agreed to pause for a moment.