Chapter 1: Cracks in the Foundation

David Harrington pulled into the driveway just as Rachel stepped out onto the porch, arms crossed against the biting wind. A storm was rolling in from the west—nothing dramatic, just the kind that made the air feel heavy, the clouds thick and low. It had been a long day, and he knew from the look on her face that something was wrong.

“You see the news?” she asked as he slammed the car door shut.

David exhaled. “Which part?”

She sighed, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “SB 4 passed.”

That got his attention. He had followed it, of course—he kept up with the big stories, the ones that might actually affect them. Advance voting ballots would now have to arrive by 7 p.m. on Election Day. No more grace period for mail-in votes, no more waiting for postal delays.

Rachel pressed her lips together, her frustration barely restrained. “You know what this means, right? It means people in rural areas, people who rely on the mail, people with tight schedules—hell, anyone who forgets to drop it off early—is just screwed.”

David ran a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s bad, I get it. But is it really going to change that much? People can still vote in person.”

Rachel’s eyes flashed. “People can still vote in person? Are you serious? We already have some of the most restrictive voting laws in the country, and now they’re tightening the screws even more. First, they cut the early voting window. Now this. What’s next? No voting at all?”

David hesitated. He didn’t like where this was going. They’d had this conversation before—over education cuts, over tax policy, over the last election. He was getting tired of it, of feeling like every news cycle was a crisis.

“I just don’t think it’s worth getting this worked up over,” he said finally. “It’s Kansas, Rach. Republicans win here. They’ve always won here.”

Rachel turned away, shaking her head. “Not always. And they wouldn’t have a supermajority if they weren’t rigging the damn game.”

Inside, the sound of a bouncing basketball echoed from the basement. Ethan. Their oldest had been practicing nonstop for weeks, determined to make varsity next year. David glanced at the front window, where he could see Maggie on the couch, scrolling through her phone, and Noah sitting on the floor with a pile of LEGOs.

He thought about their kids—about the kind of Kansas they were growing up in.

Dinner was quiet that night. Too quiet.

The only sound was the faint clatter of silverware against ceramic as they worked their way through chicken and rice. Maggie scrolled absentmindedly on her phone with one hand while stabbing at her food with the other. Noah, the youngest, was humming some half-formed tune between bites.

It was Ethan who finally broke the silence.

"Ms. Carter quit," he said, staring at his plate.

Rachel looked up immediately. "Wait, your English teacher?"

Ethan nodded. "Yeah. She told us today. Said she’s moving to Minnesota. She didn’t really explain why, but I heard some of the other teachers talking. Something about the district being a mess."

Rachel set her fork down. "Jesus. She was one of the best teachers at your school."

Ethan shrugged. "I guess she didn’t think it was worth it anymore."

David leaned forward, frowning. "Did they say who's replacing her?"

Ethan shook his head. "I don’t think they know yet."

Rachel glanced at David, a knowing look in her eyes. She didn’t have to say it out loud—they both knew what was happening. The voucher program had drained public school funding. Teacher salaries had stagnated while expectations kept climbing. Meanwhile, new policies, like SB 48’s draconian accreditation standards, were making the profession miserable for the people who actually cared about students.

But losing teachers wasn’t just a hypothetical issue anymore. It was happening. It was real.

Rachel reached for her phone and quickly scrolled through her messages. She was in a group chat with other moms from the school, and sure enough, there it was:

Rachel inhaled sharply. The special education aides.

Noah had struggled with reading for a while—nothing severe, but enough that he sometimes needed extra help. Now, with two special ed professionals gone, that help might not be there anymore.

She turned to David. "They’re losing SPED aides, too."

David rubbed his temple. "Goddamn it."

"Do you understand what this means?" Rachel's voice was rising now. "These kids who need extra support, kids who already get overlooked, are just going to be left behind."

David leaned back, exhaling. "I know, Rach. But what do you want me to do about it?"

Rachel scoffed. "I don’t know. But I feel like we’re just sitting here, watching everything fall apart, and pretending like it's normal."

David pinched the bridge of his nose. "I get it, okay? It’s frustrating. But we’re not the only ones dealing with this."

Rachel shook her head, pushing back her chair. "No, David. That’s the problem. It’s everybody dealing with it. And nobody's doing a damn thing to stop it."

She stormed off toward the kitchen, and David sighed, rubbing his face.

Ethan watched the exchange, then pushed his chair back. "I’m gonna go shoot some hoops," he muttered.

Rachel didn't answer. She was already in the other room, pacing.

That night, David sat on the back porch, nursing a beer and staring out at the darkened neighborhood. He had lived in Kansas his whole life. Born and raised in Wichita, then college in Lawrence, then here—Overland Park, the perfect middle ground between suburban comfort and city convenience.

But now, something about the place felt... off.

He had always thought of Kansas as stable. Steady. A place where you didn’t have to worry too much. The policies in Topeka were just background noise, the kind of thing you debated over Thanksgiving but never really felt in your day-to-day life.

Lately, though, he could feel it.

The streets were a little emptier. The schools a little rougher around the edges. The property values weren’t rising as fast as they used to. And now, with the election laws tightening and the budget cuts getting deeper, he had to wonder…Had something shifted? Had they crossed some invisible threshold where Kansas wasn’t Kansas anymore?

The thought made his stomach twist.

Behind him, the screen door creaked open. Rachel stepped outside, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders.

“You okay?” she asked.

David took another sip of his beer. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

She sat down beside him. For a long time, they didn’t say anything.

Then, finally, Rachel spoke.

“David.” She looked at him, her expression unreadable in the dim porch light. “What if we don’t stay?”

David frowned. “What do you mean?”

Rachel’s fingers tightened around the blanket. “I mean... what if we leave? Before it gets worse?”

David exhaled slowly, staring out at the neighborhood, at the rows of houses that all looked like his, at the place he had called home for decades.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Rachel nodded. “Neither do I.”

The wind picked up, rustling the trees. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled.

The storm was getting closer.