First reactions to “Being the Ricardos,” Aaron Sorkin‘s biopic of comedy legends Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz, are coming in following the movie’s first screening in Los Angeles. The idea of Sorkin, with his divisive trademark style, tackling the material and the casting of Nicole Kidman and Javier Bardem as the “I Love Lucy” stars left many skeptical that the film could pull it off. But based on the first reactions below, it appears the movie has entered the awards race, with audience members praising Kidman and Bardem for capturing the essence of the duo.

The film follows the real-life marriage of Ball and Arnaz, who starred as married Lucy and Ricky Ricardo on the CBS sitcom “I Love Lucy” for six seasons in the ’50s. J.K. Simmons stars as William Frawley, who played Lucy and Ricky’s landlord Fred Mertz on the show, and Nina Arianda is Vivian Vance, who played Lucy’s best friend Ethel Mertz. It also features “Arrested Development” costars Tony Hale and Alia Shawkat, as well as Clark Gregg, Linda Lavin, and Jake Lacy.

Sorkin directed from his own script; it marks his third directorial effort after “Molly’s Game” and the Oscar-nominated “The Trial of the Chicago 7.” Sorkin’s trademark style of long monologues, fast-paced dialogue, and earnest wit (best captured in “The West Wing”) has made him as celebrated as he is divisive.

Those qualities, and Sorkin’s choice in casting, has made “Being the Ricardos” a subject of curiosity in the film community since the project was announced earlier this year. In a recent interview, Sorkin defended his picks: While Kidman may not be the spitting image of Ball, that was no barrier for the director.

“We made this movie during COVID, and so in Zooming with Nicole and Javier and everyone else, I’d make it very clear to them that I am not looking for a physical or vocal impersonation of these people,” Sorkin told the Hollywood Reporter. “Leading up to the first rehearsal, I’d write to them every day, ‘Just play the characters who are in the script.’ I know that Nicole was working on Lucy’s voice for a while, and I wanted to relieve her of that.”

Amazon Studios is set to give “Being the Ricardos” a limited theatrical release on December 10 before it streams on Prime Video beginning December 12. Check out a handful of first reactions to the film in the posts below.

“I Love Lucy” is easily one of the most important sitcoms in history — and, arguably, it’s one of the most important TV shows ever made. But after a legendary six-season run, the show — named one of the best CBS shows of all time — ended pretty abruptly, believe it or not.

The final episode of “I Love Lucy,” titled “The Ricardos Dedicate a Statue,” aired in May of 1957. It was far from the emotional and poignant finale fans would have expected from the show, which kicked off in 1951. Instead, it was a pretty run-of-the-mill funny episode revolving around Lucy (who we named one of the best trailblazing female TV characters of all time) accidentally breaking an important statue. In an effort to hide her oopsie, she takes the statue’s place, using stone-colored makeup in a futile attempt to stay undetected.

While it was a solid episode, it made for a puzzling end to an iconic series. Ultimately, the decision to end the show rather suddenly was born out of Lucille Ball and husband Desi Arnaz’s desires to break out of the hectic schedule of creating weekly episodes of television.

The end of an era

“They thought they were a little played out,” Geoffrey Mark, author of “The Lucy Book” explained to Woman’s World. “Bill Frawley [Fred Mertz] was getting older, Vivian Vance [Ethel Mertz] was having marital problems and Lucille and Desi were beginning to have some marital problems of their own.”

“On top of that, Mr. Arnaz wanted to retire, basically,” the author added. “His view was, ‘Hey, we’ve got this money, we’ve got this fame. We’ve got these two children. Let’s enjoy all of that.’ But Ms. Ball said, ‘I want to work,’ because that’s who she was. It’s not a bad thing or a good thing. It’s just who she was, so he said, ‘Well, we either retire or we get bigger.’”

Bigger meant “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour,” as well as more focus on Desilu, the couple’s production company. Their second series ran for 13 one-hour-long episodes across three seasons from 1957 to 1960. But by the final episode of that series, their marriage — which had started to fracture around the end of “I Love Lucy” — was just about over.

They divorced around the time “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour” aired its finale, which, ironically, was a much better send-off than “I Love Lucy” ever got. “Lucy Meets the Mustache” included a very special centerpiece kiss between Lucy and her husband Ricky Ricardo, which clearly seemed to convey an air of finality to both their on- and off-screen relationships.

I buried my daughter two years ago.

Grace was eleven.

People told me time would soften the edges of grief. It didn’t. It simply taught me how to breathe around it.

Back then, Neil handled everything. The hospital paperwork. The funeral arrangements. The decisions I couldn’t process because my mind felt wrapped in fog.

He told me Grace was brain-dead. That there was no hope. That it would only prolong suffering to keep her on machines.

I signed documents I barely read.

We had no other children. I told him I couldn’t survive losing another one.

Then last Thursday, the landline rang.

We almost never use it. The sound startled me so badly I nearly let it go to voicemail.

“Ma’am?” a careful male voice said. “This is Frank, principal at West Ridge Middle School.”

My heart stuttered.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he continued, “but we have a young girl here asking to call her mother. She gave us your name and number.”

“You must be mistaken,” I said automatically. “My daughter is deceased.”

There was a pause.

“She says her name is Grace.”

My chest tightened.

“That’s impossible.”

“She looks remarkably similar to the photo in our student records,” he added gently. “She’s very upset. Please, just speak to her.”

I heard movement. Then a trembling voice.

“Mommy? Mommy, please come get me?”

The phone slipped from my hand.

It was her voice.

Neil walked in holding his coffee. He froze when he saw my face.

“What happened?”

“It’s Grace,” I whispered. “She’s at her old school.”

Instead of calling me delusional, he went pale. Not confused. Afraid.

He grabbed the phone and hung up.

“It’s a scam,” he said too quickly. “AI voice cloning. People can fake anything now. Don’t go there.”

“But they knew her name,” I said. “It sounded like her.”

“Obituaries are public. Social media exists.”

When I grabbed my keys, he stepped in front of the door.

“You can’t go,” he said, panic flickering in his eyes.

“If she’s dead,” I asked quietly, “why are you afraid of a ghost?”

Something shifted in his expression.

“Don’t do this,” he muttered. “You won’t like what you find.”

I pushed past him.

The drive to the school felt unreal. I don’t remember traffic lights. Just the pounding of my heart.

When I burst into the principal’s office, she was sitting there.

Taller. Thinner. But it was her.

She looked up.

“Mom?”

I dropped to my knees and pulled her into my arms.

She was warm. Solid. Alive.

“Why didn’t you come for me?” she sobbed into my shoulder.

“I thought you were gone,” I choked.

Then Neil appeared in the doorway.

Grace turned.

“Dad?”

“You knew she was alive,” I said.

“No,” he replied, but his voice lacked strength.

“Then why did you try to stop me?”

“Mary, we should talk in private.”

“No.”

I took Grace’s hand. “We’re leaving.”

Outside, she whispered, “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t,” I promised. “I’m taking you somewhere safe.”

I drove to my sister Melissa’s house. When she opened the door and saw Grace, she gasped and burst into tears.

“Please keep her here,” I told her. “He doesn’t know your address.”

“Please don’t let them take me again,” Grace whispered.

Them.

The word lodged in my throat.

“I’ll be back soon,” I promised.

Then I drove straight to the hospital.

Two years earlier, Grace had been admitted with a severe infection. I remembered sitting beside her bed. The machines. The antiseptic smell.

Then one afternoon, Neil came home alone.

He said she was brain-dead.

That I shouldn’t see her like that.

I trusted him.

Now I stood outside Dr. Peterson’s office.

When he saw me, he went pale.

“How is my daughter alive?” I asked immediately.

He lowered his voice. “I was under the impression your husband explained.”

“He told me she died.”

The doctor inhaled slowly. “Grace was critical. There were neurological concerns. But she was never legally declared brain-dead. There were signs of response. Small improvements. It wasn’t guaranteed, but it wasn’t hopeless.”

My ears rang.

“He asked to be primary decision-maker,” Dr. Peterson continued. “He said you were too distraught to handle fluctuations. He transferred her to a private care facility. I assumed you were informed.”

Transferred.

Not buried.

When I left that office, one truth burned clear: Neil hadn’t feared a scam. He’d feared exposure.

I called him and told him to meet me at the house.

He was pacing when I walked in.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“Safe.”

I faced him.

“Why is our daughter alive?”

He stared at the floor.

“She wasn’t the same,” he said finally.

“What does that mean?”

“There was damage. Cognitive delays. Therapy. Specialists. It was going to cost thousands.”

“So you decided she was better off dead?”

“I didn’t kill her!” he snapped. “I found a family.”

My stomach dropped.

“You gave her away?”

“I thought I was protecting you,” he said. “You were barely functioning. I thought this was our chance to move forward.”

“By pretending she was dead?”

“She wasn’t the same, Mary.”

“She was alive.”

He rubbed his face. “You don’t understand what you’re signing up for.”

“I understand you abandoned your child because she wasn’t convenient.”

The calm that settled over me wasn’t peace. It was clarity.

“We’re done,” I said.

When I returned to Melissa’s house, Grace was eating grilled cheese at the kitchen table.

“Mom!” she smiled.

That word steadied me.

“Tell me what happened,” I said gently.

“I started remembering things last year,” she explained. “Your voice. My room. I told them, but they said I was confused.”

“The people you were living with?”

She nodded. “They kept me inside a lot. I had to cook and clean.”

My hands trembled.

“I remembered my old school,” she continued. “So I stole some money and called a cab while they were napping.”

“You did the right thing,” I said.

The next day, I went to the police.

I brought hospital records. Transfer documents. And a recording I had secretly made of Neil’s confession.

“This involves fraud and unlawful adoption,” the detective said carefully.

“I want him charged,” I replied.

By that afternoon, Neil was arrested.

I felt no pity.

The illegal adoption unraveled quickly. The couple claimed they were never told I existed. The court moved to restore full custody.

Weeks later, I filed for divorce.

Grace and I moved back home.

And this time, I read every document. I asked every question. I stood in every doorway.

Grief once taught me how to survive the unthinkable.

Now it taught me something else.

A mother’s fight doesn’t end.

And this time, I was strong enough to win.

I woke up at 3 a.m., thirsty and groggy, the house wrapped in a deep, almost eerie stillness. As I headed to the kitchen for a glass of water, I heard my son’s voice calling from his room, asking me to turn off the light. It was such a familiar, ordinary request that I didn’t think twice—I walked down the hallway, switched off the lamp, and went back to bed, still half-asleep. Everything felt normal, routine even, until a sudden thought stopped me cold.

My son wasn’t home. He had left earlier that day for a camping trip with his friends, and my heart skipped a beat. I whispered to myself, trying to make sense of the voice I had just heard. Fear and confusion churned inside me, but I forced myself to get up and check his room. The door was slightly ajar, just as I had left it, and when I pushed it open, the room was perfectly still, perfectly neat. His bed was made, and all his belongings were gone.

I stood frozen, the memory of that voice echoing in my mind. It was unmistakably him, clear as day, yet impossible. Then I noticed a small framed photo of us on his nightstand, taken when he was little. The hallway light reflected softly on the glass, and in that quiet moment, I realized that the voice I had heard wasn’t him—it was a memory, a whisper from the past reminding me how fleeting time really is. How quickly ordinary moments can become treasures.

I sat on the edge of his bed, holding the photo and whispering into the empty room, “I love you. I’ll always be here.” The next morning, when he returned from his trip, I hugged him a little tighter, a little longer, knowing deep down that those small, ordinary moments are extraordinary. I never mentioned the voice to him, but I understood the lesson it carried: to slow down, to be present, and to cherish every moment while I still can.

The day my son Ryan brought Sophie home was supposed to be simple and joyful. I had prepared a cozy dinner, set out the good plates, and even picked up Brussels sprouts with bacon because he mentioned she liked them. I wanted the evening to feel warm, familiar, and memorable—a moment I could tuck into my heart as a mother. Ryan had been glowing lately, talking about Sophie in a soft, steady way that made it clear this wasn’t just another fleeting college romance. I was ready to welcome her, to make space at our table and in my heart.

Sophie arrived with tulips and a shy smile, polite and sweet, helping around the kitchen and laughing at my stories about Ryan’s childhood. Everything seemed perfect, until she noticed the photo on the mantel—a single picture of Ryan, Thomas, and me from our beach trip. She stared at it too long, her smile faltering, and then quietly whispered words that shattered everything I thought I knew: Thomas had been with her mother for four years. She explained that he had told her mother he was single and even that they’d get married, and now she was pregnant. My mind raced, suddenly connecting all the little inconsistencies—the late nights, the strange smells, the absences I had rationalized.

I didn’t panic, though I shook inside. I asked Sophie where her mother lived and grabbed my coat, leading Ryan and Sophie silently to the house she described. It was immaculate, a carefully built life running parallel to the one I had with Thomas. When he answered the door, still in a towel, his confident smile faltered the second he saw me. Then Sophie’s mother appeared, unaware of the betrayal, and I introduced myself. The room froze. The confrontation was swift and unflinching. Ryan called his father dead to him, I demanded the return of my grandfather’s ring, and the life I had shared with Thomas ended in that moment.

Back home, I sliced into a chocolate cake, letting the comfort of sweetness ground me. Ryan and Sophie sat with me, silent but together, all of us processing the shock and grief. No one ate much, yet there was a strange sense of connection in the quiet aftermath. Despite the betrayal, I felt something begin to grow—a resilience, an understanding, and even a glimmer of grace. Life had thrown us into chaos, but we were still together, finding strength in each other amid the heartbreak.

I grew up believing the farm would always be my safe place. I just never imagined I’d have to fight to stay there the very week we laid my grandfather to rest.

When my parents died in a car crash on a wet October night, I was twelve. I still remember the hospital hallway, the smell of antiseptic, and a social worker using words like “placement” and “temporary housing.”

Then I heard Grandpa.

“She’s coming home with me.”

That was it. His hand on my shoulder. The scent of hay and peppermint gum. The steady certainty in his voice.

After that, the farm became my whole world.

It wasn’t fancy. The barn paint peeled. The roof leaked every spring. But it was ours. Grandpa taught me how to read the sky before a storm and how to mend a fence with nothing but wire and patience.

When I woke up from nightmares, he would sit beside me and say, “You’re safe here, Katie. Nothing touches you on this land.”

Years passed. I married young, divorced younger, and moved back with three kids when my ex decided responsibility wasn’t for him.

Grandpa didn’t complain. He just looked at the row of muddy boots by the door and said, “More boots means more life.”

When his health began to fail, it happened slowly. Forgotten hats. Unfed horses. Then trouble climbing the stairs.

So I stepped in.

I ran harvests. Negotiated with suppliers. Balanced the books at the kitchen table after the kids went to bed. When frost wiped out a crop, I took a loan and kept quiet about it.

Meanwhile, his only child—my Aunt Linda—lived in Chicago posting rooftop parties and spa weekends. Farm life, she used to say, was beneath her.

She called Grandpa only when she needed money.

When hospice began, she didn’t visit once. Not even when the nurse said, “You should come now.”

I held his hand when he passed at 5:12 a.m. on a Tuesday.

Linda arrived that afternoon in a sleek black Mercedes.

She didn’t hug me.

She walked through the house like an appraiser.

“It looks smaller,” she said, removing her sunglasses.

“It’s the same size,” I replied.

She tapped walls, opened cabinets, wrinkled her nose in the barn.

“Developers would fight over this. There’s lake access. It’s worth a fortune.”

“This is our home,” I said.

“It was my dad’s home.”

The night before the funeral, she cornered me in the kitchen.

“You have three days.”

“For what?”

“To pack up. I’ve already lined up a developer. Groundbreaking starts next week.”

Three days.

I had no savings. No backup plan. Everything I had went into keeping that farm alive.

“You can’t just throw us out.”

“I’m his only child,” she said smoothly. “Once the will is read, it’s mine.”

At the will reading, she arrived late, glowing with confidence. She slid an eviction notice across the desk before the lawyer even began.

My hands shook.

Mr. Henderson didn’t look at it. He adjusted his glasses.

“Actually,” he said calmly, “we won’t be discussing the property today.”

Linda laughed. “I’m his only child. Read the will.”

He placed a stamped document on the desk.

“Three days ago, your father didn’t own the farm anymore.”

Silence swallowed the room.

“What?” Linda snapped.

“It now belongs to a protected family trust.”

Her smile vanished.

“A trust? That’s ridiculous.”

“Your father initiated it six months ago,” Mr. Henderson said. “All documents were signed while he was of sound mind.”

She grabbed the deed.

“And who controls this trust?”

“Your father named his youngest great-grandchild, Noah, as sole trustee and lifetime resident.”

My breath caught.

“He’s five!” she shouted.

“Which is why his mother will act as stand-in trustee until he turns twenty-one.”

Her head whipped toward me. “You knew!”

“I didn’t,” I whispered.

Mr. Henderson pulled out a digital recorder.

“Anticipating dispute,” he said, pressing play, “your father documented his intentions.”

Grandpa’s voice filled the office.

“If you’re hearing this, I’m gone. I know my daughter. Linda will want to cash in. Katie and those kids kept this place alive. They’ve earned the right to stay.”

Linda’s face drained of color.

“I’m not confused. This is my choice. The farm stays with the ones who treat it like family.”

The recording ended.

Linda erupted. “He was sick! You coached him!”

“It was recorded in my office with witnesses,” Mr. Henderson replied evenly.

“So I get nothing?” she demanded.

“Per the will, you are to receive $25,000.”

Her expression shifted instantly.

“However,” he continued, “that inheritance is conditional.”

Her smile froze.

“To receive it, you must assist in farm operations for five years—physical labor, financial collaboration, cooperative decision-making.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“If you contest the trust or will in court, you immediately forfeit the inheritance.”

The room fell quiet.

Linda slowly crumpled the eviction notice in her hand.

“You think you’ve won,” she muttered.

“I never wanted to fight,” I said.

She grabbed her purse. “Enjoy your dirt.”

The door closed behind her.

Three weeks later, the farm felt different.

Not easier. The loan still needed paying. The fences still needed fixing. But I wasn’t bracing for eviction anymore.

One evening, Noah climbed into my lap on the porch.

“Does this mean we’re not moving?” Emma asked quietly.

“We’re not going anywhere,” I told her.

She leaned against me, relieved.

The sun dipped low over the north field, lighting everything in gold. The air smelled like hay and wood smoke.

After the kids went to bed, I ran my hand over the worn kitchen table and whispered, “You planned this, didn’t you?”

In my mind, I could almost hear him chuckle.

He hadn’t just protected land.

He’d protected us.

And as I watched the fields stretch out under the fading light, I understood something clearly for the first time since he passed.

This wasn’t just a farm.

It was our future.

And we were staying.

Donald Trump’s State of the Union speech has sparked debate online, with many Americans pointing out one major thing that was missing from the president’s address.

On February 24, 2026, Donald Trump delivered a State of the Union speech lasting 1 hour and 48 minutes, setting a new record for the longest address in U.S. history. He praised the state of the economy, criticized Democrats, and gave only a brief nod to foreign affairs.

“Our nation is back: bigger, better, richer and stronger than ever before,” Trump said at the beginning of his speech before praising the state of the economy, criticizing Democrats, and briefly touching on foreign affairs.

Donald Trump’s controversial State of the Union speech

Almost two hours later, he closed the speech by saying: “Our future will be bigger, better, brighter, bolder and more glorious than ever before.”

But despite the nearly two-hour address, President Donald Trump skipped a topic many Americans expected him to address. One subject that has been on the minds of many citizens went unmentioned.

Donald Trump has repeatedly hinted at the possibility of sending every American a $2,000 stimulus check, funded in part by tariffs he has imposed — a proposal many people were eagerly expecting him to mention. Yet during his speech, he did not address the topic.

The omission has not gone unnoticed online. According to VT, one person wrote “Didn’t he say everyone’s getting a stimulus check then said ‘I forgot.’ Never trust trump.”

Another commented: “I wish we would have gotten our $2,000 stimulus check would been nice [sic],” and a third asked “Where’s the $2k stimulus check he promised us?”.

It appears that, for those waiting, it may be some time before they see that money.

New round of global tariffs

Trump promoted his TrumpRx website, which aims to help uninsured Americans access cheaper medications. He also mentioned an executive order preventing Wall Street firms from buying single-family homes in bulk and addressed last week’s United States Supreme Court ruling, which struck down large portions of the reciprocal tariffs he introduced last year.

“Just four days ago, an unfortunate ruling from the United States Supreme Court, it just came down; very unfortunate ruling,” Trump said, acknowledging the four justices in attendance, including his appointees Neil Gorsuch and Amy Coney Barrett.

Despite this, a new round of global tariffs set at 10 percent went into effect Tuesday. Trump described this as “fully approved and tested alternative legal statutes.” He has indicated plans to raise those tariffs to 15 percent.

Erika Kirk’s presence at the State of the Union address has generated a lot of talk online, and not just because she was accused of playing up for the cameras when the President Donald Trump mentioned her late husband, Charlie Kirk.

Yesterday, February 24, Trump delivered the longest State of the Union speech in history. Addressing a divided Congress and tens of millions of Americans watching from their homes, the 79-year-old was predictably impassioned, praising Republicans and the work his administration has done so far, damning Democrats, laying out bold plans for the future, and so much more.

“I’m very proud to say that during my time in office, both the first four years, and in particular this last year, there has been a tremendous renewal in religion, faith, Christianity and belief in God,” Trump said at one point.

“This is especially true among young people, and a big part of that had to do with my great friend Charlie Kirk, great guy.”

Charlie Kirk, readers will surely remember, was shot dead on September 10, 2025 while speaking at a Turning Point USA event in Utah. His wife, Erika, became TPUSA’s CEO weeks later, vowing to continue her late husband’s work and spread his message.

As Trump spoke about Charlie during his address, the cameras panned to Erika, who was seen wiping tears from her eyes.

“Erika has been through a lot. In Charlie’s memory, we must all come together to reaffirm that America is one nation under God, and we must totally reject political violence of any kind,” Trump said.

Erika came in for criticism from some online users who believed she was playing up for the cameras with her reaction. There were others, however, who reflected on the fact that she looked to be mouthing “I miss you” to her late husband.

“Seeing Erika Kirk mouth ‘I miss you’ is heartbreaking,” one user penned on X.

Another added: “I’m not a lip reader, but it appears that Erika says: ‘I miss you.’ after standing up. You can see her struggling to keep her composure when hearing Charlie’s name.”

Charlie Kirk’s alleged killer, Tyler Robinson, is facing a death penalty case in connection with last year’s shooting.

Another undeniable talking point from the State of the Union was the visual evidence of the political divide. A large number of Democrats skipped the address altogether, opting to show face at Washington rallies opposing Trump and his agenda.

Congressman Al Green of Texas, meanwhile, was escorted out of the chamber for the second year in a row having held up a white sign bearing the message: “Black people aren’t apes!” as Trump entered.

What did you make of Trump’s State of the Union address? Let us know in the comments.

President Donald Trump delivered his first State of the Union address of his second term on Monday night, a speech that quickly sparked strong reactions across the political spectrum.

Supporters described the nearly one hour and 48 minute address as forceful and confident. Critics called it divisive and overly combative. Regardless of perspective, it marked one of the longest State of the Union speeches in modern history.

Throughout the evening, Trump highlighted what he described as a “turnaround for the ages” in the economy, praised veterans, and laid out his administration’s goals for the years ahead. He also sharply criticized Democrats, at one point referring to them as “crazy,” reinforcing the partisan tone that has characterized much of his political career.

But amid the policy talk and pointed remarks, Trump unexpectedly turned his attention to First Lady Melania Trump — and delivered a comment that quickly caught attention online.

A Lighthearted Remark About Melania

While discussing the First Lady’s recent initiatives, Trump praised her efforts related to foster care and artificial intelligence policy, as well as her newly released Amazon documentary project.

“Nobody cares more about protecting America’s youth than our first lady — she’s now a movie star, can you believe it? Who would’ve believed that?” Trump said. “Over the past year she’s had an incredible impact, implementing AI legislation, advancing a landmark executive order on foster care and securing 30 million dollars to launch the Melania Trump foster youth to independence initiative. It’s tremendous.”

Then came the line that sparked debate:

“It’s a really tremendous thing that happened and she got a lot of bipartisan support. She gets much better bipartisan support than I do. I get none, she gets a lot. Some day you’re going to have to tell me how you did that!”

Many interpreted the remark as playful self-deprecation — a rare moment of humor in an otherwise serious speech. Others viewed it as a subtle acknowledgment of the political polarization surrounding his presidency.

Approval Ratings and Public Perception

While Trump joked that Melania enjoys stronger bipartisan backing, recent polling suggests her approval ratings are mixed.

A YouGov survey found that Melania Trump currently holds a negative approval rating of -16. By comparison, former First Lady Jill Biden registered at -9 in the same polling. Hillary Clinton polled slightly lower at -17.

Other former first ladies continue to maintain more favorable historical approval numbers. Nancy Reagan stands at +25, Lady Bird Johnson at +23, Rosalynn Carter at +32, and Barbara Bush at +21. Michelle Obama and Laura Bush both sit around +19 to +21 in comparable surveys.

These figures illustrate how public perceptions of first ladies often differ from those of presidents — and how those views can shift over time.

A Divisive Night in Washington

As with much of Trump’s political career, reactions to the address fell along familiar lines. Supporters praised his economic messaging and national security emphasis. Critics focused on the confrontational tone and partisan jabs.

The lighthearted comment about Melania became one of the more talked-about moments of the evening — not because it was harsh, but because it stood out in a speech otherwise marked by sharp political contrasts.

Whether viewed as humor, subtle commentary, or simply a passing remark, it added another layer to a speech already guaranteed to generate discussion.

What did you make of the address — and that unexpected comment about the First Lady?

Thirteen years ago, I was a young ER nurse working an overnight shift when a car accident came in that left the room unusually still. The parents were gone before we could save them — the kind of silence that follows when effort has done all it can. The only survivor was their three-year-old daughter, Avery, curled on a gurney with her knees to her chest, eyes red but empty of tears, as if she had already spent them all.

When I tried to step away, she reached for me and held on with a strength far bigger than her body. I stayed. I read the same worn children’s book again and again. I brought apple juice in a paper cup. I listened as she whispered “again,” not asking for the story so much as asking not to be left. When she touched my badge and said I was “the good one,” something settled quietly into my life.

What should have been one night became a choice.

A caseworker explained she had no family to go to, only temporary placements. Before I could think it through, I asked if I could take her home — just until things were sorted out. I was young. I worked long shifts. But I knew she needed steadiness more than perfection.

Weeks became months filled with parenting classes between shifts, learning to calm nightmares, learning how she liked the hallway light left on, which foods she avoided, how many hugs were enough — and how many were never enough. The first time she called me “Dad” was in a grocery store when she couldn’t reach the freezer. It was simple. Unplanned. Permanent.

I adopted her soon after.

Life wasn’t loud or flashy. It was homework at the kitchen table, movie nights, scraped knees, laughter, and stubborn talks about bedtime. I didn’t rush into dating. Not because I was afraid of being alone — but because her world deserved care.

Years later I met Marisa. She seemed gentle at first. Thoughtful. I believed we were building something steady.

Until one night she came over tense, phone in hand, showing me a video of Avery crying in a bathroom, mascara smeared, whispering that she didn’t know what was wrong with her. Marisa accused her of lying, sneaking around, being dramatic. And slowly the truth surfaced — that she hadn’t comforted Avery. She had frightened her. Warned her not to “ruin the family.”

When Avery told me about the bullying and the messages she’d been hiding, something firm rose in me — not rage, but resolve.

I went back into the living room and listened as Marisa brushed it off. Then she said the sentence that clarified everything:

“She’s not even yours.”

I placed the ring on the table.I told her Avery was mine because I chose her — and that love chosen is stronger than anything borrowed by blood. I told her I would choose my daughter every single day.

After Marisa left, Avery curled into me on the couch, shaking, asking if I would send her away too.

I held her and promised what had always been true.

Thirteen years ago, a frightened little girl reached for a stranger in an emergency room because she needed safety.

I answered.

And I will spend my life making sure she never doubts that she was wanted, protected, and chosen — not once, not ever.

Some families are formed by chance.
Others by courage.

Ours was built quietly — one night, one promise, one unwavering choice at a time.