He spoke not like a politician, but like a man finally acknowledging the limits of his own body and time. From behind the Resolute Desk, he admitted what others had only murmured in private: that the weight of the office had grown heavier than his years could bear. Yet he refused to let the moment be defined by frailty. Instead, he cast his decision as a final act of stewardship, a way to shield the fragile experiment he had sworn to defend. With his family beside him, their faces etched by decades of loss and resilience, he traced his journey from a boy with a stutter to the presidency itself. In that quiet reckoning, there was sorrow, but also a rare, steady dignity—the kind that comes from choosing to leave before history decides for you.
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