A Modern-day tragedy
In Michigan’s polarized political landscape, two dynasties dominate: the Capris, a prominent Republican family based in Grand Rapids, and the Montes, a powerful Democratic clan rooted in Detroit. The feud erupted decades ago during a brutal gubernatorial race. A Capri patriarch ran on a GOP platform of tax cuts and rural values, while the Montes backed the Democratic rival with urban union muscle and big money. Accusations flew—voter fraud in Wayne County, dirty tricks in Kent County—and the Capris’ narrow loss left a bitter legacy. Since then, the families have clashed over statehouse seats, redistricting battles, and airwave screeds, splitting Michigan’s loyalties down the middle.
Jules Capri is a grassroots organizer from Grand Rapids, a devout Christian who sees her Republican values—freedom, family, faith—as a call to serve, though she’s weary of the party’s rigidity. Across the state, Roman Monte is a campaign strategist in Detroit, sharp but disillusioned with his family’s machine politics. They meet at a bipartisan conference in Lansing, where a voter outreach panel explodes. Over diner coffee, Jules shares how her faith fuels her, quoting Matthew 5:9 about peacemakers. Roman, drawn to her conviction, admits his own doubts. Sparks fly.
Their romance blossoms in secrecy—meetups at gas stations along I-96, late-night calls on burner phones, weekends at a cabin near Traverse City. Jules prays for their love, lighting candles in rural churches and dreaming of a truce to heal Michigan with jobs and hope. Roman admires her grit and grace. But their names are poison. Jules’ cousin Ty, a brash militia type, vows to crush any “Detroit liberal,” while Roman’s sister, a rising party boss, senses disloyalty.
The breaking point hits at a rally in Kalamazoo, mid-state turf where Jules and Roman plan to go public. They’ve crafted a unity speech, Jules weaving in scripture about peace, aiming to mend the divide. It backfires. Monte operatives accuse Jules of flipping Roman red to sabotage Detroit’s vote. Ty, fueled by rage and militia bravado, charges Roman in the parking lot, pulling a heavy flashlight from his tactical belt and swinging it hard. The blow catches Roman’s temple, knocking him out cold amid the chaos.
Rumors spread: Roman’s dead. Jules, gutted, drives to the Grand Haven beach, where they’d watched the sunset over Lake Michigan after she read him the 23rd Psalm. Clutching her cross necklace, she stumbles onto the icy sand, the winter wind whipping through the dunes. Believing he’s gone, she prays through sobs and wades into the freezing surf, whispering, “Into Your hands…” as the waves pull her under. Roman, alive but concussed, wakes to hear of her fate. He races to the lakeshore, finds her scarf tangled in driftwood on the beach, and plunges into the churning water after her, lost to the currents.
The tragedy shakes Michigan. At a joint memorial in Lansing, the Capris and Montes sit in silence as a pastor reads Jules’ favorite verse: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” Her legacy echoes, nudging them toward a ceasefire, then a coalition to rebuild the state. Their deaths flood X, a lesson in the toll of division. On the Grand Haven shore, a bench emblazoned with a cross bears their names, facing the lake where faith and love drowned.