@abolition4life: #stitch with @nbcnews media organizations are being asked to clear out their spaces and leave if they refused to sign Trump’s new media Pentagon agreement… #media #news #policy #protection

Charlie
Charlie
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Thursday 16 October 2025 22:17:19 GMT
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seedoilguzzler
alucarda :
it’s going to be a really important time for the big media orgs who just took a stand to do everything they can to do brave investigative journalism now. if this admin won’t give information willingly we will take it by force.
2025-10-19 03:08:43
1
theprettytrapper
Essence | The Divine Yapper :
Free speech is dangerously = f@c!$m
2025-10-17 00:27:17
2
a_4l1f3
𝕯𝖗𝖊𝖚𝖝♒️♌️ :
I hope the some of the ones who stayed leak info to the ones who left so they can report what they can’t
2025-10-17 22:12:17
3
moonnugget333
MoonNugget333 :
🤔 Can’t some of these media orgs sue???
2025-11-06 16:32:16
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The first time I realized the truth might come out was two years ago, when Daniel, my eldest, fell ill. It started with constant fatigue. He would come home from school looking pale, his lips almost white. I thought it was malaria. But when the usual treatment didn’t work, we went to the hospital. The doctor ordered a few routine tests, including a full blood count and a sickle cell screening, just to rule things out. When the results came back, Daniel was fine. But something else caught the doctor’s attention. He asked casually if both parents were confirmed to be the blood group we listed on the hospital form. I said yes. My husband’s was O-, mine B+. The doctor smiled politely and said, “Interesting. Daniel’s is AB+. That combination is unusual.” My stomach turned cold. Unusual, he said. He moved on to another topic, but his words stayed with me long after we left. That night, my husband was joking with Daniel about football while I sat in the corner pretending to read. I could not hear their laughter without feeling it slice through me. A few months later, something else happened. The twins needed new passports for a family trip, and I was asked to bring birth records for all three children. When I opened the hospital files, I saw the same strange note scribbled by the lab technician years ago: “Mother’s genotype B+, father’s O-. Child AB+. Kindly recheck parental data.” That was the second time my hands shook so badly I had to sit down. He noticed my silence that week. He thought I was stressed about the trip and I let him believe that. Sometimes I think back to the beginning, when I found out he was impotent. It had been the hardest conversation of our marriage. He said he wanted to find peace in prayer, that he believed if it was meant to be, God would perform a miracle. I wanted to believe that too, but hope can only stretch so far before it breaks. The man I turned to afterward was a mistake that became a habit. He was kind, understanding, and dangerous for exactly those reasons. When I got pregnant the first time, I told myself it was divine intervention. By the time I had the twins, I stopped pretending to be naive. He never suspected. Not once. Every morning he would kiss the children’s foreheads and thank God for his “answered prayers.” Sometimes I would have to leave the room to hide my tears. Years have passed since then, and I still haven’t found the courage to tell him. The children are growing, the guilt is aging with me. I know the truth will come out someday. Secrets like this don’t stay buried forever. And when it does, I don’t know if I’ll lose only my marriage, or the family I built trying to keep it alive. FOLLOW to see how the story ends in Part 3.
The first time I realized the truth might come out was two years ago, when Daniel, my eldest, fell ill. It started with constant fatigue. He would come home from school looking pale, his lips almost white. I thought it was malaria. But when the usual treatment didn’t work, we went to the hospital. The doctor ordered a few routine tests, including a full blood count and a sickle cell screening, just to rule things out. When the results came back, Daniel was fine. But something else caught the doctor’s attention. He asked casually if both parents were confirmed to be the blood group we listed on the hospital form. I said yes. My husband’s was O-, mine B+. The doctor smiled politely and said, “Interesting. Daniel’s is AB+. That combination is unusual.” My stomach turned cold. Unusual, he said. He moved on to another topic, but his words stayed with me long after we left. That night, my husband was joking with Daniel about football while I sat in the corner pretending to read. I could not hear their laughter without feeling it slice through me. A few months later, something else happened. The twins needed new passports for a family trip, and I was asked to bring birth records for all three children. When I opened the hospital files, I saw the same strange note scribbled by the lab technician years ago: “Mother’s genotype B+, father’s O-. Child AB+. Kindly recheck parental data.” That was the second time my hands shook so badly I had to sit down. He noticed my silence that week. He thought I was stressed about the trip and I let him believe that. Sometimes I think back to the beginning, when I found out he was impotent. It had been the hardest conversation of our marriage. He said he wanted to find peace in prayer, that he believed if it was meant to be, God would perform a miracle. I wanted to believe that too, but hope can only stretch so far before it breaks. The man I turned to afterward was a mistake that became a habit. He was kind, understanding, and dangerous for exactly those reasons. When I got pregnant the first time, I told myself it was divine intervention. By the time I had the twins, I stopped pretending to be naive. He never suspected. Not once. Every morning he would kiss the children’s foreheads and thank God for his “answered prayers.” Sometimes I would have to leave the room to hide my tears. Years have passed since then, and I still haven’t found the courage to tell him. The children are growing, the guilt is aging with me. I know the truth will come out someday. Secrets like this don’t stay buried forever. And when it does, I don’t know if I’ll lose only my marriage, or the family I built trying to keep it alive. FOLLOW to see how the story ends in Part 3.

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