Sarah Huckabee Sanders - Speaking for Myself: Faith, Freedom, and the Fight of Our Lives Inside the Trump White House

It was Christmas night 2018, and our home in Arlington, Virginia, was filled with the aromas of the traditional Sanders Christmas Dinnerplates of marinated-overnight, slow-cooked beef brisket, hash brown casserole filled with cheese just the way our three kids like it, spaghetti squash, Brussels sprouts with crisp bits of bacon, sauted mushrooms, and warm buttered bread. We topped it off with my bourbon chocolate pecan pie, made famous by CNNs April Ryan after she went on an angry tirade doubting I made it. April should have known better than to question the authenticity of a southern womans pie!

Around the table my husband, Bryan; our children, Scarlett, Huck, and George; my mother- and father-in-law in from Kansas City; Bryans sister Virginia, an elementary school teacher from Denver; Bryans brother David, who is completing his postdoc in neuroscience at Princeton; and Davids girlfriend Mel were all scrunched together. Theyd come in to celebrate a relaxing Christmas with us. It was great to actually use our dining room for once, which during my two and a half years in the White House was more commonly used as a storage room, while we ate meals in the kitchen either reheated out of the freezer or picked up at a nearby Chick-fil-A.

After dinner we cleared the dishes, threw away the last of the mounds of torn wrapping paper, and laughed at the new basketball goal Santa had brought but that our kids never actually received, because Bryan destroyed it during the easy-to-assemble process on Christmas Eve. Maybe one of these years Bryan will start putting the kids gifts together before midnight on Christmas Eve, but after seven Christmases with our kids and many near-traumatic Christmas mornings later, I wont hold my breath (I still love him anyway).

As we read books, said goodnight prayers, and tucked in our worn-out kids, who in their excitement had woken up way too early to open presents, I glanced at the time and announced, I hate to do this, but Im going to have to leave because something has come up. My in-laws werent used to the kind of somethings that those of us working at the White House had become familiar with and assumed I must be kidding. After all, it was late on Christmas, and we were three days into what became the longest government shutdown in US history. They only realized I was serious when I said, Its not an emergency, but Im not able to discuss it and Im afraid I have to leave right now. I sincerely apologized because I knew I wouldnt be back before their departure the following morning. I said my good-byes dressed in Lululemon yoga pants and a casual pullover, which prompted Bill, my normally not-so-fashion-conscious father-in-law, to ask, Should you change before going in? If not, I hope you keep a change of clothes at the office! I assured him I did and said not to worry, but if he had only known the real purpose for my abrupt departure, he would have been worried. I didnt show it, but I wasnt as calm as I was letting on. I understood the gravity of what I would be doing for the next several hours.

For the first time in nearly two years I drove myself to Joint Base AndrewsNaval Air Facility, a massive military complex covering nearly seven square miles of land. Among its many missions, it is home to Air Force One. En route, I made multiple calls to my good friend and occasional Air Force One spades partner, White House Deputy Chief of Staff Dan Walsh. Walsh was a retired officer in the United States Coast Guard, former presidential military aide at the White House, and former White House military office director. Aside from his distinguished career in the military and being one of the most knowledgeable people in the country about White House operations, Walsh is a really fun person to be around and someone all of us counted on. In the midst of some of our hardest days I was often in Walshs West Wing office venting, laughing, then walking out with a reminder of why we showed up to our jobs every day.

Walsh was in charge of planning and executing the highly classified and top-secret mission of the next forty-eight hours, and I wanted to make sure I was going in the right direction. This was one time that being late wouldnt be optionalor forgiven. Too many people were involved and were unable to disclose to their families on Christmas Day what duty was calling so urgently. After making fun of me for being directionally challenged Dan talked me through each turn. Because I was paying more attention to his precise directions than to other vehicles, I came close to getting killed twice. In what seemed like a longer than usual commute, I pulled up to the designated gate and went through several tightly controlled military checkpoints. They instructed me to follow an unmarked car to a parking lot where a small but familiar senior White House staff gathered.

I spotted Walsh and Dan Scavino, one of my closest friends at the White House, fellow road warrior, and senior advisor to the president. Scavino had worked for the president longer than anyone else in the White House and spent more time with him than just about any other administration official. He was the ultimate Trump insider, and far more influential than the media gave him credit for being (probably because he didnt leak to them). Scavino was my confidant, social media coach, and sounding board, and became like a brother to me over the three and a half years I worked for the president on his campaign and in the White House. We often spent our time on the road watching videos of one anothers kids, teasing our friend and colleague Stephen Miller, and working side by side to execute tasks the president assigned us. Stephen was known to many for his hard-line stance against illegal immigration and combative (and often wildly entertaining) media appearances. But the Stephen I got to know during my time in the administration was one of the funniest, most passionate, and thoughtful people in the building. No one on staff could articulate the presidents vision and agenda better than Stephen, and his role was so much greater than just a speechwriter or policy advisor. Both Stephen Miller and Dan Scavino were irreplaceable in President Trumps inner circle.

Though all of us had traveled dozens of times on Air Force One from Andrews, this night was different. We stood quietly and nervously outside in the pitch-black and the freezing cold awaiting instructions. After a few minutes of anxious chatter, we loaded onto small unmarked black buses and drove to a section of Andrews that I had never seen.

Air Force One, a gigantic Boeing 747, was still in the hangar. Normally when we were traveling with the president on Air Force One, we would pull onto the tarmac and see the iconic light blue and white plane lit up like a night game at a major league baseball stadium. This was the first time we had ever seen Air Force One in the hangar.