Fetterman Breaks With Democrats To Back Trump’s Iran Strikes
Sen. John Fetterman, D Pa., broke sharply with many in his party Saturday and offered full-throated support for President Donald Trump following U.S. strikes on Iranian targets. “President Trump has been willing to do what’s right and necessary to produce real peace in the region,” Fetterman wrote on X. “God bless the United States, our great military, and Israel.”
In a separate post reacting to an Axios headline about Democrats demanding a war powers vote after the strikes, Fetterman distanced himself from his party’s pushback.
“Committed Democrat here. I’m a hard no. My vote is Operation Epic Fury,” he wrote.
Appearing later on Fox & Friends Weekend, Fetterman doubled down.
“You can just put out tweets and statements to support peace,” he said. “But to actually create real peace you have to do these kinds of actions just like what happened. Just like last year too when they destroyed their nuclear facilities. Sometimes peace is possible after these kinds of steps and that’s why I support those things.”
He described Trump as “absolutely correct” in authorizing the operation.
The Pennsylvania senator also rejected criticism from Rep. Thomas Massie, R Ky., who posted on X, “Acts of war unauthorized by Congress,” noting the president had not formally sought congressional approval despite a briefing with the Gang of Eight earlier in the week.
“That is bizarre,” Fetterman said. “I would like to remind my colleague over in the House that Iran massacred 30,000 of their own people right now.”
“This war is not about the Iranian people it’s about this poisonous regime,” he added. “That’s why I am proud to stand with our military. I am proud to stand with Israel too. I might be a Democrat but in this specific case the president’s absolutely correct to do these kinds of actions.”
Sen. Lindsey Graham, R S.C., praised Trump in a series of early morning posts.
“As I watch and monitor this historic operation, I’m in awe of President Trump’s determination to be a man of peace but at the end of the day, evil’s worst nightmare,” Graham wrote. “Well done, Mr. President.”
“God bless @POTUS for planning and now executing Operation Epic Fury, making America more safe and eventually more prosperous,” he added. “I seek God’s protection for all under President Trump’s command, as well as our allies in Israel.”
Graham called the mission “necessary and long justified.”
“The biggest change in the Middle East in a thousand years is upon us,” he wrote in a follow up post. “The likelihood of normalization between Saudi Arabia and Israel getting back on track is exceedingly high.”
Senate Armed Services Committee Chair Roger Wicker also commended the president’s decision.
“This is a pivotal and necessary operation to protect Americans and American interests,” Wicker said in a statement. “The president has stated the operation’s goals clearly: thwart permanently the ayatollahs’ desire to create a nuclear weapon, degrade their ballistic missile force and their production capacity, and destroy their naval and terrorism capabilities.”
“These are the hardest decisions that face any American commander in chief,” he added.
A U.S. official told Fox News the operation targeted military and ballistic missile sites posing an “imminent threat.” The U.S. military was not targeting Iran’s political leadership, the official said, though Israeli forces were pursuing separate objectives.
Strikes reportedly hit the compound home of Iran’s Supreme Leader, Ali Khamenei, in Tehran.
In a video message, Trump urged Iranians to stay out of harm’s way. “When we are finished, take over your government,” he said. “It will be yours to take.”
SHE THOUGHT KICKING A PREGNANT WIFE IN THE HOSPITAL WOULD END THE MARRIAGE — UNTIL THE BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND SAW THE TRUTH WITH HIS OWN EYES.
The low, vibrating chime of Marcus’s phone seemed to echo in the sudden, absolute silence of the VIP hospital suite. Outside the large glass windows, the distant murmur of the charity fundraiser gala continued, a stark contrast to the thick, suffocating tension that had gripped the room.
Marcus slowly pulled the phone from his tuxedo pocket. His eyes never left Isabella as his thumb swiped across the screen, playing the high-definition security footage sent directly by his head of security.
On the screen, there was no ambiguity. There was no "self-defense." The footage clearly showed Isabella lunging at me, her face twisted in a mask of pure malice as she shoved my seven-month-pregnant body into the side table. It showed the champagne glass shattering, and most horrifying of all, it captured the exact second her pointed red heel drove brutally into my abdomen while I lay helpless on the floor.
A muscle ticked violently in Marcus’s jaw. The cold, calculated billionaire who ran Thorne Enterprises—the man who prided himself on being five steps ahead of every competitor, every investor, and every enemy—looked completely paralyzed by the sheer weight of his own blindness.
"Marcus, honey, you can't believe whatever she's trying to play at," Isabella stammered, her voice rising an octave as she took a tentative step toward him, her hands reaching out to touch his lapel. "Khloe has been unstable for weeks. She’s jealous because she knows you don't love her. She staged this! She threw herself into that table just to make me look like a monster!"
"Get away from her," Marcus whispered.
The words were so quiet, so devoid of emotion, that Isabella froze mid-step.
"What?" she blinked, her polished, glamorous facade cracking completely.
"I said," Marcus raised his head, his piercing dark eyes locking onto hers with a lethal, suffocating intensity that made the gala coordinator behind him take a step back into the hallway, "get your hands off me, and step away from my wife."
"Marcus—"
"Michael!" Marcus roared, his voice cutting through the room like a physical blow.
Instantly, three burly men in dark suits and communication earpieces pushed past the coordinator into the room. The leader, Michael, looked at the blood on the floor near my maternity gown and his expression hardened into stone.
"Sir?" Michael asked, his hand resting near his holster.
"Secure Isabella Rossi," Marcus commanded, his voice trembling with a terrifying blend of absolute authority and suffocating rage. "Take her to the holding room in the basement. If she attempts to leave, if she attempts to make a single phone call, use whatever force is necessary. Notify the Chief of Police that I am filing charges for attempted murder and felony assault on a pregnant woman."
"Attempted murder?!" Isabella shrieked as Michael and another guard gripped her upper arms, effortlessly pinning her arms behind her back. Her expensive red dress twisted around her frame as she struggled against their grip. "Marcus, you can't do this to me! My father is your primary investor! If you lock me up, the Rossi Group will liquidate every single share of Thorne Enterprises by midnight! You'll be ruined!"
Marcus didn't even look at her as she was dragged out of the room, her high heels scuffing loudly against the hardwood floor, her screams fading down the private VIP corridor.
The moment the doors hissed shut behind her, Marcus dropped to his knees on the carpet, completely ignoring the shards of broken glass that sliced into the expensive fabric of his tuxedo. His hands were shaking violently as he reached out toward me, but he stopped short of touching me, as if terrified that his very presence would cause me more pain.
"Khloe..." he breathed, his voice raw, stripped entirely of the smooth arrogance he usually carried. "Khloe, look at me. I’m here. I’m right here. Don't close your eyes."
A searing, blinding pain tore across my lower abdomen, making me gasp for air. I tightly curled into a ball on the floor, my fingers digging into my white maternity gown, which was rapidly staining with a terrifying, deep crimson hue.
"The... the baby," I choked out, a tear spilling over my eyelid and mixing with the sweat on my forehead. "Marcus... he’s not moving. Please... help him."
"Medical team!" Marcus screamed toward the door, his composure breaking entirely as he saw the blood. "Get the Chief of Obstetrics up here right now! If anyone hesitates, I will burn this entire hospital to the ground!"
Within seconds, the room was swarmed by medical staff in blue scrubs. A gurney was pushed to my side, and I was carefully lifted onto it. As the world began to blur around the edges from the sheer agony and blood loss, I felt a strong, calloused hand wrap tightly around mine.
Marcus was running alongside the gurney as they pushed me toward the emergency operating theater. His face was pale, his eyes wide with a horrific realization that had come far too late.
"I've got you, Khloe," he pleaded, his voice cracking as he squeezed my hand. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Just hold on. Please, just hold on for our son."
I looked up at the harsh fluorescent lights of the ceiling as the heavy double doors of the operating room swung open. Our son, he had called him. For months, Marcus had treated this pregnancy like a corporate obligation, a cold arrangement to secure his family’s legacy while he allowed Isabella to whisper poison in his ear. But as the darkness finally rushed in to swallow me whole, I knew one thing with absolute certainty: if my baby didn't survive this night, there would be nothing left of Marcus Thorne’s world to salvage.
