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First of two stories looking at the role of ICE in the changing landscape of immigration enforcement.

KANSAS CITY, Missouri – Back when he was in uniform, everywhere the airman went Americans adored him, thanked him for his service, offered to buy him lunch.

Then he joined ICE.

Now – in the midst of newly aggressive immigration enforcement – the U.S. Air Force veteran is more likely to hear insults and slurs from the public than thanks. He became an ICE deportation officer because he thinks of himself as "a law-and-order guy." And because ICE is the family business.

His father is an ICE deportation officer. And his sister. And his twin brother.

"All we want to do is create a safer America," said John, who asked that USA TODAY withhold his full name for fear of being targeted for his work. His fellow officers and family "put their lives on the line," he said, "and I'm willing to do the same."

PresidentDonald Trump, acting with broad voter support, has made deporting millions of immigrants the centerpiece of his second presidency. Masked ICE agents have become the face of that nationwide deportation campaign.

Trump supporters view the effort as a necessary response to historically high migration under PresidentJoe Biden. An influx ofroughly 6 million migrants between 2021 and 2024pushed the percentage of foreign-born people in the United States to a century high and drove a political crowbar into an America sharply divided by immigration.

Millions of Americans now support mass deportation at whatever cost. Polls, protests and viral videos suggest millions of others believe the efforthas already gone too far, and organized resistance is growing.

John and his family have long considered themselves public servants charged with enforcing the law Congress enacted.

But this view is increasingly at odds with the shocking headlines and viral videos of detentions many Americans see as unjust or overly violent.

Agents smashing car windows.Piling out of a Penske truckto grab workers at a Home Depot. Pursuingfarmworkers through strawberry fields. Rappelling from aBlack Hawk helicopterinto an apartment building.Chasing a caregiver into a daycare, hauling her out by force.

ICE is taking the heat, though most of those incidents were led by U.S. Border Patrol, a separate agency under the Department of Homeland Security. But for a growing number of Americans, especially in immigrant communities, the insignia on a badge matters less than the tactics they see as overly aggressive, even unjust.

John and his family agreed to talk to USA TODAY – with permission from their superiors – to counter what they see as false impressions of their work.

To cover their perspective, which has been largely absent from the public debate on immigration, USA TODAY went behind the scenes of the Trump administration's deportation campaign. In November, we spent three days with ICE in Kansas City, part of the Chicago field office tasked with immigration enforcement in a sprawling, six-state region of the Midwest that includes Missouri, Kansas, Kentucky, Illinois, Indiana and Wisconsin.

USA TODAY withheld the full names of family members at their request, given the charged climate around immigration enforcement and because they are not official spokespeople for their agency. They each used one of their given names.

John recalled that, as an airman, "I had people wanting to buy me lunch in an airport or, you know, looking at me like I'm some sort of hero.

"Then when I come to this side of the aisle – where I'm still putting my life on the line to enforce the law and wanting to create a safer America – now all of a sudden, I'm not that hero."

More:Exclusive look inside ICE: How the agency operates in Trump's America

ICE on a recruitment push

In August, amid an $8 billion hiring spree, Homeland Securityposted an ICE recruitment flyerthat depicted a grizzled agent with a salt-and-pepper beard beside a fresh-faced youth in camo and body armor.

The tagline read: "We're taking father/son bonding to a whole new level."

Nationwide, ICE is working to hire as many as 10,000 deportation officers in addition to the nearly15,000 federal law enforcement officersdetailed to immigration enforcement. A year ago, ICE had 6,000 deportation officers in total.

We're taking father/son bonding to a whole new level.https://t.co/nZkBEj3GGipic.twitter.com/sg5QwuDDwG

— Homeland Security (@DHSgov)August 6, 2025

John, his brother James, and their sister Danielle had already followed in their father Robert's footsteps, graduating the ICE training academy during a 2024 presidential election dominated by the immigration debate.

As a family, they hold the gamut of jobs within ICE.

Robert drives a commercial van transporting ICE detainees between facilities or medical care. John, briefly detailed to Kansas City from his home base in Florida, makes street arrests as a deportation officer. James picks up immigrants arrested on criminal charges from area jails. And Danielle works a desk job arranging the travel documents required for immigrants to be deported

Inspired by their dad's quarter-century of service, the siblings landed at ICE after other careers. John spent six years in the Air Force, including one overseas deployment. James, the younger brother by five minutes, worked for the Bureau of Prisons. Danielle, the eldest, was first a schoolteacher, then worked for U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services.

Robert was nearing the end of his career just as his kids were joining the force. They worked together for six months, an opportunity that made Robert emotional: "Seeing them in the morning when I get to the office, it's just hard to explain..." At 57, he came up on mandatory retirement in May.

He bought a sportscar, packed up his desk and was about to take his wife, Michelle, for their first real vacation in years when an email from the new Trump administration hit his personal inbox in June: Retirees could return to ICE, with a $50,000 bonus.

Michelle asked what he was thinking.

"It's a no-brainer," he told her. "It's time to go back."

A blitz and a backlash

In September, Robert and another returning officer were settling into a closet-sized office decorated with a Kansas City Chiefs banner when DHS surged federal agents to Chicago. Danielle got orders to depart for the operation named "Midway Blitz" at 10 p.m. the night before she would leave. It was a monthlong detail.

The same week, on September 25, a shooter perched on a hotel rooftop fired into the garage of an ICE facility in Dallas,fatally woundingtwo detained immigrant men. Authorities said the shooter had "specifically intended to kill ICE agents."

The anti-ICE movement was exploding.

A continuous street protest was underway at the local ICE headquarters in Broadview, Illinois, when Danielle arrived. Amid clashes with clergy and activists, a protestor held a sign with a Biblical message: "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do." Danielle walked through clouds of tear gas to get to work.

Danielle, active in her Kansas City church, confided to other churchgoers that she worked for ICE and would be deployed to the "blitz" – how else to explain her sudden, prolonged absence?

She was met by some with understanding, by others with accusations. One woman confronted her about her work.

Danielle said, "It's hard to have a conversation about it because there isn't any trust. A lot of people like the lady from church are going to just assume that I am blowing smoke and not being honest."

Immigrant families feared their loved ones being taken by ICE, or sent to far-flung detention centers. Robert and Michelle worried about their kids being deployed to Chicago.

"It's never exactly safe, but now you have people that are protesting and getting physical and burning things, and it just … it's hard to watch," Robert said.

At least six protestors were indictedin Chicago in November on charges of assaulting, resisting and impeding federal officers. Agents deployed tear gas and fired pepper balls, injuringtwo church pastors in separate incidents.

A week after Danielle came home, James was deployed to Chicago. Robert watched the furious crowds on the news, the flares of violence directed at ICE agents. At his kids.

"I saw the protests, I know how close they're getting to the facility there," he said. "Not a whole lot of room to get around without engaging. You know, people yelling 'fascist' and all sorts of things."

"It was like where you just don't want the phone to ring," he said.

What ICE does: 'We're targeted enforcement'

On a Tuesday in November, in a two-story building with minimal signage, the Kansas City ICE office was noisy with change. Builders made a racket with power tools on the second floor, outfitting the space for ICE to double its personnel in the coming months.

At 6 a.m., Danielle was already in her cubicle under the glare of fluorescent lights, country music playing softly on her cellphone.

There were echoes of her schoolteacher days: a hand-drawn sign that said "Shhh... I'm working! Thanks," with a heart for punctuation. Every available surface was stacked with brown file folders, each corresponding to someone detained, or someone ICE was planning to arrest. Sticky notes on cardboard file boxes read "removal docs" and "pending court date."

"We're targeted enforcement," she said, "so we know who we're going after."

While Danielle searched for embassy contact information to process a deportation, John readied handcuffs for that morning's arrest: a Venezuelan man living in Kansas City illegally with a rap sheet that included sexual assault and drunk driving.

James was on his way to pick up an immigrant in the federal penitentiary who had finished a criminal sentence. Robert, meanwhile, had departed at dawn for a 12-hour round trip transporting detainees.

During his tenure and the kids' short time in the agency before Trump took office, ICE prioritized going after undocumented immigrants who had serious criminal records. The agency's traditional work method has long been to surveil, surround and make an arrest as quickly and quietly as possible – no spectators.

Things have changed.

This year, pressed to deliver on Trump's promise of "mass deportation," the White House began ratcheting up pressure on ICE to raise its arrest and deportation numbers.

A quota circulated; the administration wanted 3,000 arrests per day. To achieve it, Homeland Security pushed U.S. Border Patrol – ICE's bigger, bolder sister agency – into a lead role, launching flashy operations in major American cities. ICE agents were ready to double-down on arrests after years of what they saw as leniency under past administrations.

In Kansas City, ICE officers including Robert and his kids are working long hours now – six-, sometimes seven-day weeks. Lately, Danielle stops at her parents' house for dinner after a 12-hour workday, then returns to the office to keep processing paperwork, each folder holding an immigrant's fate in the balance.

With John home for a few days from his post in Florida, the family gathered for dinner. Michelle made lasagna. The house was already decorated for Christmas.

They bowed their heads. Michelle prayed: "Dear Lord… We ask that you would help us to live a life that you find worthy, unto you, and forgive us of our sins."

'Half the country hates you'

After Chicago, after Dallas, Robert took new precautions. For the first time in his 25-year career, he started checking the rooftops of buildings near the office before getting out of his car.

"It seems like half the country loves you and half the country hates you," Robert said. "Congress has the power to change the laws if they want to change the laws. All we're doing is enforcing the laws that are on the books."

The twins often wear masks in public, when carrying out street arrests. They do it, they say, to protect their family – full stop. There is no federal law that prohibits them from doing so.

Danielle is analytical. The public deserves to know who their law enforcement officers are, she says. But there is no escaping the current reality, in which many members of the public don't trust ICE, and ICE doesn't trust them.

They hear the rage firsthand, slurs they say aren't true.

Fascists. Nazis. Cowards.

Before she became a federal worker, Danielle taught in a Kansas City high school, in a classroom where some students had undocumented parents or were undocumented themselves. She saw the trauma children suffered when a parent was deported. Still, in her view, the law is the law.

"There are collaterals," she said. "We are going after people who are in the system, who have a criminal history, who you don't want on the street, whether they are here illegally or not."

Legal or illegal? It's open to interpretation

Immigration law, housed in Title 8 of the U.S. Code, is notoriously complex and sometimes contradictory.

For example: It's illegal to cross the U.S. border between ports of entry. It's also legal to seek asylum at the border, even after crossing illegally.

The law – which hasn't been updated since before the twins were born in the late-90s – gives ICE broad authority to detain immigrants, including those in a legal process to stay. But detention is costly and jail space limited. That led prior administrations to prioritize holding immigrants with criminal records or who recently crossed.

The Trump administration and a Republican-led Congress are now pumping $45 billion into ICE to dramatically expand detention space, and the agency is increasingly flexing its detention authority. The number of immigrants held on a given day surged above 65,000 in November – a record high – from fewer than 40,000 a year earlier, according to ICE data.

Though ICE officers carry out judges' orders, they are vested with some discretion over how to handle individual cases, particularly if there are children involved.

The following day, a Wednesday, James parked a van into the secure garage of the Wyandotte County jail.

A 33-year-old Mexican man, in the country illegally since he was 2, had been arrested on drug possession charges. A judge ordered him to appear in January 2026. He posted bond. Jail officers notified ICE.

Hundreds of county jails in so-called "sanctuary" communitiesrefuse to call ICEwhen releasing a person in the country illegally, citing their mandate not to detain people after a judge has ordered their release.

James handcuffed the man, loaded him into the van and brought him to the holding area at the Kansas City ICE office. James asked him why, since he had U.S. citizen children, he hadn't applied for legal status. The man said he had no contact with his kids. He was detained, while waiting to see an immigration judge.

Not their father's agency

ICE is rapidly evolving from the force Danielle, John and James got to know on "take your kid to work" days.

Trump's mass deportation goal has led tostreamlining and shortcuts. Many new ICE hires were put through an accelerated academy. Some gun-and-badge carrying former law enforcement officers have been exempted from in-person training.

And the "operations" continue, from Los Angeles, to Chicago and Charlotte, N.C., to New Orleans and Minneapolis. The administration has indicated it will target cities across the country. The enforcement surge may come to Kansas City, too.

It was his father's example that drew John to the agency. "I always wanted to be an ICE agent because of my dad," he said. "One of the coolest things that I've seen him do is actually put really bad guys out of the United States."

John has been thinking about the strangers who thanked him in one uniform and despise him in another.

"I wonder if that person that was willing to buy me a lunch in an airport, coming home as a soldier, would look at me the same now knowing that I'm an ICE agent," he said. "Nothing's changed for me. I'm the same person."

Lauren Villagran covers immigration for USA TODAY. She can be reached at lvillagran@usatoday.com.

This article originally appeared on USA TODAY:Family of ICE agents wants to create a 'safer America'

WhenVolodymyr Zelenskyylast asked Ukrainians to vote for him, he wasa political newbie, a former comedian eager to change his country and talk withRussiato end a protracted conflict.

Six years later, Zelenskyy — transformed by theKremlin's full-scale invasion— is facing sudden pressure from the United Statesto hold a new election, even as he navigates Washington's push for apeace dealthat could threaten Ukraine's future.

President Donald Trump, frustrated by a lack of progress in peace talks, criticized Zelenskyy this week for "using war not to hold an election." It's a narrative that Moscow has exploited to label Zelenskyy's government "illegitimate" and thus impossible to negotiate with.

Yet an election would currently be illegal, sinceUkrainian lawprohibits holding elections while martial law is in effect.

Nonetheless, Zelenskyy now appears to be playing ball. But huge questions hang over the idea, from security to logistics, given the fierce fighting on the front lines and the daily Russian aerial assaults on Ukraine's cities.

"I do not want Ukraine to have a weak position, so that someone could use the absence of elections as an argument against Ukraine," Zelenskyy said Thursday. Elections could happen in 60 to 90 days, he has said, provided that Ukraine's allies help provide security on the ground.

Ukraine was scheduled to hold a presidential election in early 2024, but it was postponed because martial law was introduced after Russia's February 2022 attack.

After Trump's comment, Zelenskyy said he had asked lawmakers to prepare proposals "enabling changes to the legal framework" that would make elections possible.

Beyond martial law, there are two major challenges, Zelenskyy said: security and the army.

First, how would Kyiv ensure that people who come out to vote won't be hit in a sudden missile or drone strike? The Kremlin's attacks regularly plunge Ukrainian cities into frigid darkness for hours, which could complicate voting and ballot counting.

"Elections always involve crowds," said Kyiv-based political analyst Volodymyr Fesenko. "What do you do about air raid alerts and safeguarding electoral paperwork? If a siren goes off, do you just grab a bunch of election protocols and run into a shelter? I am having a hard time imagining how that could work."

The White House did not respond to NBC News' request for comment on how the U.S. might help.

Kyiv would also have to figure out how hundreds of thousands of soldiers fighting on the front lines would vote.

Some forces could perhaps be rotated out to vote in relatively safer areas, but Ukraine is already low on manpower and could risk jeopardizing critical battlefield positions.

To that end, Zelenskyy has called for a ceasefire during the election process. The Kremlin swiftly shot down the suggestion, having long rejected any ceasefire before a full peace deal is reached.

Without a pause in fighting, more than 800,000 personnel in Ukraine's armed forces would be effectively shut out of any election process, said Yevheniia Kravchuk, a lawmaker with Zelenskyy's Servant of the People party. It would be unsafe for people overseeing the voting, too, she said. "I don't see any observers coming to the front line where you can be killed by a first-person view (FPV) drone like every 15 minutes," Kravchuk said in an audio message sent to NBC News on WhatsApp.

Kravchuk pointed to the country's five different presidents since Vladimir Putin came to power in Russia in 2000. "Ukrainians understand that during the war, the first goal is to survive and to keep the country, keep the sovereign state," she said.

Zelenskyy has been under domestic pressure, too, thanks toa corruption scandal. But even his opponents seemed skeptical of a wartime vote.

It would take at least half a year after the end of martial law to organize elections that would be truly free and fair, said opposition lawmaker Ivanna Klympush-Tsintsadze. "But discussing all of this right now has little to do with the reality on the ground," Klympush-Tsintsadze, who represents the European Solidarity Party, said in an audio message on WhatsApp. "We are very far from the real end of this war," she added.

Another complicating factor is thatmillions of Ukrainiansfled the country when the war broke out and now live overseas. Millions more have been internally displaced by the fighting or now live in areas occupied by Russia (about 20% of Ukraine's territory), so simply working out who is eligible to vote and how to reach them would pose an immense challenge, said Fesenko.

Trump and Putin may think that the lack of an election undermines Zelenskyy's legitimacy, but Ukrainians don't seem to agree.

Anopinion pollconducted by the Kyiv International Institute of Sociology in September found that 63% of Ukrainians believe elections should be held only after a final peace agreement and a complete end to the war. Only 11% support holding elections right now, even without a ceasefire, according to the poll.

Should an election be held in the near future, there is only one candidate who could challenge Zelenskyy, Fesenko said — Gen.Valeriy Zaluzhnyi, the former commander in chief.

Zaluzhnyi has remained a popular figure after leading the Ukrainian army through much of the war. He wassacked by Zelenskyyin early 2024 and isnow servingas Ukraine's ambassador to Britain. Although Zelenskyy's position has been weakened by the corruption scandal, the president would still be a front-runner alongside Zaluzhnyi, Fesenko said. "It's just these two," he said. "Everyone else has much lower ratings."

"In the fourth year of the war, everyone is deeply exhausted," marketing specialist Ivan Datsko told NBC News on the phone from Kyiv on Wednesday.

Datsko, 33, said he felt that elections could be held but that there must at least be a ceasefire. "No rockets, no [drones] — and conditions that allow our soldiers to rotate safely. And of course, all Ukrainians who have left the country must also have the opportunity to vote," he said.

"If all these conditions are met, it could become a strong step toward real peace talks," Datsko added. "First, silence on the front line, then elections, and after that, an agreement that truly protects Ukraine from future aggression and gives us a chance for peace and a normal life," he said.

Russia has accused Zelenskyy of trying to cling to power. Last month, Putin said signing a peace deal with Zelenskyy would be "pointless" because he has lost his legitimacy after being too "afraid" to run again. The Kremlin said Friday that Zelenskyy's declared readiness for an election may simply be his latest attempt to freeze the conflict before negotiating a deeper peace deal — something Moscow has frequently rejected.

Other countries have held elections in wartime and elected officials' democratic mandate becomes weaker the longer they are postponed, but elections also need to be practically possible, said Janina Dill, an international law expert on the use of force and a professor of global security at the University of Oxford.

"And calls for an election must not be used to weaken Ukrainian agency and resolve in the midst of an existential struggle for national survival," Dill added.

VILNIUS, Lithuania (AP) — Belarusian authorities on Saturday freed Nobel Peace Prize laureate Ales Bialiatski, key opposition figure Maria Kolesnikova and other prominent political prisoners, a human rights group confirmed.

Their release comes as authoritarian President Alexander Lukashenko seeks to improve relations with Washington. The U.S. earlier on Saturday announced lifting sanctions on the country's potash sector. In exchange, Lukashenko pardoned a total of 123 prisoners, the Belta state news agency reported.

A close ally of Russia, Minsk has faced Western isolation and sanctions for years. Lukashenkohas ruled the nationof 9.5 million with an iron fist for more than three decades, and the country has beenrepeatedly sanctioned by Western countriesboth for its crackdown on human rights and for allowing Moscow to use its territory in the invasion of Ukraine in 2022. Belarus has released hundreds of prisoners since July 2024.

John Coale, the U.S. special envoy for Belarus, announced the lifting of sanctions on potash after meeting Lukashenko in Minsk on Friday and Saturday.

Speaking with journalists, Coale described the two-day talks as "very productive," Belarus' state news agency Belta reported Saturday. He said that normalizing relations between Washington and Minsk was "our goal."

"We're lifting sanctions, releasing prisoners. We're constantly talking to each other," he said, according to Belta. He also said that the relationship between the countries was moving from "baby steps to more confident steps" as they increased dialogue.

Bialiatski and Kolesnikova among those released

Pavel Sapelka, an advocate with the Viastan rights group, confirmed to The Associated Press that Bialiatski and Kolesnikova were released from prison.

Human rights advocate Bialiatski won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2022, along with the prominent Russian rights group Memorial and Ukraine's Center for Civil Liberties.

Bialiatski, awarded the prize while in jail awaiting trial, was later convicted of smuggling as well as financing actions that violate public order — charges widely denounced as politically motivated — and sentenced to 10 years in 2023.

Kolesnikova was a key figure in themass protests that rocked Belarus in 2020,and is a close ally of an opposition leader in exile,Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya.

Kolesnikova, known for her close-cropped hair and trademark gesture of forming a heart with her hands, became an even greater symbol of resistance when Belarusian authorities tried to deport her in September 2020. Driven to the Ukrainian border, she briefly broke away from security forces at the frontier, tore up her passport and walked back into Belarus.

The 43-year-old professional flautist was convicted in 2021 on charges including conspiracy to seize power and sentenced to 11 years in prison.

Others who were freed

Others who were released, according to Viasna, include Viktar Babaryka — an opposition figure who had sought to challenge Lukashenko in the 2020 presidential election, widely seen as rigged, before being convicted and sentenced to 14 years in prison on charges he rejected as political.

Viasna said that the group's imprisoned advocates, Valiantsin Stefanovic and Uladzimir Labkovich, and prominent opposition figure Maxim Znak, were released as well.

Most of them were brought into Ukraine, Franak Viachorka, Tsikhanouskaya's senior adviser, told the AP.

"I think Lukashenko decided to deport people to Ukraine to show that he is in control of the situation," Viachorka said.

Eight or nine others, including Bialiatski, will be brought to Lithuania on Saturday, and more prisoners will be taken to Lithuania in the next few days, Viachorka said.

Ukrainian authorities confirmed that Belarus handed over 114 civilians. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy said five of them were Ukrainian nationals.

Lukashenko wants a rapprochement with the West

The last time U.S. officials met with Lukashenko in September 2025, Washington announced easing some of the sanctions against Belarus while Mink released more than 50 political prisoners into Lithuania. With that September release, the number of prisoners freed by Belarus since July 2024 exceeded 430, in what was widely seen as an effort at a rapprochement with the West.

"The freeing of political prisoners means that Lukashenko understands the pain of Western sanctions and is seeking to ease them," Tsikhanouskaya told the AP on Saturday.

She added: "But let's not be naive: Lukashenko hasn't changed his policies, his crackdown continues and he keeps on supporting Russia's war against Ukraine. That's why we need to be extremely cautious with any talk of sanctions relief, so that we don't reinforce Russia's war machine and encourage continued repressions."

Tsikhnouskaya also described European Union sanctions against Belarusian potash fertilizers as far more painful for Minsk that those imposed by the U.S, saying that while easing U.S. sanctions could lead to the release of political prisoners, European sanctions should push for long-term, systemic changes in Belarus and the end of Russia's war in Ukraine.

Sanctions have hit the key Belarus export hard

Belarus, which previously accounted for about 20% of global potash fertilizer exports, has faced sharply reduced shipments since Western sanctions targeted state producer Belaruskali and cut off transit through Lithuania's Klaipeda port, the country's main export route.

"Sanctions by the U.S., EU and their allies have significantly weakened Belarus's potash industry, depriving the country of a key source of foreign exchange earnings and access to key markets," Anastasiya Luzgina, an analyst at the Belarusian Economic Research Center BEROC, told AP.

"Minsk hopes that lifting U.S. sanctions on potash will pave the way for easing more painful European sanctions; at the very least, U.S. actions will allow discussions to begin," she said.

The latest round of U.S.-Belarus talks also touched on Venezuela, as well as Russia's ongoing invasion of Ukraine, Belta reported.

Coale told reporters that Lukashenko had given "good advice" on how to address the Ukraine war, saying that Lukashenko and Russian President Vladimir Putin were "longtime friends" with "the necessary level of relationship to discuss such issues."

"Naturally, President Putin may accept some advice and not others," Coale said.

Amy Schumerand her husband, chefChris Fischer, announced their divorce on December 12, after seven years of marriage. In a post on Instagram, Schumer wrote that the split was amicable and that the pair were going to stay focused on co-parenting their son, Gene.

In the Instagram post, theTrainwreckactresswrote the following:

"Blah blah blah Chris and I have made the difficult decision to end our marriage after 7 years," Schumer posted. "We love each other very much and will continue to focus on raising our son. We would appreciate people respecting our privacy at this time. blah blah blah not becisse [sic] I dropped some lbs and thought I could bag s basket and not because he's a hot Janlmes [sic] beard award winning chef who can still pull some hot tail. Amicable and all love and respect! Family forever."

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by @amyschumer

The post addressed recent rumors surrounding her dramatic weight loss, which led to speculation about her divorce. According toPeople, in a now-deleted Reel, she confronted the rumors regarding the weight loss and stated, "I had a disease that makes your face extremely puffy that can kill you, but the internet caught it, and the disease has cleared." Schumer was diagnosed with Cushing syndrome in 2024.

"Whatever ends up happening with Chris has nothing to do with weight loss or [his] autism," she wrote. "Fingers crossed we can make it through. He's the best."

According toPeople, a source close to the couple revealed that "there's nothing ugly. It's a cohesive split. They've just been finalizing a few things."

The pair began dating in 2017 and have been married since February 2018. They share a son, whom they welcomed in May 2019.

Reactions to the news have been overwhelmingly positive, with friends and fans wishing her well and sending love.Debra Messing,Jillian Bell, activistBillie Lee, comic Carla Johnston, and country singerMargo Pricehave all offered heart emojis in support of the comic/actress as she moves on with the next stage of her life.

Read the latest entertainment news onTV Insider.

• Billy Ray Cyrus is seeking over $7,000 from a woman who claimed to be Miley Cyrus' mom in a lawsuit.

• The woman, Jayme Lee, filed the lawsuit in May, which alleged that she is Miley's true biological mother and that Billy Ray committed fraud in an adoption agreement they forged after Miley's birth.

• Billy Ray confirmed that Tish Cyrus is Miley's real mom and demanded the suit get dismissed by court.

While things are looking up inBilly Ray and Miley Cyrus' relationship, a woman who isnotTish Cyrus is claiming that she is Miley's real mother—but Billy Ray is not having it.

According to court documentsobtained byUs Weeklyon Wednesday, Billy Ray filed a request for the woman, Jayme Lee, to be ordered to pay him the $7,564.13 in legal bills he accrued while defending himself against the claims that Lee is Miley's true biological mother.

Lee's lawsuit, filed in May, alleged that she "entered agreement with [Billy Ray] regarding the adoption of the child." The terms of the agreements allowed Lee to choose the name of the child and to serve as the nanny, but the agreement was breached when Billy Ray "subsequently took the child and wrongfully assumed the role of the child's father without [Lee's] consent."

"[Billy Ray] subsequently took the child and wrongfully assumed the role of the child's father without [Lee's] consent," the documents read. "[Billy Ray's] actions have resulted in the wrongful deprivation of [Lee's] rights to maintain her agreed-upon relationship with the child."

Lee wanted to be named as Miley's mother and demanded that the court issue damages against Billy Ray for fraud and emotional distress. Billy Ray, however, countered with a November 11 statement from his lawyer that stated Lee's claims were entirely false.

"Billy Ray Cyrus and Tish Cyrus-Purcell are the biological father and mother, respectively, of Miley Cyrus," his lawyer said. "[Lee's] action before this Court is clearly brought for the purposes of harassing [Billy Ray] and his family and needlessly wasting this Court's time and resources."

Billy Ray's lawyer added that "allegations contained within [Lee's] complaint are absurd and ridiculous on their face. As a matter of public record, Miley Cyrus, who is now 32 years old, is the daughter of [Billy Ray and Tish]. [Lee's] delusional claim that she is the mother of Miley Cyrus, and [Lee's other claims against Billy Ray] are barred." The country star demanded that the suit be thrown out of court; the suit was dismissed on December 5.

As for what Billy Ray is up to now? He's waiting to see if a judge will allow him to get back the money he spent on legal bills. His lawyer also toldUson December 12, "Now that the Court has dismissed the lawsuit, Mr. Cyrus is focusing his attention on the upcoming Christmas holiday to spend time with family and friends." So uh...happy holidays to the Cyrus clan, I guess?

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Peter Greene, the actor known for playing villains and criminals, including in his role as Zed in "Pulp Fiction," died at his New York City home Friday, his manager confirmed. He was 60.

Greene was found dead inside his Lower East Side apartment, manager Gregg Edwards said. He did not disclose a cause of death.

Greene's death was first reported by theNew York Daily News.

He played the character Zed, a sadistic rapist security guard, in the 1994 Quentin Tarantino film "Pulp Fiction," and he also was known for the role of villain Dorian in the Jim Carrey movie "The Mask," also in 1994.

"Nobody played a bad guy better than Peter," Edwards said in a phone interview. "But he also had, you know, a gentle side that most people never saw, and a heart as big as gold."

Edwards said he was told that there had been music playing in the apartment for over 24 hours, and that prompted a wellness check. Edwards said he spoke with Greene earlier this week.

In addition to his supporting roles, Greene starred in the 1993 film "Clean, Shaven" in which he played a man with schizophrenia who is suspected in a murder and who at times self-mutilates.

A New York Times reviewat the time said Greene's performance turned the role he played "into a compellingly anguished, volatile character, someone who didn't even have to slice himself up to get an audience's attention."

As a character actor, Greene also had roles in "The Usual Suspects" and "Training Day," among others.

Greene played the fence Redfoot in "The Usual Suspects," who informs the crime crew of an opportunity to rob a jeweler who ends up killed during the subsequent heist.

In "Training Day," Greene played Jeff, a detective who is shot by Alonzo Harris — famously portrayed by Denzel Washington — as the corrupt group tries to concoct a story to cover up a cold-blooded murder of a former narcotics officer.

After Harris kills the former narcotics officer in his home, Greene as the detective agrees to be shot in his bullet-resistant vest to make it appear as though the police were fired upon first.

"Kiss me, baby," Greene says in a memorable line before Washington's Harris shoots him twice.

Greene was born in Montclair, New Jersey, on Oct. 8, 1965. He began acting in his 20s while living in New York City,according to his biography on the website IMDB.

Edwards said that Greene is survived by a sister and a brother.

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NEED TO KNOW

• Roberts Elementary School in Medford, Mass., remains closed after more than 130 students and staff members were sickened with what officials believe is norovirus

• Health officials examined the school's kitchen and do not believe it is the source of the outbreak

• A professional company was brought in to deep-clean the school

A school in Massachusetts remains closed for deep cleaning after an outbreak of the virulentnorovirus infectionhas sickened more than 130 students and staff members.

Roberts Elementary School in Medfordoriginally announcedthe closure on Dec. 10, explaining that "there were over 130 student absences at the Roberts today, with further students and staff reporting at school today feeling symptoms of an upset stomach."

"We believe the cause of this outbreak is related to the increased spread of suspected Norovirus," the statement read.

As a result, the school would be closed the following day, Dec. 11; That's when Suzanne B. Galusi, Interim Superintendent of Medford Public Schools, and Michelle Crowell, Roberts Elementary Principal, sent anothercommunicationthat the school would remain closed for a second day due to additional cases of suspected norovirus.

"More families have informed building and district leadership in the last 24 hours of their child experiencing symptoms of a stomach bug. Additionally, at this time, over 20 staff members at Roberts have notified the district of experiencing similar symptoms. Student and staff attendance rates are normal across all other schools in the district, both yesterday and today," the statement read.

Roberts Elementary remains closed for an extended deep clean. School officials explained, "A professional company is currently performing a deep clean of the school today, which includes all classrooms, door knobs, kitchen equipment, and frequently touched surfaces. They will finish their deep clean later today."

The U.S. is at the beginning of a norovirus surge, with the virus at "high" levels in wastewater, according toToday,which reports that in the coming weeks, cases are expected to rise.

Norovirus — which can cause uncontrollable vomiting and diarrhea, along with stomach pain and nausea — commonly spreads in close quarters. Outbreaks frequently happen in dorms, schools and on cruise ships. An AIDA Cruises ship currently on a 133-day world tour with stops in the U.S., England, Mexico, Japan, and South Africa is dealing with an ongoingoutbreak of the virusthat has sickened more than 100 passengers and crew members.

The way it spreads is as nauseating as the virus itself: "You can get norovirus by accidentally getting tiny particles of feces (poop) or vomit in your mouth from a person infected with norovirus," theU.S. Centers for Disease Controlsays. "If you get norovirus illness, you can shed billions of norovirus particles that you can't see without a microscope. It only takes a few norovirus particles to make you and other people sick."

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That's why it also spreads so easilyvia food, when meals are prepared by an infected person who didn't correctly wash their hands. However, school officials shared that the cafeteria and kitchen were inspected by the Medford Board of Health & the Department of Public Health, and reported that the outbreak "is not related to any school or kitchen equipment."

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The best way to curb the spread of norovirus is by washing your hands, the CDC says — and Roberts Elementary School officials reminded families of that in their letter. "The best way to avoid the spread of Norovirus is to wash your hands for at least 20 seconds with soap and water; hand sanitizer is not effective," they wrote.

They also urged all students and staff to wait at least 24 hours after experiencing "vomit-like symptoms" before returning to school. The letter concluded, "Maintaining a safe and clean learning environment for our students and staff is our top priority, and we thank you for your understanding."

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