Hamilton Angst stuff

The Reunion

The lights flickered softly in the lit dining room as Alexander Hamilton studied his father's face, a visage that had remained hidden from him for several long years. The lines and shadows that time had etched across the older man's features were foreign to Alexander, who had been just ten when his father had vanished into the night. Their silence hung heavy between them, like a curtain drawn to keep out the world.

Eliza bustled about the table, placing steaming platters of roast beef and potatoes before their gathered friends: John Laurens, Aaron Burr, Hercules Mulligan, and Marquis de Lafayette. Her gaze darted nervously between her husband and his estranged father, as if anticipating an impending storm. Alexander caught her eye and offered a reassuring smile, but his heart clenched with unspoken grievances, festering wounds begging to be ripped open.

"Please, everyone," Eliza said, "help yourselves."

The conversation around the table swelled as the guests chattered, filling the void left by the father and son. Alexander could feel his father's eyes upon him, scrutinizing his every move, yet they exchanged no words. The weight of unaddressed emotions threatened to crush him, but still he held his tongue. It wasn't the time. Not yet.

"Alexander, why don't you tell us about your latest work?" asked John Laurens, seemingly oblivious to the tension radiating from the two men.

"Ah, yes," chimed in Lafayette. "I have heard it is a masterpiece."

"Really, gentlemen," Alexander began, trying to deflect their attention. "It is nothing special. Just another piece for the paper." Internally, he cursed himself for not being more forthcoming with them about the situation.

"Come on, Hamilton," urged Mulligan. "Don't be so modest."

"Is there something else on your mind, mon ami?" Lafayette inquired, his gaze shifting between Alexander and his father.

Alexander's jaw tightened involuntarily, the dam holding back his anger beginning to crack. He could feel the heat rising within him, threatening to erupt like a volcano. He glanced at his father, who had remained silent throughout the evening, showing no sign of remorse or even acknowledgment of their shared past.

"Actually," he said, his voice trembling with barely contained rage, "there is something I'd like to discuss."

"Alex," Eliza whispered, her eyes pleading with him to reconsider. But it was too late; the storm had arrived.

"Father," Alexander spat, the word tasting bitter on his tongue, "why did you leave? And why have you come back?"

The older man's face hardened, shadows deepening as he leaned forward to meet his son's glare. "You think I owe you an explanation, boy? After all these years?"

"Dang right, I do!" Alexander shouted, the facade of politeness crumbling away as he slammed his fist onto the table. "You were never there for me, even before you left! I grew up without a father because of you!"

"Alex, please," Eliza begged, reaching out to touch his arm. But he shook her off, consumed by the fire of his fury.

"Enough!" bellowed John Laurens, stepping between the two men as Aaron Burr and Hercules Mulligan pulled Alexander back from the brink of physical confrontation.

"Let him speak," Lafayette insisted, his own voice hushed but firm. "We must know the truth."

With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world, Alexander's father finally broke his silence. "I left," he confessed, "because I couldn't bear the guilt any longer. The shame of how I failed you...failed your mother."

"Failed us?" Alexander echoed, though his anger had been tempered by the raw pain in his father's voice. "What do you mean?"

"Your mother was ill, Alex," the older man replied, tears welling in his eyes. "She needed help, and I...I couldn't provide it. So I left, hoping that she could find a better life without me."

Alexander stared at his father, his own emotions a whirlwind of confusion and hurt. As he grappled with this revelation, his friends encircled him, offering unwavering support. And though nothing could erase the years of abandonment, perhaps now they could begin to mend the wounds that had festered for far too long.

Alexander's father continued to speak, recounting the events that had led up to his departure and the guilt that had plagued him ever since. As he spoke, Alexander felt a strange mix of anger and empathy for the man who had abandoned him and his mother when they needed him most. It was clear that his father was deeply remorseful, but that didn't excuse what he had done.

"I don't know if I can forgive you," Alexander said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "But I'm willing to try."

His father nodded, tears streaming down his face. "I understand," he said. "I don't expect forgiveness, but I hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

There was a long moment of silence as the group absorbed what had just been said. Then Eliza spoke up, her voice gentle but firm.

"We need time to process this," she said, her eyes flickering between Alexander and his father. "But I think

we can all agree that the most important thing now is to move forward, together."

Alexander's father nodded, his eyes still brimming with tears. "Yes," he agreed, "together."

With that, the tension in the room began to ebb away, replaced by a sense of tentative hope. The group resumed their meal, the conversation now lighter, as they talked of less weighty matters. For the first time in a long while, Alexander felt a sense of peace settling over him - not because the wounds of the past had been healed, but because they had finally been brought into the light.