Best Of Wives And Best Of Women: Alexander Hamilton X Reader

~~Chapter Twenty-One~~

                              August 26, 1782; 11: 54 p.m

       I held on tightly to the bed frame as a scorching pain shot from my lower abdomen to my neck, traveling through my spine in the process. The female servants around me patted wet cloths onto my forehead as I continued to go through the process of labor. I keep reminding myself that the pain will go away once I hear my child, but I can't help feeling like someone is cutting me open with a hot knife. 

       Fear starts to course through my body as the words from many flowed through my head. As a small girl, women would talk about birthing a child around me, figuring I wouldn't know a thing about it. What they did not know was that I would memorize those ill-striking sentences, replaying them over and over in my head. 'Most women do not make it to see their child open their eyes. They usually die of yellow fever, but there are some cases where they tragically pass from a severe cold.' Would I be like those women? The type that never got to see their child? The type that died while giving birth? Worry fills me as the pain intensifies, my muscles attempting to help deliver this child. 

       Then remember my Alexander is expecting me and his child in the other room. I cannot leave my beloved husband. Not now not in a million years. Although, dying seems less painful than what I am doing at the moment. 

       More sweat poured down my face, the servants swiping it off.  I could feel my child getting closer to being born, closer to meeting his parents. Just one more step. One more and I get the privilege of meeting my son. 

                              August 27, 1782; 12:03 a.m

       Then.........it happened. Suddenly, the pain stopped--washed over by relief and a sense of calm. A child's cry broke out in the previously quiet room. Seconds later, Alexander came bursting into the room, the candle light flickering from the harsh movement. My husband walked quickly over to me and kissed my chapped lips. My mouth formed a small, tired smile when he pulled away. He mouthed an 'I love you' before walking to the other side of the room, where the servants were taking care of the baby. 

       One of the servants walked towards me, my child in her arms. She slowly handed him to me. He was beautiful. Alexander's hair color with green eyes that reflected my mother's. My husband smiled at me and his son. 

       "He is truly beloved--amazing," Alexander looked at him in awe, "Apart from you--my love--he is dearest to me."

       "Philip."

       Alexander raised his eyebrow, "Philip?"

       "The name means 'beloved and dearest'--something you described him as." I stared at my son, a joyful smile on my face, "Do you like your name? It's Philip."

       The small child, merely five minutes being born, smiled at me, letting out a little giggle. Alexander rubbed Philip's head softly. "Philip. My son."

       He pressed a kiss on my forehead before walking out the room, leaving me in here. I am strong, though, aren't I? I can lift me and my son all by my lonesome and walk around the house--allow little Philip to explore his new home. It took me a few minutes, but I finally stood from the bed, sliding my feet into the warm slippers provided for me and walked out of the room. The servants looked at me in concern, but they did not dare ask me to lay down. 

       My legs slightly trembled as I cradled my son in my arms and moved from one corner of my home to the next. Philip looked around his house in amazement--as if he had never seen such a  peculiar thing. 

       I carried him towards Alexander's office, stopping in my tracks once I heard Alexander sigh dreamily. I stood still as I listened for anything that would explain his content. 

       "Oh, Philip when you smile I am undone. My son." My husband practically sang this to himself, the words sliding off his tongue as he spoke them, "Look at my son! Pride is not the word I'm looking for--there is so much more inside me now. Oh, Philip you outshine the morning sun, my son. When you smile, I fall apart. And I thought I was so smart. My father wasn't around; I swear that I'll be around for you. I'll do whatever it takes. I'll make the world safe and sound for you. You will come of age with our young nation. We'll bleed and fight for you, we'll make it right for you. If we lay a strong enough foundation, we'll pass it onto you, we'll give the world to you and you'll blow us all away. Someday, someday. Yeah, you'll blow us all away. Someday, someday.........."

       A smile crept its way onto my face as I looked down at Philip. My son raised his green eyes to look at me, a childish grin appearing--making his already large cheeks seem even chubbier. He let out an adorable giggle, most likely alerting Alexander of our presence. 

       I slowly pushed open the door, watching Alexander move his leg in anxiousness as he sat on his chair. The child in my arms began to fidget--obviously sensing someone familiar. I walked closer to Alexander and rubbed his shoulder with my free arm. "My love, someone is here to see you."

       He turned around, smiling at the sight of his son. I saw a glimmer in his eyes while he asked for my permission to carry him. Philip squealed when Alexander pulled him into his arms, my husband chuckling at Philip's sudden urge to investigate the office. The dim candle in the room seemed to shine brighter as Alexander cooed Philip--the child responding with giggles. 

       My husband looked up to me with those dark brown eyes, "Amica mea, he is wonderful. My son." His voice slowly advanced to a whisper and instead of talking to me, he seemed to be talking to himself. 

       "Would you mind watching him while I go fetch the mail?" I asked. Alexander frantically nodded his head, a goofy smile chiseling itself on his face. 

       A laughed to myself as I walked out of Alexander's office. The cold air hit my face--the cold steel shocking my hand as I opened the mail's small trapdoor. My eyes scanned the letters in my grip: some congratulating us on our son, others from the newspaper (announcing false news), and--a letter from Henry Laurens.