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

~~Chapter Thirty-Six~~

       My fingers trailed over the dusted box of letters I have kept over the past twenty-something years—most of the, being from him. They are all here: the ones that he wrote while I stayed at Lafayette's house, the ones after Washington sent him home, the ones after he proposed. All of them. 

       People say that if you write your innermost feelings on a piece of paper, you will feel liberated. 'It is a miracle from God himself', they say. 

       I brought out a quill and ink and parchment, dipping the quill into the bottle and beginning.

       Dear Alexander,

                  I saved every letter you wrote me. From the moment I read them I knew you were mine. You said you were mine. I thought you were mine. Do you know what the voice in my head said when I saw your first letter arrive? It said 'be careful with that one, love. He will do what it takes to survive.' You and your words flooded my senses. Your sentences left me defenseless. You built me palaces out of paragraphs—you built cathedrals. 

       My eyes scanned the hundreds of letters stacked ontop of each other. 'Amica mea, I cannot begin to describe how much I love you.' 'Te amo, my precious, Y/N.' Did he truly mean those words? Maybe I was just another obstacle he chose to conquer. Even after I proved that I was his. I loved him. I gave my soul to him. I cared about him. I took care of him. I held him. I was there for him. I got to know him. I accepted him. I went through hell and back for him. I was hurt because of him. I ignored everyone for him. I comforted him. I trusted him. I sent letters to him. I missed him. I cried for him. I fought for him. I begged for him. I couldn't sleep because of him. I waited for him. I spent time with him. I put my heart on the line for him. I spilled all of my emotions out to him. I planned my future with him. I gave everything to him. But he still preferred that girl. He knew damn well what he was doing. He knew damn well who he was breaking.

       I'm rereading the letters you wrote me. I'm searching and scanning for answers in every line for some kind of sign. And when you were mine the world seemed to burn......

      I looked over to the scrunched up, tear-stained pamphlet. He included the letters she wrote him. After all of this and he had to add something extra in case the pamphlet was not enough to shatter my heart like a thin glass pane.

       You published the letters she wrote you. You told the whole world how you brought this girl into our bed. In clearing your name, you have ruined our lives. Do you know what Elijah said when he read what you'd done? He said, 'You have married an Icarus—he has flown too close to the sun.' 

       Maybe if he was not in his office all the time this wouldn't have happened. But of course, Alexander had to make sure his legacy was secured.

       You and your words, obsessed with your legacy. Your sentences border on senseless and you are paranoid in every paragraph—how they perceive you. You. You. You. 

       I'm erasing myself from the narrative. Let future historians wonder how Y/N reacted when you broke her heart. You have torn it all apart I'm watching it--

       I threw a small pile of the letters in front of me into the iron bucket in the room, some knocking down the candle—causing it to fall into the bucket as well. I watched the letters inside the container light up in flames.

       --burn. Watching it burn.......

       I stood from the chair and grabbed another pile of letters, slamming them into the bucket.