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

~~Chapter Forty-Seven~~

                                   November 8, 1854

       My legs took me towards Alexander's desk, his quill and parchment and ink bottle still in the same spot he left them fifty years ago. I was planning on using his writing equipment, but I suspect that using mine seems more fitting. After all, I have not used mine since I was forty-five—I am ninety-seven now. If I told someone this, they would agree with me. I am always right.

       I shakily brought out my quill and parchment and ink, recalling the day my father gave them to me. I dipped the quill tip into the ink and began to write.

       My dearest, Alexander,

                 Yes, your eyes are not deceiving you, I put a comma after 'dearest', something I have not done in a very long time. I am writing to you to keep you informed on everything that is going on in my life and in the lives of your children. As you may have noticed, William Stephen joined you and Philip four years ago. I expect to see you three once my time comes. I also put myself back in the narrative. I stopped wasting time on tears—I lived another fifty years, but it's not enough. I interviewed every soldier who fought by our side. I tried to make sense of your thousands of pages of writing, you really do write like you're running out of time. 

       I rely on Elijah, while he's alive we tell your story. He was buried in Trinity Church near you. When I needed him most he was right on time. And I'm still not through, I ask myself 'what would you do of you had more time?' The Lord, in his kindness, he gives me what you always wanted: he gives me more time. I raised funds in D.C for the Washington monument—I told our commanders story. I spoke out against slavery. You could've done so much more if you only had time.

       And when my time is up, have I done enough? Will they tell our story? Oh, can I show you what I'm proudest of? The orphanage. I established the first private orphanage in New York City. I helped raise hundreds of children, I get to see them growing up. In their eyes I see you, Alexander. I see you every time. And when my time is up, have I done enough? Will they tell your story?

       Oh, I can't wait to see you again. It's only a matter of time. Will they tell your story? Who lives, who dies, who tells, your story.

                            With much love,

                                             Y/N Hamilton