My Dearest, [ Alexander Hamilton | Reader ]

• Chapter Thirty-One •

[March of 1797.]
...

Chores around the house seemed never ending, even when seemingly clean, it would only last a day or so leaving the house where it started. —It was never said children would be easy, was it?— Nonetheless, there [Your Name] kneeled, carefully cleaning the fireplace from last supper. Leftover cinders were a rather pain, but a duty she'd never leave. The children's gleeful faces were all that truly mattered to her. How strange it was having lived the entirety of childhood hardly doing anything for herself to a housewife.

There's a quick and swift wipe to her forehead, attempting to cool herself from hard scrubbing. A tepid bath is what she most certainly would be preparing for after. Only a few days ago, a delivery of a letter was received of her darling boys, Philip and Alexander Jr. from the professor. She was glad their studies had been going well, there was no doubt in her mind their father felt any differently. They took much from him from their attitude, perhaps Philip more than anything. Only fifteen, yet exhibiting so much of his father's personality.

"Mama! I've done as you asked."

Angelica calls out, leading her out of her thoughts. Her head perks as she glances at the door frame, catching glimpses of her dear daughter with her small arms crossed. A charming little girl she'd grown to be, and a talented musician on the piano. She liked to think of Angelica's childhood as one she'd never been given, full of adventures and freedom. Noticing the expression upon the thirteen year old's face, she lightly sighs as she lifts herself from the floor.

"Mama, you'll get papa upset!"

"And since when has your father been allowed to dictate me? I'm very my own, my little bird."

[Your Name] reassures, [Eye color] hues move upwards catching sight of an obviously tensed Alexander. Glancing once more to Angelica, she gives a dismissive smile, gently moving back her brunette locks to place a soft kiss at the beginning of her hairline. There was nothing but affection she felt for her five beautiful children, soon to be six. Her hand still lingers at the fabric of her daughter's stay until she leaves the kitchen, presumably to her brothers. She soon finds herself slightly pushed aside as Alexander rushes past her to a chair.

"I'm practically a dead man."

He mutters harshly, a chuckle of disbelief following soon afterwards as his hands roughly run through his rather lengthy locks, his back slouching upon the chair as he seemed to go into his own thoughts, careless about his surroundings. It takes only a moment of harsh stares from the shock of being pushed for her expression to soften at his state, her hands being placed upon his shoulders from behind. He seemed to tease underneath her touch, a heavy and defeated sigh escaping his lips as he allows his hands to fall from his head.

"I take it that the call with the president didn't go well?"

"No, no! Not at all, it was disastrous. I could not have gone worse."

She slightly leans forward with her chin resting upon his head, and her arms loosely wrapped around his neck. Wordless, she queries him to push onwards with his so called "disastrous" afternoon. She could only presume that his distress was caused by those vexatious men from his many, many, many never ending rants she had endured whilst he was Secretary of Treasury.

"The President has decided to retire, he's asked me to write his letter of resignation."

"I cannot begin to fathom how unbelievably stressed that man must be. Is it not good for him to be giving up his position?"

"No, what comes after his resignation is most troublesome, Thomas Jefferson plans to run for president. Everything will be in shambles, I'm ruined."

"My love, you really mustn't stress. Doctors say stress does no good in a child's growth."

Alexander's face lifts from his hands, slightly turning it towards [Your Name], soon trailing downwards to her very much swollen stomach. It had been about a month or so since finding of this pregnancy, and about five keeping them from meeting the child. Worried was just an understatement as to how she felt, she was frightened. The loss of a life would never be easy, no matter how much it was come across. He lifts himself from the chair, taking her hands to his, switching spots.

"Have you strained yourself at all?"

"Perhaps, I will not tell though, the children will inevitably tattle. You'll find out then."

...

[ This story's mood is just going to rapidly drop from here, and I'm not sorry. Also, blame my lack of updates on The Great Comet Broadway cast album. ]