We'll Write Our Way Out

It's Quiet Uptown

"We love you, too," Alessia smiled up at him, then turned her attention back to their daughter.

A scream rang through the hall.

Alessia stared at the door, her eyes slowly growing wide, the smile slowly fading. Everything slowed down around her. Fear slowly crept up through her bones and she prayed that this was not what she thought it was.

She handed Alessandra to Thomas, before she forced herself to her feet. She ignored the protests of the nurses and Thomas. She just had to see if her premonition just now had become true.

Alessia opened the door and walked out onto the hallway. She headed for the room she heard wailing come from. As she walked, she trailed her hand along the wall to support her, her legs felt like jelly.

Carefully Alessia pushed the door open and found out she was right.

Eliza sat beside Philips bed and held his hand, crying and sobbing. Alexander stood motionless a bit away. Frances was there, too. She cried and cried and cried, as she kept on punching Alexanders chest. Alessia couldn't hear what Frances was saying, but the anger in her eyes was clear enough.

Alessia gripped onto the doorframe tightly. She felt as if her legs might give out again beneath her, this time for good though.

Her gaze fell onto Philip. His lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling and the faintest smile was resting on his lips. Dried tear stains were on his cheeks. He looked so peaceful.

All of the happiness that Alessia had experienced just moments earlier was suddenly washed away and replaced by a hurricane of sadness. The sudden clash of happiness and sadness left her staring at the scenery in front of her without a hint of an emotion on her face. As if she felt nothing at all.

The shock of all of this hit her so hard, there were no tears left to shed for her. A pair of arms wrapped themselves around her and she was pulled into someones chest. This had to be Thomas. She had no clue who else it could be. At least, she wasn't able to think of anyone else.

Thomas ran his hand through Alessias hair as he held her close to him, staying silent as he just embraced her.

He never liked the Hamiltons. Alessia had been the first to change those emotions in him. The only one he hated of her family was Alexander. Eliza and the children were quite okay. They had visited the Jefferson household often, so Thomas changed his opinion on Eliza and the children.

And now that its Alexanders fault that Alessia and Frances had to suffer like this, Thomas couldn't help but hate him even more.

Months have now passed by.

Frances suffered a mental breakdown. Angelica, Philips younger sister, too, but Frances' state was far worse. While Angelica had seemed to end up stuck in something like an eternal childhood, Frances wasn't even able to do the most normal things anymore.

Frances was unable to speak. Most of the nights she awoke because she was suffering of a panic attack. She never left the house. She barely even left her room. Sally had taken it upon herself to take care of Frances and make sure she would eat, drink, and do whatever to take care of herself.

It was hard. And that Frances was suffering so bad hurt Alessia even more than she had suffered after Johns death. But she could understand where Frances' pain was coming from.

The Hamilton family has moved uptown after the death of their firstborn son. Alessia and Eliza wrote to each other about once a week.

Alessandra was doing well. Thomas and Alessia gave her as much attention as they could, considering that Thomas had his political work and Alessia had to deal with her firstborn daughter and the loss of her nephew.

Alessia had tried to get Eacker locked up, but, since the consequences of duels were deaths at worst, there was no possibility to get him in. Getting into a duel and dying was your own fault.

It was late at night. Alessia couldn't sleep. She was in her bedroom, Thomas in their bed, deeply asleep, standing by the window and staring out into the cold night. She hugged herself to keep herself a little warm, as winter had begun to hit the country.

Alessia watched as a soft breeze shook the trees, the streetlights illuminating the streets. It wasn't long until snow will begin to fall. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she leaned her head against the window.

A pair of warm arms wrapped themselves around Alessias middle and pulled her into their warm chest. 

"Alessia come back to sleep," Thomas whispered, nuzzling his face into the nape of her neck, pressing a soft kiss against her cold skin, "It's still dark outside."

Alessia formed a small smile and replied "I know. I just needed to clear my head." "You've done a lot of that the past while. Come back to bed, please, for me," Thomas said and gently laid a finger under her chin, turning her head so she'd face him.

Alessia stared up into Thomas' dark eyes, which were filled with such an unbelievably amount of love, it set her heart aflame. "I love you, Alessia. More than you may think," Thomas softly spoke, before he gently pressed his lips to hers.

She kissed back after a short moment. It's been long since they've last been as intimate as this.

"I love you, far more than you may think," Alessia replied. Thomas smiled down at her and kissed her once more, before he suddenly picked her up and carried her to their bed, bridal style, where he then gently dropped her.

Alessia giggled softly and Thomas chuckled along, plopping down onto his side of the bed. He pulled her close and whispered "Get some more sleep, my love."

The next morning, Alessia and Thomas were ripped out of their sleep by rapid banging on the door.

Thomas groggily got out of bed and headed to the door and opened it, revealing a disheveled Sally. Thomas frowned at the sight, noticing the tears that were flowing down her cheeks.

"What's wrong?", Thomas asked. Alessia quietly got to her feet and walked over to stand beside Thomas. She took his hand as she looked at Sally, a frown also forming on her features.

"I'm so sorry, I tried to stop her, I really did, I –", Sally choked on her own words as she cowered away a little, her head hanging low.

Alessia frowned, worth filling her heart "Sally, what's wrong?" Unconsciously, her grip on Thomas' hand tightened.

When Sally didn't answer and only sobbed, Thomas pressed on, harsher than Alessia had "Sally. What is the matter?"

Sally's next words made Alessias blood run cold.

"Your daughter, Frances, she committed suicide."

[ listening to the Hamilton workshop album as I write. it's hella lit. also, I'm sorry. but it's the end of act two, so suffering is inevitable ]