DISCLAIMER: The musical belongs to Lin-Manuel Miranda.
I only own the translation/adaptation of the song.

If these walls could talk,
what would they not say?
Before anyone else's eyes,
everything's still in its place.

Alexander was not one to wander around the house at any time. In the mornings, he'd be checking if his notes were correct, he'd make sure there wasn't a comma out of place, a sentence with double-edged that his enemies back at his workplace would use to cut him. In the afternoons, he'd prepare what would be needed for the next day, he'd help Angie with her homework and make sure little Liz was well looked after if ill or with her hyperactive mind busy. And, even in nights where insomnia clouded his senses and wrapped its cold and dark grip around his brain, decaying his memories, Alexander would rather spend his time writing incoherencies on his journal than tossing and turning on bed, or, as stated previously, wandering.

He never saw the appeal to it. Walking without destination, not having a goal to get to, something to do, a reason to move. Eliza tried to make him go with her on her vespertine walks. Just so he could breathe some fresh air, recharge batteries, cleanse the soul. She defined it differently at each attempt. Alexander never ceded. He was as stubborn as an old mule, and never saw a problem with that. In fact, he showed his obstinacy with pride, knowing it was partly thanks to it that he'd achieved all he had.

Nowadays, he concealed it with shame, head, for once in a long time, low, eyes following the pattern of lines that adorned the linoleum floor.

It wasn't the only change that had been in his life recently. Alexander was sure the whole office would be hissing his name, gossiping about his absence, making assumptions and feeding the rumours he tried so hard to kill, only for the opposite to occur.

In all honestly, and looking in retrospective, Alexander wanted to slam himself as hard as Angelica had done when they first saw each other after the occurrence. Now that his vision was clear from rage and impotence and petulant pride, Alexander got to see a wider view, got to feel a bigger range of empathy he'd never experienced. Now that the glare, full of boiling anger and bitter betrayal, that Eliza had sent his way was tattooed for eternity in his head, Alexander understood.

Not only the meanness of the action that had started all this, the simple 'no' that could've avoided so much trouble in his perfect life. Alexander was aware of that since the first time he lay deliberately with another woman on his double bed – which added more salt to the wound he'd opened – but also the consequences his selfish actions had upon the ones that had loved him and he'd taken for granted.

Once the heavy silence fell on his shoulders, once each corner of his house oozed solitude, unforgiveness, regret and words unspoken that now were worthless, once he was embraced by the cold of his wife's absence, by his children's absence, Alexander's actions rang in his ears, to the point of provoking him a headache that seemed as stubborn as him to stay, no matter his efforts.

The walls vibrated with swallowed cries, echoed with recriminations and insults he deserved after breaking the trust and love of the only person who had given it to him without the need of tests, without wariness.

When Alexander reached the living room, he heard the notes of piano, standing straight, far off, weak, quivering. A melody that used to bring a smile upon his face, calmness to his heart, so full of life and joy, now reduced to a bare whimper in the back of his head. A white noise that had accompanied and made his writing more fluent. Alexander examined the top of the cover, its blackness turning grey due to accumulated dust. He grimaced at the poor state the instrument was in, flinched at the image of something that used to bring so much life to his household now so… dead. Abandoned. Thanks to him, too.

He went to scrutinize the rest of the room, seeing everything was where Eliza had left it. She always made the chores while he spent the days out and the nights locked up in his office, always with his nose buried in some paperwork, a new idea, a new project. Everything looked the same, but one closer look, and all objects made him feel the same way the piano had done. Despite the sun that came through the windows, the house felt dull, covered by an invisible shadow he'd casted.

He was sure his daughter felt it, too. She had stayed with him when the matriarch of the family left, with his youngest child in tow. Eliza had said goodbye to her and respected her decision of keeping her father company. Alexander couldn't thank her enough, couldn't thank her properly.

Sometimes, he heard her rummaging through the house. Humming under her breath. The piano remained untouched, though, as a cursed item. Alexander had heard her repeating her lessons of high school, preparing for her last exams of the year, like a parrot, a trait she'd taken from him. The only thing that managed to make him smile these days.

A smile that dropped as soon as his daughter's voice was heard during a conversation with her brother.

Philip was aware of the situation. Angelica and he were close, and his daughter hadn't hesitated to call him and tell him the news, tell him what their father had put their mother through. There were times when Alexander heard Angie's voice breaking down as she talked, and hurt him more than if she simply punched him. If she simply slapped him, screamed at him, as the aunt she was named after had done.

Philip hadn't contacted him. To be fairs, he hadn't either. And Alexander could only hope the reason his son hadn't reached out to him was because he was equally scared. The kid and he were close, he'd looked up at Alexander as he had never done to his father, they had talked and shared moments Alexander would've died for living with his own father. And it was because of him, because of that shadow, that walking guide of how not to raise children that haunted Alexander to this day, that he knew one mistake can change everything, knew one bad move at the wrong time for the wrong reason could erase all those memories, poison them till they turned unreal.

The irony...

A thump made him jump in spot, and, once he recognised the sound as the front door closing, he waited for his daughter's usual: "I'm home!". Instead, only heavy footsteps – Alexander heard three pairs of shoes – were heard, going from the entrance to the hall. He walked to the door, to see if his friends had decided to confront him in his own house – he'd been ignoring their calls and texts, too afraid to hear what they thought about the whole affair – preparing himself mentally if he guessed right.

Instead, what he bumped into as he stepped out the living room, was the short body of his youngest daughter, who clung to his leg for dear life, glad to see him after two weeks of talking through the phone. Only by courtesy of Angie, who called her mother and little sister daily, to know how they were doing.

"Daddy!" called the little girl, looking up at him with bright eyes. Alexander frowned at the redness of her cheeks and her nasal voice, and spent no time in bending down to hold her.

"Hey, Liz…" he managed to mumble out, growing concern when he feel her warm skin against his own when she hugged his neck. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" he asked, in a quiet voice.

"Cold" she replied, with normality.

"She's been asking to see you" a voice talked, breaking the reencounter.

Alexander flinched at the cold voice of his still wife. Gathering all his courage, he looked forwards, seeing Eliza standing at the door, arms crossed and glare only softening when it landed on their daughter. Angie stood behind her mother, lips frowned and eyes half-closed with shyness and sadness. They shared a look, before the girl whispered a poor excuse of wanting to change her clothes. Both parents knew the uniform their children had complained so much about was more comfortable than the awkward scene of their crumbling marriage. Alexander passed Liz to her, not wanting their kids to suffer his poor life choices any longer.

"Betsey…" called Alexander, taking a step forwards, only to stop abruptly at the curt step back his wife took in response.

"Liz hasn't stopped saying she wants to be with you" she rephrased, clearly not wanting to change the subject to the elephant in the room.

"Thanks for bringing her" he said, sincerely.

Eliza's eyes narrowed. "I've always told you a kid must not pay for the crimes of their parent"

And Alexander swallowed with difficulty. He remembered when she'd told him that, when his dam broke and he came clean to her about his past. She'd been so patient with his silent and reserved nature when the topic was about his childhood, she'd been so understanding to him not wanting to share personal experiences. She must've felt so stupid when he admitted one of the most intimate moments a person can live in front of his whole office, office where his sister-in-law worked at with him, office where rumours only grew and nobody knew where to shut their mouths. Though, Alexander had never been in worse position to complain about that.

"Betsey, I…"

"Don't" she interrupted, uninterested. "I'm going to prepare the girls some food. You can cook your own when I'm finished" she instructed, turning to leave.

And she left him there, unsatisfied at the inability both showed at meeting each other's glare.

If these walls could think,
they wouldn't understand
why after loving each other till the last corner,
now they can't even lock eyes.

There's not a couple in here,
each one live their own life.
In this house,
it's the routine the one who decides on behalf of both.

Eliza went back to live with them. Alexander had expected her to leave the next morning she brought Liz to see him, or when the little girl got better, but she stayed. And Alexander knew it was stupid to hold his hopes up for such an action. She might be missing Angie, too, and came to the conclusion that both girls needed to live next to each other as sisters. She hadn't done it for him, and Alexander knew that.

Still, he tried.

And, at dinnertime, at the talking point,
all and nothing.
How can one rescue love? How can it be saved?
When it's on the way to separation.

He decided to use his pen again, for good this time, swearing to never turn his gift against him and the people he cared about ever again. He'd write short and concise poems, admitting his errors and thanking her kind-hearted nature; he'd comment on the qualities that drove him to her in the first time; he'd recall the times she stood by his side, despite his first instinct was to push her away; he'd thank her for giving him their children and raise them while he'd failed in said task; he'd talk about how when fears he thought to be forgotten and over with came back to torment him, he only wanted to talk to her and nobody else; he'd ramble about all the times she had known what to say to make him feel better, how she had provided him with a safe space he thought to be inexistent. Each letter was a written proof of him giving his pride to her in pieces, each in return of the hundreds he'd broken her heart into. Each one impregnated with the perfume of shame and regret that had been following him around since that day he kept his mouth shut to the woman that had helped him stand, only to open it in front of the people that had tried to destroy him.

Each was never reciprocated. No written or spoken response from Eliza's part. The woman would leave the house in the morning and return at night, going to sleep in what used to be their shared bedroom. 'You'd sleep in your office, instead', she'd told him, not giving him time to ask how they were going to solve the problem.

Alexander decided to take care of what she'd done since their first child was born. He cooked, cleaned, went to the store, made sure Liz was taken care of, that Angie understood her lessons. He took the dust off the piano, turning it to what it used to be. He still didn't have the courage to play it (not that he knew much of how to, in the first place), but made sure to keep it in good state.

If Eliza had noticed, she didn't comment on it.

He proceeded to go back to cases. Washington helped him with the clients part, and Alexander had to swallow and bit his bottom lip plenty of times when the older man kept questioning his well-being, kept doubting about if he could go back or if he should wait a bit more.

He didn't say anything about the workplace, and Alexander never loved the man more than then.

He still refused to look at his other friends' texts, which hadn't stopped since the incident.

He still didn't call his son. Dread froze him each time he tried to, and Alexander wanted nothing more than punch himself by his lack of courage. He always made sure to do something else before his brain could compare him to his own father.

Philip called, of course. He called his sisters, he called his mother, he spent hours talking to them, cheering them up. The only time of the day Eliza laughed was when Philip made a joke on the other side of the phone, wanting to hear his mother happy, even if just by a brief moment.

But, as if mirroring his father's actions, Philip didn't call him. And he also didn't have the courage to ask any of his daughters if their brother had asked about him. Eliza was out of that equation. The woman remained quiet and serious around him, so out of character of her. It was like a punishment he took, knowing he should be getting something worse, and indifference, although hurtful, was the least he deserved from his family. It was a miracle Angie still talked to him or wanted to stay in its day. An action of kindness Alexander couldn't comprehend, but didn't ask about, afraid the only emotion that kept his daughter by his side was pathetic pity.

He stopped his writing at the theory, letting out a shaky breath. Closing his eyes with force, he tried to recover the composure and keep working on the case he was assigned. True, that. Provide for the family. Keep it together, keep them safe and steady. That was what he was good for, what he could do, what he never failed to do. He promised to give his children all he couldn't have. He had muddied his future, but that didn't mean he couldn't give his family a bright one. They were smart kids, they had all their lives ahead of them.

"Alexander!"

The shout coming from his wife's mouth made him jump from his chair, a shiver going up and down his spine, his body temperature dropping. It was beyond the fact that Eliza hadn't acknowledge him properly in days, it was the terror that cracked her voice, the accelerated footsteps that were heard, heading to his office.

He almost hit her with the door when he swung it open, and Alexander was finally face to face with his wife, was finally able to look her in the eyes. Two dark orbs that were now sparkling with contained tears, in contrast of her clear skin that looked paler than usual. He was startled when Eliza grabbed one of his hands, her palm as cold as ice, her grip as tight as she could manage while at the verge of collapsing from trembling legs. He made sure to grab her other arm to steady her before speaking. But she didn't give him the chance, as she explained.

"Philip's had an accident"

Song: Si estas paredes hablaran
Sung by: Tamara
Written/Composed by: Erika Ender / Amerika Jiménez / América Angelica Jiménez Mercado

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