A/N: here is chapter 22. it is a little bit much. *DOES MENTION SUICIDE SO PLEASE BEWARE* enjoy this little chapter.

I hate to be petty, but in the mits of my panic, Alexander sure did take his time coming home to me. Like the reasonable amount of 20 minutes had passed and he still wasn't even close to being home. Maybe he went to Maria. She never had panic attacks about people. She never broke down when her family left. She was never weak. She wasn't pregnant. She wasn't helpless. She wasn't used mentally or physically. She was young and free. I was… me, which was never enough for Alexander. The thought of him being with her made me cringe into my skin more. I cried more. He left me for her before, he would do it again.

Another 15 minutes passed. I was broken again. I was a crying mess on the floor, cradling a half empty jug of apple juice because I couldn't have any alcohol, even though that was all I wanted to drink. Through the swigs of apple juice and tears, I was hoping that my sister would come back, that my husband wasn't cheating on me, and that Jefferson would go to jail because that all meant my life was back to normal. He came in, and saw me. I couldn't gage his facial expressions. His eyes were filled with worry, but his mouth and jaw were tense. He looked angry at the mess that I was, but he also looked like he was hiding the pain he felt for me. I couldn't tell which side of him I wanted to believe.

"Eliza, why are you crying right now?"

I wiped my tears away and shook my head. I wasn't going to tell him that after it had been 20 minutes, and I instantly thought he had left me, again.

"Eliza…" He grabbed me off the floor, letting the apple juice spill out onto the floor behind me, "You and I both know that you aren't crying for nothing. Why are you crying?"

I sat on the kitchen table, my pajamas soaked with juice and tears. I didn't mean to be mad, but all of my words were hurtful, "Because it took you 35 minutes to get home when I needed you home in 15 minutes. Because my sister is a whole ocean away from me, and she didn't even say goodbye. Because Thomas Jefferson is still out there talking to women to take advantage of them and hurting them like he did to me. Because I am losing myself daily to a monster inside of me that I can't control. Because even though I am pregnant and the love of your life, I still feel like you are going to leave me for Maria. Because I can't sleep at night without a nightmare or a panic attack. Because even though you say love me, I feel like nothing. Because even though I have 4 beautiful children, if I lose another, I will be shattered inside." I lowered my voice down, "Because even though I exist and live a mostly perfect life, I don't want to be alive right now, Alexander."

His face falters, his eyebrows furrow and his eyes start to well up with tears. He wasn't expecting that from me, "I didn't mean that last part…"

"But didn't you? If you didn't mean it, you wouldn't have said, Eliza. I may not be the smartest, but I am definitely not the dumbest, so I know for a fact, without a doubt, that you meant it." His voice raises slightly, "And you wouldn't have said that you want to die if you didn't mean it because that's not you, Elizabeth Hamilton. You don't carelessly toss your words around, and If you didn't mean it, you wouldn't have said it." He looks away from me, like he's actually going to walk away from my life. He looks back at me, wiping away a tear from his own eye.

I looked down at my weak body. He walked over to me, and he rubbed my arms to comfort me, "I'm sorry that I couldn't rush home. I'm sorry that you are upset and worried and anxious and everything else."

I rest my head on his chest and he kisses my head, "Alex… I'm sorry that I word-vomited what I felt. I truly didn't mean that last part…"

"Eliza, it's okay to feel that way sometimes. Sadness and depression are all part of mental illnesses, and sweetheart, you have one of those. We are going to work on preventing those thoughts."

"Alexander, how did I get so lucky to have you?" I looked into his eyes, "I mean look at me! I am soaked in tears and apple juice, crying like a four year old, and I'm so broken."

"You might be broken, but that doesn't mean I don't love you," He kisses me deeply, "even when you reek of apple juice."

I swat at him, "I love you, Alex."

"And I love you, Eliza." He takes a step back, "Go take a shower, get cleaned up. I'm going to take care of this mess, okay?"

"Okay." I stand up and head off to my bedroom so I can shower. I feel disgusting, but I'm glad that I don't have to clean up my mess.

I walked into my bedroom, anxious to get myself cleaned up, and I noticed that the window by my bed was open. I don't remember opening that window this morning. I closed it, and went back to get ready for my shower. I pulled out a pair of navy jeans and a light pink shirt with a floral lace overlay. I took my hair out of the hot-mess rat's nest that it was still tangled in from a restless night of sleep. After that, I took off my stained pajamas, leaving myself in only a sports bra and my underwear. I slipped on my favorite robe and made my way to the bathroom. I noticed the door was closed, normally we leave the door open because I hate thinking someone was in my room as I sleep. Maybe Alexander closed it in the morning before he left for work. I shrugged it off, and just kept going. I opened the door, closing it after I entered.

I didn't feel alone. I looked into the mirror, and by my bathtub was a man dressed in black, wearing a ski mask. I turned around and it jumped at me, pulling me down to the floor. I screamed, but the man covered my mouth. This figure unmasked himself, Thomas Jefferson.