like a son

by Adverb Slut

When Hamilton reveals all the details of his affair in "The Reynolds Pamphlet," Eliza divulges unto him her own secret: Philip Hamilton isn't his son, but rather the son of John Laurens. This secret, along with Hamilton's own infidelity, shakes the family to its core, and even worse, the presumed dead John Laurens returns, very much alive and with no clue that Philip is his son.

7. neighbor

Every appeal there was in staying home was gone. Where once he had cherished time with his family, finished letter after letter to various personages, and celebrated his days off, Alexander could find no respite from the weight of his and Eliza's sins and Philip's curious green eyes.

So, he went for walks about the city, strolling with his head down—lest people remember the face of the man who had published his affair in the "Reynolds Pamphlet"—for hours at a time, only returning when it was the latest moments of dusk, just before the children could begin their innocent queries as to whether their father had gone to carouse at another woman's home.

He longed to quell their questions, all made valid by that intrepid pamphlet, by pointing out that their mother was just as guilty as he, but alas, at present he could not discern how to divulge this information to the rest of his family without causing much grief to Philip.

Methods of airing this dirty laundry to his children as benignly as possible were on his mind, as he took his final turn about the neighborhood one evening. The Hamiltons never did find themselves in possession of great riches or a steady income, even with Alexander's job as Secretary of the Treasury, so the family tended to rent properties that were within their current earning range. This left them scampering from neighborhood to neighborhood, never in the same spot for more than a few years.

Currently, they lived in one of the homes in a rowhouse in a quiet suburb of New York. Just as Alexander was about to climb up the stairs to his front door, he noticed a stranger—hauling trunks behind him as if he were just moving in—hunched over and fumbling with the lock in the house next to his.

Before he could offer his assistance, the stranger turned to him to ask for the same thing. Alexander felt his heart stop when he noticed the stranger's chestnut curls and green eyes, the latter of which were filled with enough mirth and impetuosity to provoke a saint, just as he had last seen them fifteen years ago.