Knocking.
Knocking on the door.
"Eliza," Alexander calls quietly. Like he has been for hours now. But I don't let him in. Because I can't bear to face him.
What if I had cleared my schedule? What if I had spent more time with my husband? Would we have still cheated if he had me around?
Is it me working so hard harming the children that they don't survive? Is it me who cannot keep the babies? It must be, for I'm the one who miscarries. I'm not strong enough. I'm weak. I'm not worth it.
"Eliza, please," Alexander whispers against the door. The humility in his voice tells me that this is no dream, nor nightmare. This is happening right now- it's real.
I suppose it couldn't be a fantasy. Much like the life I'd been living, perhaps none of this is real. I believed in a man who'd betrayed me. This is the man who I allowed to know me so intimately.
He is a stranger.
I open the door, unlocking the lock and say, "Well?", wondering what he could possibly say to defend himself.
"I have to dress," he whispers apologetically. "I have an early meeting."
Of course. Alexander Hamilton is an important man, one with impressive standing as an actor in big New York City. And I'm just his betrayed wife. The one with the boring old office job.
As he takes off day old jeans and a dirty shirt, I feel a stab of renewed pain. He's still handsome, still in the prime of his youth. As am I, but no one was interested in that one studious, college focused girl who was a nobody. No one until she married Alexander Hamilton, one of the most popular boys in the city. So who am I if not Alexander Hamilton's wife?
"Would you forgive me if I surrendered to the same temptation?" The words startle myself as they leave my tongue. Would he forgive me?
It's a silent, still moment before he turns around and meets my eyes.
"I'd forgive you so long as you love me," he says swiftly, shaking my shoulders a little. "Let us clear this up, Eliza. You would never betray me. It isn't in you. But I would forgive you if you did. Because we forgive each other. But we love. And our love cannot be broken by anything."
"I don't believe you," I whisper yet again. For I try to convince myself. But I can't.
Alexander looks down and shakes his head.
"I just want to ask you, how do I behave with all the women at the party we went to the other night? You were there when they were… well, you know. That party we got to go to because of the taking off of the show's new season. You know how they were acting and do you remember what I did? I turned and kissed you and we had a ball. I just want you to remember I've only ever had eyes for you. You need to trust that what's happened has been an accident and it won't repeat itself." His accent in his deep sultry voice mixes with my anger and self-doubt creating a mix of love and slight frustration.
"But why? Why did you even let her get you that drunk?" I ask, not meeting his gaze.
He lets go of my shoulders and runs his hand through his hair.
"After the first three drinks I already had I was a little off. That day I hadn't been feeling one-hundred percent. I let myself drink three because I thought the night would go quickly and I wanted to just knock out. You weren't going to be home, and I had wanted to see you so bad. But then she came over to me and started chatting me up. She kept refilling my drink without my knowing and it got to the point where I thought it was you. Not looking like you, but…" he trails off.
"In my blurry drunken state I mixed up the angel with the devil. She led me back to her house and I thought it was ours. She told me some things I can imagine you saying. She tricked me. I won't say I didn't want it or not give consent. I thought it was you, even as she drove me back to our house. But I will say when I saw you in bed in the morning, sleeping so peacefully, I knew that it wasn't you last night. I knew I messed up. But I couldn't bear to tell you and see your face. I couldn't do that to you."
I look up at him.
"What did she say to you?"
He looks down, a blush rising on his neck.
"Well… it's not really apro-"
"You're telling me that you can't tell me because it's not appropriate? This whole thing isn't appropriate! You slept with a woman besides me. And," I continue, "I'm twenty-five, for God's sake! Not a child, Alexander!"
"Okay, fine!" He throws his hands up. "I told her I wanted to go home and she said okay. When she brought me to her room she told me to…" He proceeds to tell me everything in such detail that I turn away, trying to control my tears. I'm afraid that the life I loved is over and the pain will continue forever.
I trusted him. I trusted Alexander that he would never betray me. I shared all my secrets with my husband. How many did he give away in his drunken state?
"My angel," Alexander whispers, closing his arms around me as my body is racked with tears that don't stop. Maybe I believe him; maybe I don't. But all I want is to cry. I don't feel loved anymore. I'm not worth it. I can almost imagine what they did together. Alexander rocks me as I lean into him, making his shirt wet with tears but he doesn't say anything.
What will everyone say if they find out? Will they laugh, or pity me? Will they be able to meet my eyes?
"That day in the restaurant- when I first met you. I didn't meet you by accident, Eliza. I didn't walk in there thinking I would meet the love of my life. But it happened. God happened. Not fate, nor accident. And ever since that day I knew you must be the one for me. I am committed to you and you only. I made a huge mistake and all I can ask for is your forgiveness. I do not expect you to trust me the way you did for a long time. I do not expect to even come in this room at night until you say I'm allowed. I'll sleep on the couch every night. I don't even deserve the couch. I should sleep on the floor with the way I've behaved.
"I have an idea," he continues. "I know you don't trust me, you don't even want to see me. But I want you to forgive me. So how about this. We attend a counselor. We both take two weeks off of work, more if we need. But just so we can focus on our marriage, not our work related issues. I promise that I'll try my hardest to figure this out- but you have to, too."
Figure this out. He means to get over him sleeping with another woman.
I guess I don't have anything to lose. I haven't taken vacation the entire year. I can't possibly guess what this will be like, though.
"Okay, fine. But you're still sleeping on the couch."
"Perfect. I'll schedule the meetings starting tomorrow. I have a meeting I cannot reschedule in an hour. After that, every second of every day is devoted to you."
Tonight when Alexander got home he quickly changed into his casual clothes again. He then started making dinner.
"I can do that…" I go into the kitchen to try to help but he gives a pained smile as he glances at the necklace I wear. The small one my sister bought me instead of the one I usually wear, the eternity symbol Alexander got for my birthday.
"You know I'm going to do everything I can to make it up to you, even if it means making dinner every night for the rest of my life. And," he adds with a small grin, "You usually do wind up making the same thing every night."
I force a bitter laugh but don't feel happy.
I go back to the bedroom to finish up my work when Alexander comes to get me to tell me dinner's ready. I see he's made my favorite.
"You made shrimp scampi?"
"I did," he says.
As we eat silently, all I can think about is how tomorrow we're going to pour out our hearts to some random person so we can get our marriage in check.
"How was work?" Alexander asks me, trying to spark conversation.
I don't want to talk. I want to stare at my pasta and go to bed. In fact, I never want to leave this house. New York City doesn't deserve to see me. I don't want it to see me. How will people react when they find out that Alexander strayed? How will I face them once they know the truth?
Has Mariah told anyone?
"You've never shown any signs of this," I whisper. "How was I supposed to know that you were hurting inside?"
"I didn't expect you to notice," he says softly, the mood completely changed. "I can hide it. But I was so starved that I let myself fall into bed with another woman. It was dumb, stupid, drunken mistake that I made. I didn't have you with me to knock some common sense into me. But that's what you do for me, Eliza. I'm a sinful person; but you help me to see my faults and repent. I want things; but you give me enough. I can't function without you. You're my compass, my helper, my love. I don't expect to be forgiven so easily. But I just hope you can find it in you to give me another chance. I'm so sorry, Eliza."
He keeps saying this. He's so sorry. I think he means it. Really does. But is he willing to make this work? I'm not ready to just forgive and forget. My pride has been wounded, my heart, too. Because what happens when we get over this and the same mistake is made again? The pain is so bad that I don't even want to think about it. But my own sins are the one now visible; they overcome my thoughts and emotions and flood my memory of times when I've failed as a woman, a wife, and a daughter of Him.
"I'm sorry," I breathe, tears blinking into my eyes. "I've taken this whole life for granted. I haven't been the kind of wife you need. I've been so weak, and a failure. I'm so selfish, the way I only think of myself. I'm not strong enough, I can't forgive, my sin is too much…" I'm cut off by my husband who presses his fingers against my lips.
"Hush," he says gently as his arms wrap around me. "It's not about that. We've both made mistakes. But we can't let that define us. We're stronger than our faults, Eliza. I know we are. I just need you to know that it's not me against you, you against me, no, it's us against the world. And we can defeat it, my love. We can do anything when we have each other."
We don't say anything for minutes as they drone on silently. Alexander and I don't look anywhere but each other, as our eyes meet, and a connection passes like an electric shock that courses through my body. It's an unspoken commitment, almost a mutual understanding, that we will both promise to give as much effort as we want to receive when we go tomorrow to work on the marriage. We love each other, I think. No matter what will happen, nothing can ever erase the love that I feel for my husband. The love that I choose. And as my senses sharpen and I find that the more I see my husband's eyes, his sad but hopeful face, the more I long to want him to stop hurting, for there must be something I can do to stop it.
So, because nothing can convey my unfailing love for my husband, even in the midst of my anger and heartbreak, I gently touch my hand to his shoulder. He softens at my touch, as he always does, and when he puts his arm around my waist, I remember why I fell in love with him in the first place.
We pull close together, swaying to a tune that plays only in our heads. He rests his hand on my cheek as we lean into each other in a way that we never have before. It's almost as if we're learning that we can't just rely on ourselves; it takes someone else, too. If our relationship isn't centered around Him, then how can we possibly expect to resolve our differences? For there will always be a hint of resentment or anger if we only consult ourselves and force each other to forgive. But if the letting go of anger is caused by the Lord, then how can it not be anything but holy and true?
We're not a high school couple only together for the lust and kisses. No, we chose to marry each other because we want to spend the rest of our lives together. Because we can't bear to be part. And that's how a marriage should be. For when a man and woman commit to a union together, the vows are forever. For better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part.
Alexander pulls back and meets my eyes. They speak of a love only we can understand, for no one has the perfect union. But we understand that now, and he silently asks a question that I hesitate to answer. Though I forgive him, I still struggle with feelings of anger and resentment. The Lord will give me strength, I think as our lips meet in a passionate kiss.
It's no tender kiss we share; it conveys the message of undeniable grief but mutual understanding. It's not exactly happy, but it speaks of the bond we share. His hands move to my hair, tangling the curls in his fingers. In the wake of our anger, resentment, only a kiss could represent the choices we make.
His hands move to the nape of my neck, touching it in only a way my husband could. I pull him closer to me, our bodies pressed together as our lips dance. It's silent now; no dog barking, no food burning, only Alexander and I. That's the way it should be.
When we finally break apart, he traces my lower lip as if in a daze. "You are the ruining of me, Eliza Narvaez," he whispers, repeating the same thing from our wedding night. And then that memory brings the old feelings back, why I married him, and I feel a pounding in my chest. It's not yearning, nor lust. But something more like the desire to see each other as we really are, without any qualms or pretenses in the way.
"It's Eliza Hamilton now," I say, placing my finger under his scruffy chin. "I do happen to have a husband, sir."
His eyes twinkle, now flirtatious. "Who might this lucky fellow be?"
"Well," I say as I pull away. "He is a very handsome fellow, with blonde hair and adorable brown eyes. And his accent is the most alluring."
Alexander takes a seat on the chair and pulls me onto his lap. "Tell me more about this most admirable man," he whispers in my ear which sends shivers down my spine. "I long to see what or who can win your heart."
"Oh, but my heart's already taken," I reply as I twirl a piece of his hair, his gaze set on my lips. "I will be permitted to speak about him, though. Beyond his physical attraction, he is an incredibly talented actor, and the most amazing cook. After that, he has a heart for Him and a captivating way with words that lures unsuspecting women into his trap… unfortunately, like me…"
Anger does not obliterate love. For even though my husband had failed me, I'd failed him, too, but in a different way. He needed a wife who would love him and be a companion, a helper. I'd put my own wants in front of his needs, and now we both had paid.
But the understanding that passed between us has done something. It created a bond that promised that we would do whatever was necessary to make our relationship work. And even as his devouring and electric touch drove me to bed like a lover more than a wife, we finally found each other, for better or worse. That night, even though the issues still hung in the air above our bed as we laid in it, we couldn't see anything else. No one but each other.
Anger, after all, is no match for the bond of love.