Disclaimer: This is not mine. My friend wrote this and wanted it up somewhere so here I am, Putting it up. She also does not own Hamilton or history or anything like that, so don't sue or anything like that.
Note: This is a one-shot
It was a dark, stormy night - yet quiet. Everyone had left before 8:00. And Alexander was truly glad of that. What a great way to end an awful night he thought sarcastically, gazing out the large living room window of the 6 bedroom mansion. He thought that money could truly buy happiness, but it left him alone, without family, without friends, but most noticeably, without love. He sits silently for a few minutes, letting the pounding rain focus his on his thoughts. It was hard to be happy, now that she left. How many weeks had it been? Alexander pondered, knowing that number was beginning to reach double-digits. His stomach filled with regret, for he had made the worst mistake of his life. It only took him a few days to figure out that writing couldn't fix the gaping hole in their relationship, as it only cut deeper with every sentence. At first, Alexander felt as if he could never survive the agonizing pain of his true love leaving him; But if he survived sickness and a hurricane, he could survive anything. His children would visit him often, bringing news of their accomplishments along with freshly baked pastries. Now that the war was over, goods like flour and sugar were becoming more and more accessible. Alexander tried to refocus to what was important - the dinner. He had invited a few politicians and their wives to join him for dinner in an attempt to cheer himself up, but it only made him feel even more alone. It didn't make sense to him, it never did. How come these men can make these mistakes without consequences? Why was I the one who was shamed? After all, we all know what happened between Jefferson and Ms. Hemming, but no one seemed to care. It was as if this were some "unspoken act", but Alexander shared his. His coping mechanism was always to write, and to prove himself. He wasn't like these other men, he wasn't from here. That always bothered him, and he felt the need to try and 'compensate' for what he didnt have with his words. This time, however, was not a time to write. His mother had taught him how some things are better off when left unnoticed and untouched, but it wasn't until now that he really understood the meaning of the phrase so often repeated. His impulsivity finally caught up to him, filling him with loneliness and sorrow for the rest of his life. But he was a Hamilton, and he was not going to give up until he had her back.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
The next morning, Alexander decided what he was going to do. He walked to his now Ex. Wifes house, and softly knocked on the door. Shoot. Shes probably asleep, it's only 6:00. But to his surprise, a sleepy woman opens the door, half asleep in her dressing gown. She lets out a small yawn before meeting the gaze of her visitor. She jumps back and slams the door angrily, as she was not going to forgive him. Unfortunately for her, Alexander was determined. He gently pries open the door, and carefully steps in to the house. For a brief second, he looks around the well decorated manor, with bright yellow walls and a brick fireplace on the wall across from him. The house smells of cinnamon, a colorful scent coming directly from the kitchen. He missed the place, and even with the bright colors and warm smells, it no longer felt like home. He immediately focuses on the goal - convince her to have him back- and starts explaining himself. Instead of listening, Eliza scoops him into a giant hug, fully enveloping him in her love. The embrace felt as if it lasted for days, both halves happy to be whole again.