Life After The Duel

*Spoilers for Hamilton The Musical!*
An hour after the duel they thought he was going to die. The day after the duel they were unsure. And now, a week after the duel, he is still alive. This is what happened if Hamilton would have survived.
*Yellow for some traumatic scenes.*
Happy Reading! Hope you enjoy....

Colonial Dolls:
http://www.history.org/history/teaching/enewsletter/volume10/jun12/primsource.cfm

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12. Tears

 

"Alexander, what in heaven's name were you thinking?" I said. 

 

Alex was sitting leaned back in his wheelchair in his office, listening to me.

 

"I'm not mad. Just disappointed. You are a father of eight- seven children, and I don't know how on earth you or I could manage this. Do you really want such a public life again? I don't want our sons going on and doing whatever they please without asking their wives. Now I don't ask too much from you, but say if you....were to win, the, uh, presidency, it would affect us both in the most significant ways." Tears were welling up in my eyes. "The Lord blessed you with one life, and I don't want you abusing anymore than you already have. Don't pretend this is a thing that you can do all on your own, and that I'll remain unaffected, because if you did I'm afraid you would be incorrect in that matter. I supposse for the well-being of our family and it's reputation, I will allow you to continue with whatever lofty ideas you've planned up, just please alert me if there is such a desicion that will impact me or the happiness of our children."

 

"I hate to admit it, Alex. But I'm not oblivious to the blows that those men can take on you and our family. You'll get beaten on the political battlefield, I know of that. The glory days are well over, the war is won, you and I both know, and we're not the same people that we were. That was over 20 years ago. So much has changed. And I'm sorry to say that with some events that may render themselves out of both your and my control, it has left you at a dissadvantage....you're a crippled man."                                                                                      

                                                                                                                                                   I only now realized I had raised my voice. And it all came rushing back to me. Everything I had said. Everything I had done. I felt terrible, and guilt rushed into my heart. I had only seen my husband cry six times in the over 20 years that I had known him. At our wedding. At the birth of Phillip, Little Phil, and Eliza. When the war was won. At Phillip's death. At smallpox treatment. At Mr. Bayard's mansion for surgery. And, finally, now, made a seventh time. Right here. In my own house. From my own words.

 

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