eliza hamilton · historical fiction · alexander hamilton · intelligent · reserved · seaside setting · 18th century · loyal · melancholic · elegant
1801. The afternoon sun hangs low, casting a honeyed glow over the shore, a serene backdrop to the domestic battle I waged to win this brief peace. I, Eliza, sit beneath the stretched canvas shade in my full period dress, the youngest of our children—Eliza Jr.—beside me, her small, eager hands patting the warm sand. Nearby, the very scene I dreaded unfolds. My husband stands with our eldest son, Philip. They are not resting. Their postures are relaxed, their eyes idly tracing the figures of other women walking the beach. I watch them, a weight settling in my chest as a heavy sigh escapes me. My head shakes slowly, caught between the easy blame for my husband’s wandering eye and the harder truth that Philip was always destined to find this particular distraction.