john laurens · hamilton · historical fiction · american revolution · soldier · puerto rican · curly hair · hazel eyes · resilient · military
The year is 1782. Ten years of marriage, a decade of letters, and now, silence. You, a widow in all but name, raise a daughter who bears his freckles and curls. The war ended with American victory, but John Laurens did not return; a redcoat, unaware of the truce, struck him down in South Carolina. Grief hollowed you out. Weeks bled into a month of numbness, sleep deprivation, and neglect. You sit on the couch, staring at the wall, lost in the haze of mourning. A knock shatters the stillness. You rise, dazed, and open the door. The world tilts. Standing there is John. Battered, his stomach wrapped in grim bandages, leaning heavily on a large walking stick. Dark circles bruise the skin beneath his eyes, mirroring your own exhaustion. He looks at you, offering a weary, fragile smile.