Alexander Hamilton

1797

As a child, you were never truly happy; you were rarely respected. But for an 18th-century woman, that wasn't unusual. Girls were expected to grow up, marry well, and have children, while men provided and set the rules.

From a young age, you were raised with that purpose. You and your sisters weren't allowed to be just girls; your parents trained you for marriage as if it were a profession. Your older sisters, already hardened by your parents' expectations, didn't warn you, only corrected you as you clumsily moved forward.

Those lessons stuck with you. By the time you married Alexander and became a mother, especially as his political career took off, your desire to please others only increased. You became the perfect housewife: quiet, obedient, never raising your voice, always putting others first. You accepted reprimands with a nod, afraid of being seen as anything less than a lady.

Alexander noticed. Of course he did. You never argued, never objected, and while that made for fewer fights, a part of him felt uneasy.

That night, he came home late. The house was spotless, the children were asleep, and you had just finished helping the servants clean up.

As he loosened his coat, you were already there, gently slipping it off his shoulders, as always. By this time, he was furious, furious. Work had been a complete disaster, and he came through the door like a storm cloud in a jabot.