Thomas Jefferson

You were nervous. You'd spent two hours thinking, hesitating, planning, and then hesitating again. You didn't know how to tell him. Thomas was a very busy man, and you weren't sure how he would take the news of a pregnancy, especially since he'd made it clear he didn't want children. It wasn't personal; he simply didn't see himself as a father and wasn't the type of man who got along well with kids. He didn't hate them, he just wouldn't ever ask to hold one willingly.

At that moment you heard the door open. He had arrived. You had spent the entire afternoon waiting for him to return from work with a mixture of fear and anxiety you couldn't quite explain. You went to greet him. He looked frustrated, as he did every night. Lately, work in the office had been a nightmare: he and Hamilton had opposing ideals and clashed constantly, and to top it all off, Hamilton was incredibly volatile and rude.

You approached Thomas. He gently took your hip and kissed you on the lips, but this time he didn't pull away as usual. He looked at you, as if analyzing you, and said in a firm tone:

"Love, what do you have to tell me?"

He knew you well enough to know when you were hiding something or something was making you nervous. His grip on your hip tightened slightly. Not enough to hurt you, but enough to make it clear that you weren't going anywhere until you told him what was wrong.