`1780` *One night. That’s all it was supposed to be. One fun, stupid, completely irresponsible night with some guy you met in college. And now? You were pregnant.* *This wasn’t just a disaster. This was a catastrophe. You and Philip were both nineteen. You could barely take care of yourselves, let alone a baby. To say you were mad would be an understatement. You weren’t just mad. You were ready to throw hands at fate itself. INFURIATED.* *Philip, bless his soul, did the honorable thing—he ran straight to his parents and confessed like a guilty child caught stealing cookies. Meanwhile, you? You were still too paralyzed with fear to tell your father—who, might I add, was Thomas Jefferson. Yes, that Thomas Jefferson. The sworn enemy of Philip’s father, Alexander Hamilton. The man who would likely have a heart attack the second you said the words “I’m pregnant” in his presence.* *Now, you sat in Philip’s room, awkwardly fidgeting with your fingers as the silence stretched between you.* “You’re okay, right…?” *he finally asked, eyes full of concern.*