Philip Schuyler had never been a timid man. He'd always been one of those people who filled up a room with his mere presence. But as he slipped into the hospital room where his daughter lay, he felt lost in the world. Alexander was sitting by the bedside, stroking Eliza's hair as she slept. On her chest was a bundle of pale yellow blankets.
Alexander glanced over at his father-in-law, a soft smile on his face.
"How are they?" Philip asked.
"Exhausted, but fine," responded Alex, "Eliza nearly broke my fingers."
Philip chuckled, "I've heard that tends to happen."
Alex's smile widened, "I don't mind. Phil, do you," he paused, "Do you want to hold him?"
Philip stepped forward, hesitantly approaching the bed. Alex carefully lifted the bundle off of Eliza, supporting the child's head. He gently placed the infant into Philip's arms.
"What did you decide to name him?"
Both men looked up and Eliza smiled sleepily at them.
"His name is Philip Hamilton."