This is my first PotO fic. Please review, as I am fairly new and would appreciate some feedback. Also, I'm looking for a beta. I don't give much work at all.

Disclaimer: I own no part of PotO. More's the pity.

I never go home anymore. It hurts too much.

Everytime I see her, she is the model fiance, beautiful, dutiful, loving, faithful.

On the outside.

Oh, I don't think she is having an affair, but she is not faithful.

They say the windows are the eyes to the soul.

It is true.

Past the facade, the mask of joy she wears, there is sadness, despair, and regret.

She is unhappy. She is lost.

Sometimes I catch her at the piano, not singing, not playing, simply running her small fingers over the ivory keys, lost in the past. I've never talked to her about it, never asked her to sing. There's no need to aggravate old wounds, even ones open and bleeding.

I'm not brave enough. I'm not stong enough. Who is?

Maybe he would be.

I don't know.

He never did show weakness until...

Enough. It is bad enough that one of us dwells too much on bad memories. There's no need for both of us to lose ourselves in the past.

So I escape from my beautiful fiance. How ironic that I finally have all I ever wanted, all anyone ever wants, and I wish I was anywhere else.

I cannot help it.

It hurts too much to see her wasting away. She is too proud to say anything, too proud to admit that she is deeply unhappy. She made her choice; she will not go back on it.

No! I cannot think like that. She is mine; we love each other. We will get married soon.

Yet... I see the misery in her eyes. Although she smiles and laughs with me, there is a neverending lonlieness and misery in them.

I've only seen it disappear once.

We had gone back to the Opera Populaire to retrieve some belongings of hers. While I was talking with the managers, she went to the stage and looked out at the audience. She glanced up at one of the boxes. I grew uneasy when I realized it was Box 5, the Phantom's Box. She smiled softly and opened her mouth as if to speak, but remained silent. I cannot help but wonder what it is she would have said. A greeting to the Opera Ghost, perhaps, or a farewell? Or likely my jealousy gets away from me and all she would have said was a comment on how well the reconstruction work on the burned-out theater was going.

I do not know. I am afraid to ask.

I came up from behind her, placing a gentle hand on her slim shoulder. She spun around, hand to her throat, with a look of joy on her face. As her eyes focused on me, the radiant expression was quickly supressed.

That cut me deeply.

That's when I started to watch her, and when I knew I had lost her in the bowels of the Opera. That is, if I ever had her to begin with.

I see his shadow on her everytime I look at her.

She is his, not mine.

It hurts me, it hurts my pride,

But it breaks my heart.

Any way you choose, you cannot win...

He was right.

I know what I must do.

I truly love her.

So I must set her free, even if it kills me.

It just might.