So…that was unexpected…we need to get the Phantom back under control! Just a quick little chapter to tie some things up.
Never in my life had I thought myself capable of such brutality to a woman, let alone the woman I loved above everything else in the world. With all she had been through, who was I to treat her in such a manner? Was this all because I still could not reckon with the fact that my wife carrying another man's child?
I left the bathroom and prostrated myself at the side of her bed. Christine wrapped herself in a sheet and looked at me fearfully, bile threatening in my throat. "Please don't sing to me," she whispered. "Don't hurt me with your music."
I sobbed brokenly. Never had I believed that music could be ugly in its rage, but its deception had taken control over the demons that lurked within my soul. In minutes I had undone everything I had worked so hard to create. Would Christine ever forgive me?
A wet warmth trickled down the back of my neck, and I raised my head to find Christine weeping above me. "I am unworthy of an angel's tears," I whispered.
To my surprise, I felt her arms wrap around me. "My Erik, where have you gone? What is this darkness that has returned to you?"
Together we cried, our tears mingling in a single stream, washing away the pain I had inflicted. I begged for her forgiveness, and she granted it freely. Gratefully I held her, swearing never to harm her again.
In the aftermath of my disaster, I sent Christine to a waiting tub of bubbles while I straightened the room and laid out a simple dress for her. As she bathed, I slipped back into the cellars and removed the cloak and mask I had caressed so lovingly earlier. I tossed it into the fireplace, remembering months ago when I set fire to the lair under the opera house.
"No one need find the remnants of the Opera Ghost. No one need know he ever existed," I remembered in a whisper. The thought brought back to mind the letter I had written to the managers, and I hurriedly retrieved it so I could add it to the blaze. If Christine wanted to go to the gala, we would go in the manner she thought fit.
I heard Christine call for me, and I trotted up the stairs like a devoted dog. She looked marvelous after her toilet, the new dress softly clinging to her now motherly curves. "Would you like to see the nursery now?" she asked carefully, not knowing how I would react to talk of the child.
I took her hand in mine and kissed it. "Of course, my love," I answered, and arm in arm we walked to the newly furnished room.