It was the night before Journey turned a year old that Christine realized she didn't love Raoul; that she had never loved Raoul. And she had wished since that night, and every night after, that she had only had that foresight so much sooner. She also wished it hadn't taken such a tragedy to bring that wisdom to light. Journey hadn't been well for a few nights; she had gotten a little bit of a head cold, and had already started to teeth, so she was hardly in the best of moods to begin with. Raoul had been gone for a few nights on business, and, although Christine knew he was supposed to have been home the previous night, he had gone out drinking, so by the time he finally returned to their small maison, he was covered in the sickeningly sweet smell of brandy, and completely intoxicated by the liquid that had caused that smell. He had come in careless, as the intoxication often caused him to become less than thoughtful, and Journey, who had finally and unhappily just gone to sleep, woke up screaming from the noise.

Instantly he had turned on her, and Christine rushed over trying to get her to calm. She wanted nothing to do with the gentle petting, so Christine had hastily set her in the large wooden crib, and rushed to get her a bottle, the only thing that would soothe her when she could not. She hadn't been fast enough for Raoul.

"Shut that squalling rat UP!" He had roared, staggering drunkenly over to the wooden enclosure which still held the screaming child. His eyes, slightly glazed over from drink, were blazing with unreasonable rage.

"Raoul, please.... DON'T!" But she wasn't been fast enough to get between him and the child. He drew back one large, meaty fist, and brought it down hard across Journey's petite, delicate features. She had been thrown hard by the force of the blow right into the back of the crib, cracking the back of her tiny, frail head against the sturdy wood. Immediately, she went silent, and crumpled into the corner.

"Nooo!" Christine screamed, rushing over to her child, and immediately drawing the small, limp body into her arms. Raoul simply looked smug, glad that he had gotten the rat to quiet down, and swaggered into their bedroom, collapsing onto their bed in a drunken slumber. Christine grabbed her coat, bundled up Journey as quickly and as gently as she could, and rushed out into the darkened night, in search of a doctor. A month earlier, Dr. Brynner had moved to America, and Christine yearned desperately that he had not, that he could help her...

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Despite the new docteur's abject surprise and assurance that the opposite would be true, Journey had lived through the blow and the resulting trauma. She had been in a coma for three months, and although Raoul had ordered the life support machines turned off immediately with the docteur's diagnosis of death, she had breathed on her own. Christine stayed with her night and day, even though Raoul had ordered more than once that she returned home where she belonged. The housekeeper of an old friend of Christine's father had been persuaded to watch over Richard while Christine remained at l'hopital, and when Journey had finally opened her tiny blue eyes and stared up at her mother, Christine had wept for the better part of three hours.

It wasn't until Christine had brought her home and gone to check on her a couple of hours later, that Christine learned of the true result of what Raoul had done. She had moved slowly into the room, thinking Journey asleep. Moving silently over to the crib, she hadn't seen the cord to the light, and tripped on it. The lamp came crashing down, the bulb inches from the baby's face... The child did not even blink from the blinding light. She jumped faintly from the noise of her mother nearly falling on her face, and then the soft soprano shriek of surprise when she didn't even turn away.

Scrabbling to keep her balance, Christine rushed over to her daughter's side. Half-disbelieving, half-fearing the truth, she took the lamp away. Quickly, she passed her hand soundlessly before Journey's open, staring eyes. Nothing. No blink, no following movement, no dilation of the pupil.... The baby did wince at the reverberating scream of horror that shook the house as Christine realized just what injury had been caused.... Her baby, her daughter, was blind...

She snapped; one moment, Christine was staring with horror as her baby stared sightlessly back up at her, the next moment she saw red as she realized what Raoul had done to her daughter.

"Raoul, you bastard!" For once, he was home, sober; poised on the sofa, reading le Journal. A look of confused surprise crossed his features, as he saw Christine headed his way.

"Christine..." He blinked, momentarily taken aback by language he hadn't even thought Christine had known. "What are you..."

He was silenced by the resounding slap she laid across his handsome features.

"You, bastard!" She screamed again. "Our daughter, Raoul! How could you!"

"What about Journey... she's fine... The doctor said she'll be fine..."

"Fine?" She all but dragged him into the room. Again she passed her hand in front of her baby's eyes; again, the infant didn't so much as blink. "This, Raoul.... Oh, you bastard..."

Raoul was too astounded to speak. He hadn't know what he had been doing that night; he'd been too drunk to care.

Without another word, she picked up Journey gently into her arms, careful of the still bandaged little head. Richard toddled into the room, confused by the loud noises he had heard, confused by the look on his father's face; she took his hand gently, picked up her shawl, and left the apartment, doubting if she should ever come back.