I walked out into the sitting room, book under my arm, to find Erik sitting on the divan reading Othello. A bottle of Merlot sat on the end table next to a glass which was nearly empty. I cleared my throat and Erik looked up at me.

"Yes Christian? Is there something you need?" he asked putting his book down.

"You've lost your page," I stated pointing to the closed book. He waved his hand as if to dismiss someone.

"Page 79; the beginning of scene two in act three. Othello speaks first. Now, what do you need?"

"I wanted to ask you about this," I said and held the book out to him. He took it but kept his gaze on me.

"What about this?" he asked.

"Well, mainly what it is," I answered.

"Can't you tell?" he questioned.

"It's a scrapbook of my mother's life since she started working at the Opera House," I replied. "Why do you have it?"

"I made it," he told me.

"Why?" I asked. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

"Have a seat," he said. As I did so, he stood up and began pacing. I waited patiently until he stopped and looked at me. "I made it because I love her."

"What?" I asked growing more and more confused every second.

"It's a very long story," he stated.

"I don't care," I replied.

"Very well then, it all started about 15 years ago."