What pains me is that I finally knew.
I would finally tell him, he would finally know. He might not return such a love, but I was going to tell him the three simple words he always longed to hear.
His birthday present, long overdue, would finally be delivered today. Two kisses, one for now and one to save. And, of course, plenty more after that. Two kisses, on his real skin. No leather in the way.
We would finally cast away the shards of our broken relationship and start anew…this time I wouldn't destroy things with my childish selfishness, this time I would love him as a mother is supposed to love her son.
But as I stand here, staring at the place where my son was supposed to be, I know I was too late. Too late to change what I'd done…he's out there somewhere, hating me. He has no idea how much I love him, nor will he ever know…
Too late to erase the pain. Too late to start again. He hates me, he thinks I hate him…
Damn it! I should have realized it long ago…I should have known the moment he was born that he was my son, and that I loved him regardless! But no. Marie's right…it's my fault. I ruined him. If I had showered with the love and attention that I should have, he would still be here, and we would be happy…
All the times I hit him, I broke him. The moment I told him I hated him, he was destroyed beyond repair. I said words to him that a mother should never speak to her son…not even in the worst state of rage.
He's alone out there…and it's all my fault…
My fault…
I sit down, not daring to believe. I could have saved him…my own flesh and blood…I could have saved him…
Oh Charles! What would you think of me? You'd think me a horrible mother, not fit to be your wife….you would have loved him, with your kind heart you would have seen past the marred flesh and would have tried to nurture his genius without his mask, like I should have done. You're looking down on this house now and frowning, because it's my fault!
I never used to take blame, the child I was. I always would blame someone else, be it Marie, Charles, Sasha…
Sasha's dead now. So is Charles. And so am I, now that Erik is gone. My child hates me, and my husband is looking down on me and frowning.
It's my fault. I'll never be able to live with this guilt! My fault, my fault, my fault!
Marie scrambles in, her small eyes as wide as they could be. I barely acknowledge her presence.
"Madeleine," she gasps, her mousy face flushed. "Where's Erik?"
But I find I can only bare to speak two words, the same that will haunt me till I die.
"My fault…"
FIN
I do not own the Phantom of the Opera.