We had not believed it was possible. We had never dreamed it would be possible. We had never dared to hope. We felt it was a much better idea to avoid the thought of it, avoid risking a disappointment so drastic that it could send Erik into an irreparable madness.

That was why I had not brought him with me, today. There was no way; it was impossible. I had not told him where I was going. He would never have listened to reason, if I had—and if I had lied about the reason behind my journey, he would have insisted on coming with me, and that would have only led to both a discovery of my true purpose, and a realization that I had lied, and I had resolved to never lie to him again.

Because of our steady determination to not believe this thing possible, it was a shock when the doctor told me that it was. In fact, not only was it possible, he said, but it had happened. It was truth, it was a dream made real.

I fished the car keys out of my purse with trembling hands. I fumbled with them, trying and failing to insert the key into the door lock for several moments before giving up and using the "Unlock" button on the remote. I sank into the leather seat, hearing its replying groan with something of relief; the sound, as simple as it may have been, was a familiar one, and my mind was groping desperately for the familiar. I sat for a long time, staring at the top of the steering wheel, before I cut the car on and pulled out of the parking lot.

I have to admit, I did not pay much attention to the road. My body went through the motions of driving the car, but my mind had very little to do with the actions. My mind kept repeating the doctor's words, hearing them over and over again. What would Erik say? How would he react? I raised one shaking hand and used it to push unruly curls away from my face. I had to slam on the brakes to make my turn; I was too distracted even to keep track of where I was on the road. With my temper slowly rising, I stomped down on the accelerator, taking out my frustration by forcing the car to speed away from the intersection. My irritation only increased when the car further proved itself worthy of Erik's money and handled the acceleration with an immaculate purr.

I had always viewed the placement of our home as convenient—we were removed from the town, but close enough that the trip in and out was not at all inconvenient. This afternoon, however, the quick trip was far less than appreciated; I made a loop twice, drove back to town and filled the car's gas tank, and made another loop before admitting that I could not put it off, and returning home.

I parked the car, locked it and the garage, and walked up to the house. Henri met me at the door, opening it and giving me a head-nod of greeting. It wasn't until he had straightened that he saw my face. I had been attempting to put on the best of faces, but apparently had not succeeded. I moved to hurry past him, but he took gentle hold of my arm and tugged me back to stand in front of him. He was only a dozen or so years older than me, but as those eyes gazed down at me, I felt as if I were beneath the scrutiny of my father.

"Christine?" he asked quietly. "Are you ill? You look as if you've seen a—" He hesitated, and smiled ever so slightly. "Well, you look pale," he amended.

I nodded, but changed my mind mid-nod and averted to shaking my head. "I am fine, I think," I told him with a small smile.

"Are you sure? You haven't.. eaten much, lately, I've noticed. And Erik—he told me that you had been sick, lately."

I winced at his words. Had it been so obvious? And all that time, I had thought I was being sneaky about the upset stomach that I now knew the reason for. "Oh, Henri." I sighed, and patted the hand on my arm. "We shall see." What else could I say? I certainly could not tell him before I told Erik.

With only that cryptic statement to keep him company, I drew away from him and made my way up the stairs, to the bedroom. Erik was, I assumed, in his study; he was nearly always in his study. In the beginning of our days outside of the Opéra Garnier, he had left nearly everything to Henri. The more time he had spent away from those dark cellars, however, the more he had wanted to do; and, soon, Henri's responsibilities had reduced down to that of butler, and little more. Erik hired a lawyer and an accountant, and began to conduct his own business meetings—mostly, by phone conferences—and retired Henri from all the afore-mentioned positions.

Admirably, he continued to pay Henri full salary.

I dropped my purse down on the bed, and then turned and walked into the bathroom. I braced my hands on the edge of the sink as I peered into my reflection's eyes. How was I going to tell Erik?

"Christine," I said firmly, "you're just going to have to suck it up and tell him."

And then: "Tell me what?"

My breath caught in my throat. For just a moment, I thought I would faint. I raised my head slowly and turned to see him standing in the doorway, his face drawn and unreadable. "Uhm, I..."

"Tell me what, Christine?" he repeated; his expression did not change, but his anger was obvious enough, in both voice and eyes.

I stepped away from the sink and towards him, hands raising to press against his chest. I did not take my eyes away from his; every movement was calculated, chosen by way of what seemed like a lifetime of trial-and-error. If I looked away, Erik would read that as guilt, or even worse, fear; I would never have a chance to explain myself. "Erik," I began slowly. "I don't know how to say this, my love, but—"

"Just tell me, Christine." I flinched at the tone of his voice. However, before I had time to finish, he was talking again. "Where did you go this morning, Christine? Did you go to see your young—"

I cut him off with a deep kiss, one that he resisted for only a tiny moment, before allowing himself to be drawn into it. I tucked my body tight against him, kissed him with all the love and passion that I had within me. By the time I had broken it off, his eyes were glazed with desire.

I took a deep breath, and looked him square in the eye. "Erik," I said steadily, "I love you."

His eyebrows slowly furrowed—he was not wearing his mask—and his head cocked a little to the side. "What's going on, Christine?"

Another deep breath preceded my reply:

"I'm pregnant."

I could see his mind working through the information. It was a long moment before his eyes sprung into life—and then immediately darkened. His entire body went stiff in my arms; I felt the swell of suspicious anger rising in his core even before his face contorted into a scowl—and what a gruesome scowl it was, on that face.

"Pregnant," he snarled. "Pregnant?"

I gulped. "Y-yes," I stammered in reply, my tiny hands trying to settle on his shoulders; he brushed them aside, and wheeled away from me to pace across the bedroom floor.

"I did not think..." I heard him murmur, and immediately I knew what path his thoughts were taking. Fear welled in my stomach; I pressed my hands against my abdomen fiercely, in an attempt to chase the emotion away. My pressure there became more gentle, more protective, as it occurred to me just what lay beneath those hands.

He was looking at me again, with undisguised loathing. "Whose child is it, Christine?" he asked, in a voice so full of icy cruelty that I felt as if I would stagger beneath its weight.

"Oh, Erik," I wailed, bracing myself on a bedpost. "Don't be foolish."

Erik's body drew uncomfortably close to mine; I felt as if I were choking on that anger with every breath. "Yes, you're right—the time for being foolish is over with, isn't it?" I shivered; his voice was too quiet, too silky. Too.. inviting. My teeth closed on my lower lip, and I awaited the rest of his words in silence. "I was foolish to assume you could live with..." His voice broke; he valiantly pushed onward. "...without the company of a more appealing specimen. Is he who you see at night, in the darkness, when you are lying in my arms? Do you dream of him, Christine, while you're forced to live with—"

"Erik, stop it!" I cried, turning and flinging myself into his arms. He caught me out of instinct, and I clung to him desperately, with my head buried into his chest. "There is no one, Erik! There was never any man—only you!"

He laughed, once, but there was no humor in that note. "If that is so, my dear, then how do you explain the pregnancy?"

I raised my head to gape at him, sniffling weakly. "Surely you cannot doubt yourself so much?" He looked genuinely confused. My hands curled around his shirt with an iron-like intensity; I would not allow him to toss me aside this time. "My darling," I continued, "surely, surely you cannot believe yourself to be so.. impaired?"

He tried to push me away, but I clung with all my might, and in favor of keeping the shirt unharmed, he allowed me to remain close to him. "Did you not believe me to be such?" he asked after a moment. "Did you not look at me with teary eyes, whenever you saw a woman with a swollen belly, whenever there was mention of pregnancy of childbirth on television, whenever—"

"I didn't know, Erik!" I interrupted. "I didn't know what to think. You never said anything... I didn't want to think either way. If I assumed you were, I risked insulting you—if I assumed you were not, I risked disappointing you. How could I dare to hope—how could I dare to doubt?"

Erik still did not look convinced. I released my hold on his shirt, and shifted my hands to clutch the back of his neck. Gently, I pulled his head down, and I was more than a little relieved to find that he did not resist. He only allowed me brief ecstasy, however, before breaking the kiss and looking down into my eyes with an unreadable expression. "You swear to me," he said after a moment, "that this child is mine?"

I nodded, and took a slight step back from him. My hands sought out one of his own, and placed it on my abdomen. It felt as if it belonged there, covering my stomach, covering what lay within. He looked at it—I assume, the stomach, and not the hand—with childlike awe, eyes studying it carefully as if he expected to see it grow. My own hands covered his, though my eyes never left his face.

"It really...? I really...?"

I nodded again, and he raised his eyes to mine. I could see him swinging back into happiness again, could see the corners of those ravaged lips beginning to turn upwards into a smile. And then his expression froze, and his eyes darkened again. My heart plunged to the floor in disappointment; I fought desperately to keep it from my face. "What?" I asked softly. One hand remained on his own, against my stomach; the other rose to press against his cheek. "What is it, my Angel?"

"What will you do," he asked slowly, "if it looks like... like me?"

The thought had not even occurred to me. I found, however, that I did not view the idea with distaste. A small part of me almost liked the idea. I knew that I would outlive Erik; he was at least twice my age, and not in the best of health besides; perhaps, if we had a son that bore the same face, I could cope with that loss a little better.

Though to be honest, I was not sure that I would live much longer than Erik would. A few years, at most, was all I truly gave myself. We were too deeply ingrained into one another's lives, and I was nearly positive that I would not survive without him.

He took my lack of answer as a bad sign, and began to step away from me. My grip tightened on his hand, and I followed his motion, keeping close to him. He looked weary—he looked old. I released his hand, in favor of putting both arms around his neck. "I don't know what to tell you, Erik," I said, as I looked up through my lashes into his eyes. "I would love this child more than life itself, regardless of any deformity it may have. I would love it because it was my child. I would love it even more, because it was yours. And if it looks like you—well, it won't make any difference."

Erik lowered his head, and buried his face into the crook of my neck. I pressed my hand against the back of his head and shut my eyes against his tears that I could feel trickling onto my skin. "Thank you," he murmured. I turned my head and pressed a kiss to his temple, as my own tears began to form. Three years of marriage—three years!—and I had barely even begun to grasp the depth of this man's sorrow.

"I swear to you," I whispered against his skin, "our child will not share your fate."

Only sobs followed, backed by an intensity of emotion that I could never have aspired to.