Raoul sat in painful shock, reading once more the letter he held in his hand. When he had awoken and found it beside him, he had imagined that Christine had left him some sort of love letter. He hadn't fully understood what he was reading the first time through, but now it was excruciatingly clear. She had left him. She had left him for that…monster. In her letter she had begged his forgiveness and understanding for what she must do. Though he wanted to forgive her, the pain in his heart prevented him from doing so. How could she have done this to their family? His eyes fell upon her shaken handwriting.

I need you to know that I love you and Christophe more than anything else in this world. The last thing that I ever wanted was to leave you, but I can't be the wife and mother that you deserve until I have resolved this matter.

The wife and mother they deserved? Raoul was filled with incredulity. He had never asked her to be more than she had been. Had she expected more of him? Had he failed her somehow? In one letter all his old wounds had been reopened, all his fears of losing Christine, his self-doubt. He felt like the foolhardy young man battling an invisible ghost once again. Only this time, the ghost was winning.

Raoul slumped into his chair, wanting to vanish into it. The pain pulsed through him, consuming every part of him. He had to do something, anything to soothe the ache in his heart. He ran down the stairs, eager to seek solace in his son. As he leapt off the bottom stair he practically ran into Henriette.

"Monsieur," she said in a startled voice, "Inspector Reinard is here to see you. He is waiting in the foyer."

"Where is Christophe?" he asked impatiently.

"I believe Michelle is with him in his room. Should I have her bring him down to the dining room for breakfast?"

Raoul nodded, a slight frown still hanging on his face. Reinard stood, as Henriette had said, in the foyer. His back was to Raoul as he admired a painting of a country landscape that hung on the wall. Raoul stood in the doorway and cleared his throat. Reinard turned, a forced smile on his lips, and extended his hand to Raoul. He looked down to Reinard's hands and back up to his eyes, unwilling to offer his own hand.

"I expected as much," Reinard said, his demeanor now serious. "I don't know if you are aware, but there was an escape from the jail last night, a murder suspect apprehended from the Opera Populaire."

"You're right. I wasn't aware," Raoul replied stiffly.

Reinard spoke quickly, trying to cover the anger in his voice. "Raoul this is serious. I haven't forgotten what you said when Christine disappeared, nor the rumors that surrounded your time at the Opera Populaire. I'd like to speak with your wife."

"I'm afraid she is unavailable at the moment. She is visiting an ill friend in Bourges. I am unsure when she will return."

Reinard leaned in and spoke in a low voice. "I know you don't want to see this murderer roaming the streets. If your wife was involved in any way, I can help protect her. But we will need her cooperation."

"I assure you my wife was not involved. I'm sorry there is nothing more we can do to help your investigation," Raoul said curtly.

"Very well," Reinard retorted. "My offer still stands if you change your mind."

Raoul stood firmly in place when Reinard left. He moved only when he heard Christophe laugh from within the dining room. A sad smile crossed Raoul's face as his son ran towards him. He scooped the boy up into his arms and hugged him tightly. How could she abandon him, an innocent child who needs her? Raoul had never been so angry with Christine in all the time he had known her.

Raoul spent the entire day with Christophe, avoiding returning to his room and the letter that threw him into anguish. Every so often he pulled Christophe close to him just to feel the child in his arms. Christophe had become the only consistent joy in his life, and he was devoted to treasuring every moment.

The hours passed and, despite Raoul's unwillingness to relinquish him, Christophe drifted off to sleep. Raoul was finally forced to retire to his own room. He turned down the bed and changed his clothes. As he shuffled around the room, he moved Christine's letter from the nightstand to the desk, where he was sure he had left it earlier. That night he lay awake going over their last moments together. She must have known then what she was going to do. And he suspected nothing. He had been a fool for her since the day they had met, and he was beginning to despise them both for that.

When morning came he was still awake thinking of her. He felt as if there were two people residing inside him. One of them was so angry at Christine that he wanted to scream. The other longed for nothing more than her return. But one thing that they both shared was the pain. He was suffocating from it. He felt as though he were trapped under a lake of ice, frozen and unable to move.

Raoul glanced over to the open window when he heard a carriage approaching. His heart leapt at the thought that it could be Christine. He hurried down the stairs to the entranceway, but the woman that stood there was not his wife. She was tall and slender, her hair a sleek golden blonde. She was beautiful, but not in the unique, striking way that Raoul had always thought Christine was.

Michelle stepped forward to introduce the woman. "Monsieur, this is…"

"Oh don't be silly," the woman interrupted. "Surely he must remember me." She batted her eyes at Raoul.

Raoul tried to match a name with the face in front of him, but the blank look on his face revealed that he couldn't quite place her.

"I can't believe you've forgotten me," the woman said, her bottom lip pushed forward in a pout. "After all the fun we had when we were younger. But I suppose it has been a while."

"I'm very sorry, but I still can't discern who you are," Raoul said apologetically.

"Nicole, Duchess of Anjou," she said with a grand gesture of her hand. "We spent the summer together when we were 16. Your brother brought you to my family's country home. We spent practically every day together out on the horses. Just the two of us." She reached out and grabbed Raoul's hand, gently stroking it with her fingertips. "Remember?"

Raoul pulled back slightly and clasped his hands together. "Nicole, of course. I remember now. You've changed," his voice was slightly nervous.

"Yes, I suppose I grew into my looks," she said haughtily, a large grin on her face.

"What brings you to our home?" he fought not to stammer.

"Well I was in Paris, bored out of my mind, and I thought to myself 'Why don't I pop in on dear Raoul. We always had so much fun.' And here I am. Oh, Raoul, we have so much catching up to do. But first I simply must meet this wife of yours." She sounded fake, like all the girls who wished to be courted by him in his youth.

"Christine is out of town at the moment, visiting a sick friend," he hoped she didn't hear the disappointment in his voice.

Nicole's eyebrows rose up. "Really? I'm sorry to hear that." She paused to saunter around the room, looking it over. "Well I really must be on my way, but would it be an inconvenience if I returned tomorrow afternoon?"

"Um, no. Not at all," Raoul replied.

"Well then, until tomorrow." She leaned in and placed a kiss on Raoul's cheek. She glanced at him once more over her shoulder before leaving the house.

"Don't trust her Monsieur," Michelle whispered cryptically.

"What do you mean?" Raoul asked. She didn't answer, but she cast her eyes down and walked from the room.