A/N: A thousand apologies for the delay. I have had this chapter sitting on my computer for so long, I just didn't have the time to polish it off. Sorry!

Her body felt heavy, as though all her sorrows were weighing down upon her. Her head leaning against her husband's shoulder, her hand gripped his as their carriage bounced along the cobbled streets. Soft brown curls fell in her face, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Please don't cry, chéri," Raoul tried to console her, taking the delicate handkerchief from her hands and wiping her tears. He lined her cheek with soft kisses.

"Raoul, how could this happen?" Christine questioned him, her voice barely louder than the sound of the wheels.

Raoul dropped his head, thinking for a moment before he answered her. "I'm sorry to admit that it was all my doing."

She looked up at him in bewilderment. "What do you mean? How could you do this?"

"I could think of nothing else. Please believe that I tried. I did the only thing I could to save us," he admitted with a heavy sigh.

She buried her face into his sleeve, letting the fabric absorb her tears and her muffled cries. Raoul's hand found its way to her hair, gently stroking her soft locks as he rocked her. After a few minutes her eyes dried and her breathing slowly returned to its normal rhythm.

Their carriage, along with the one that had been following behind them, stopped in front of a set of stone steps. The valettook their bags down and carried them toward the waiting doors of the Opera Populaire.

"What is going on? Raoul, what are we doing here?" Christine asked, stepping out onto the street. "Raoul!" she cried, trying to pull him from his conversation with the driver.

"I'm sorry, mon amour," he apologized as he strode towards her. "The servants will help you get settled in. I need to meet with someone right now."

"Get settled in? Raoul, I don't understand," her voice was becoming harsh with sobs.

Raoul removed a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. Handing it to Christine, he spoke, "It is the deed to the Opera Populaire. We are the new owners…and for the time being, this is our home."

"Mon amour, please don't leave me now," she pleaded, grasping the lapels of his jacket.

Raoul pulled her into his arms, whispering softly into her ear as he rubbed her back, "I would give anything to be here with you. But this is most important."

She released him roughly, almost pushing him away. "So go then. I wouldn't want to keep you from your important business."

"Christine, please don't be angry with me. This is for us, for our son," Raoul begged, reaching for her.

After a moment of seething, Christine relented, allowing Raoul to possess her hands. "Forgive me. I'm just frightened."

"I know," he replied soothingly.

She shook her head sadly. "Everything is just changing so quickly… You're my anchor, Raoul. Without you, I'm afraid I'll just be washed away with the tide."

Raoul swept the hair from her face. "I swear, nothing will befall you here. Please trust me when I say that this is something I must do. I will explain everything upon my return."

Christine nodded softly, offering her forehead to Raoul's kiss. He stroked her cheek with his thumb and gave her a final kiss before turning back to the carriage. He watched through the window as he pulled away from the opera house. Christine stood upon the steps, arms crossed over her chest, her hair blowing in the wind. Henriette was on Christophe's heels as he ran playfully after his father's carriage. They were safe now, Raoul assured himself. And nothing would ever threaten them again.

As the carriage disappeared from view, Christine felt a warm hand upon her shoulder. A smile crossed her lips as she hugged the blonde-haired girl who stood behind her.

"You don't know how good it is to see you, Meg."

"We have missed you so much," Meg replied, releasing her old friend. "And who is this?" she bent down as Christophe approached the steps.

"This is the joy of my life," Christine answered as she lifted her son up. "Christophe, say 'bonjour' to mama's friend Meg."

"Bonjour," he said dutifully.

Meg tried to suppress a giggle. "Christine, he is absolutely adorable. You just call me Tante Meg," she said to him as she rubbed his arm with her finger. "Come inside now, I'll show you to your rooms."

"I will carry Christophe, Madame," Henriette offered. "We don't want you to overexert yourself."

Christine followed Meg through the winding corridors of the Opera Populaire, though she hardly needed guidance. Her feet remembered every step she had taken through those halls. But then Meg led her up a set of stairs that she did not recognize.

"These rooms are reserved for the wealthiest patrons of the opera house," Meg explained, opening a set of doors into a very large sitting room. "Their reputation is not quite…sterling. But upon purchasing of the opera house, your husband requested that they be arranged specifically for your family."

"And how, I wonder, was my husband aware of the existence of these rooms?" Christine questioned aloud as she glanced about her.

"Oh, Christine…I…I'm sure that it's not what you…"

Christine smiled, playfully pushing at her friend's arm. "No need for worry, Meg. I was speaking in jest."

Meg sighed in relief. "You always enjoyed playing awful tricks on me," she said with a laugh, lowering herself upon the settee.

Christine's mouth opened wide with amusement and feigned shock as she sat beside Meg. "As though you never tried to play a prank on me! I still have not forgotten that dreadful fake rat you placed in my bed."

"What about the night you pretended to be a ghost and chased me around the dormitories?" Meg retorted.

"I was only wearing a sheet! You were a fool to believe I really was a ghost."

"I was only 5!"

Both girls fell into a fit of laughter. But slowly the smile slid from Christine's face. "Things were so much simpler then, weren't they," she said wistfully.

"Things are not so terrible now," Meg replied reassuringly.

Tears sprung to Christine's eyes, reflecting the light of the lamps. Meg reached out and squeezed Christine's hand. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I have done some things, many things, which I am not proud of."

Meg smiled softly. "No one can be perfect all the time, Christine. We are lucky if we are able to be perfect for just a few moments in our entire lives."

"I have hurt the man I love more than anything else in the world," Christine choked, wringing her hands.

"And he has forgiven you. Now you need to forgive yourself."

"I helped Erik escape from prison," Christine stated.

Meg's eyes widened in shock. "Christine…"

"And I ran away with him." Christine proceeded with her story, relating every detail to her old friend. She was lucky to have someone like Meg, she realized. As she spoke of what happened, Meg did not judge her. She listened with compassion, held her when she cried.

"Didn't you want to know why we are here, Meg?" Christine questioned once all had been revealed.

"Well, the question had crossed my mind. I didn't want to be rude."

"Our home burned to the ground this morning," Christine answered sadly.

"Christine, I'm so sorry. After all you've been through…"

"We escaped with our lives and a few possessions. We should be grateful."

"How fortunate that Raoul was able to procure your rooms here."

"Yes," Christine replied, her quiet voice lacking in emotion. "We were very fortunate."

At that moment, Raoul was also weaving a story. Inspector Reinard was listening intently to Raoul's tale, which was nearing its end. "So you see, he must have used some form of trickery to escape. He was, I can assure you Monsieur, a genius. He said that he was running away. He had come to our home take her with him. I…I couldn't let that happen. I sent everyone from the house and we fought. At some point we must have knocked over one of the gas lanterns. The room began to fill with smoke. I hit him over the head and he passed out. I left him there."

"So you say that the last you saw of him, he was unconscious in your house and for all you know, he could be anywhere right now. This could all be a ruse to protect your wife. Why should I believe you, Raoul?"

"Believe me," Raoul threw a charred white mask on the desk. "He is dead."