A/N: I have read many good stories here on FFN that have gotten flamed because in them Erik is "out of character", because he is supposed to be a monster, a lunatic, etc etc. But I guess my feelings are that people can change if they want to bad enough. I believe in redemption and salvation, though not necessarily on a religious level. On a personal level. And if Erik had ended up with Christine, who knows what that would have done for him. Anyways, that is where I am going with this story, that Erik has redeemed himself, but can he ever really be free of the past?

Oh, and I've been listening to the POTO Movie Soundtrack and I have one thing to say: What is with Raoul's giggle in the Little Lotte/The Mirror song??? And what is with Christine wanting to go with a guy that giggles like that??? Ok, I'm done….

Thank Yous: to ChoChangLookAlike, Summer Song, Ashley the Strange, artificial night, Elisabetta, BelleDayNight, Blue Beauty, MenacerPhan, lauren and annecordeila for your reviews and encouragement. Love and hugs to you all!!

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera or the characters.

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I watched from the shadows as the carriage pulled up in front of the house. A moment later Christine, Beth and Stephan stepped from the carriage and went inside.

As I always did, I walked to the carriage and paid the driver for a pristine, long stemmed red rose. I always paid him well and he had never, in years of service, been anything but polite to me, despite the white silk mask that covered half of my face.

The carriage drove off and I stayed outside, walking through the snow covered gardens, waiting for Christine to put the children to bed. Guilt ate at me for not going in, not speaking to my daughter, but shame kept me outside, watching for the moment that her window went dark.

Before they had left for Beth's recital Christine had come to me in the music room and told me that Bethie thought that I did not love her, that I was ashamed of her singing and that is why I did not go to her recitals.

It had pained me, knowing my daughter thought that. But how could she think anything else? She was thirteen years old and I had never attended any of her performances, though I had been teaching her how to sing since she was just a small child.

I sighed as I looked up at the dark, cloud-laden sky. The winter night air was bitterly cold, but I was oblivious to it. My breath froze before me as I walked back around to the front of the house. I looked up at the windows, saw shadows moving behind the shades in Beth's room.

I had the life I had always dreamed of, had always wished for. I was married, to Christine no less, I had two beautiful children…and yet my face, my cursed face, continued to bring me misery.

When Christine had first told me that she was expecting I had been terrified. I was thrilled at the thought of a child but the worry that I would pass my deformity on to my child had eaten at me. Christine had tried to calm my worries, telling me that no matter what the child looked like we would love and cherish it. Far different from my own mother. It wasn't until the moment Bethie was born and I had first looked at her lovely, perfect face that I had relaxed.

And even with my good life, my wonderful family, I was still consumed with so much anger. Anger at a world that kept me imprisoned in my own home, anger that no matter how normal my life seemed, the reality was that my life would never be 'normal'. I would never be able to go to the market with my family or attend my child's recitals. For to do that would only bring them pain. They would be shunned, mocked, because of me. And that was something I could never do.

And yet, despite all of that, despite wanting only to protect them, I sill brought them pain. My child thought I was ashamed of her, when nothing was further from the truth.

I felt a familiar rush of anger and willingly embraced it. At times like this I wished I had never left my underground lair, never married Christine and subjected her to this life.

The lights went out in the upstairs bedrooms and I knew Christine would come looking for me, so I went inside. I removed my hat and cloak and went downstairs into the basement room that I had made into a private music room. It held an organ, the first one we had purchased when we bought the house. The room was far enough below the children's rooms that I could play to my hearts content and they could not hear me. It was cold in the room, but I ignored it as I shut the doors and sat on the bench.

I began playing, pouring my emotions into the music as I had done so many times while I was living beneath the Opera House. I poured my anger and frustration into my music. I was so deeply drawn into the song that I did not notice Christine enter. Then suddenly she was beside me, placing a gentle hand on my arm.

I looked up at her. "Leave me, Christine. I am not in the mood for company," I snapped, glaring up at her.

She gave a little half smile as she sat next to me. "It is good I am your wife, and not just company then, is it not?"

I sighed and turned away from her. Christine continually amazed me. Years ago had I snapped at her like that it would have reduced her to tears. But she had learned over time that my anger was rarely directed at her. I continued to play, but some of the anger was draining out me, leaving in its wake an unbearable sadness.

"Bethie sang beautifully tonight, Erik," Christine said softly. "Her music teacher said she is the most talented thirteen year old she has ever seen. She said that Beth is too talented to stay singing with just a school choir for much longer."

"That is wonderful," I said dully.

"Erik," Christine said.

I turned from her and looked at the wall.

"Erik, please," she said softly, taking my hand in hers. "Talk to me."

I whirled around to look at her. "What do you want me to say, Christine? Our daughter thinks I do not love her, she thinks that I am ashamed of her. My children know nothing about me, about who I am. I feel like I have done nothing but deceive them."

Christine looked at me, her jewel green eyes piercing into my very soul. How those eyes had changed over the years. When we first met her eyes held a childlike innocence. Now her eyes shone with the wisdom and gentleness of a wife and mother. "Erik, who you are is a wonderful husband and a wonderful father. That is all they need to know. Your life is what it is now, not what it was."

I sighed. "It does not matter, Christine. What I am keeps you and our children from having a normal life."

Christine narrowed her eyes. "I prefer this life with you than to any other life without you, Erik."

"And what of our children, Christine?" I asked sharply. "What of their life?"

Christine sighed and looked down at her hand in mine. When she looked back up her eyes were bright with tears. "I spoke to Beth, Erik. I explained to her why you cannot attend her recitals."

My heart thumped painfully in my chest. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her that you do not go to her performances because you are trying to protect her. She asked why and I told her, because of your face."

Anger welled up inside of me. Not at Christine, of course. At myself.

"And do you know what she said, Erik?" Christine asked. "She said that you are wonderful. She said she is not ashamed of you. But she said that she understands and that she does not want you hurt, so she would sing for you, even if you could not be there. She told me tonight that she just wants to make you proud."

I looked helplessly at Christine and felt a rush of love for my daughter and her childlike innocence and her unconditional love.

"I told her I had never been more proud of her," Christine said softly and I pulled her into my arms.

My anger and frustration melted away as I sat with Christine in my arms. I had thought, long ago, that I was beyond redemption, that there was nothing that could ever salvage my life.

But I was wrong. Christine's love had saved me, in more ways than one.

Xxx

The next morning Christine took Stephan to the market. She said she would be gone awhile so I went to the upstairs music room to work on a piece that I had been working on for some time.

I could not seem to get anything right, so I abandoned the song and began playing a song I had written long ago, for Christine. Engrossed as I was in the song I did not hear Bethie enter the room. Finally I turned and saw her standing in the doorway. I stopped playing and smiled at my daughter.

"Bethie, I did not hear you come in," I said.

Beth's dog, Sasha, ran to me and I stroked her head as Beth came to sit next to me on the bench.

"Your mother tells me that you sang beautifully last night," I said as I handed her the red rose. She took it and blushed slightly, as she always did when she was complimented. "She has to say that, she is my mother," she said, looking down.

I looked at Beth, amazed. In so many ways she was just like Christine. She was sweet and happy but at the same time, there was an intensity in her that Christine did not have. Beth could be moody, temperamental, like myself. She lost herself in music the same way I had at her age. "Bethie," I said. "You have a beautiful voice. You are so very talented. With your voice you will be famous someday." I wanted to talk to her, to explain to her myself why I stayed hidden from the world, but the words would not come.

"You really think so?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

"Yes I do. You will be a Prima Donna. Perhaps someday you will perform on the stage at the Paris Opera House where your mother used to sing," I said. I looked down at her. She looked so much like Christine, and her voice was magnificent. I had no doubt that she would become a Prima Donna, that she would sing on the best stages, in the best performances.

"Really?"

"Yes, Bethie, really," I said.

"Mama says you are the world's best teacher," she said with a smile. I laughed softly, lost in memories.

There was a shout from the kitchen as Christine and Stephan returned from the market. Beth smiled at me once again and leaned over to kiss my cheek before she hurried to the kitchen to help.

One day I would talk to her, tell her why I preferred to stay away from people. One day. But not yet…

((Well, what did you think?? Do you like having Erik's POV in it? I'm toying around with different ways to write this. Feedback and comments are much appreciated!!))

((please please review!! Thanks!!!))