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For the next few weeks, I remained unsteady on my feet with Erik hovering over me, telling me incessantly that I would be weak because of the fever. Already a frail being, this condition only intensified Erik's care in me… when he was being caring. He left me alone for two days when he locked himself in his room—yet, I never heard one note of music.

Besides that short time, he followed me everywhere, carried me when I needed to walk more than two feet, and gave me whatever I asked for. His only request was that I do not go back outside until I was completely healed.

As much as I protested that I was, I occasionally grew very tired from the fever and had to lie down. Erik checked constantly for any rise of my temperature, but it never came. He became angry occasionally if I was foolish enough to remind him of my illness. On the most part, he just showered me with his undivided attention and devotion.

As time went by, I grew brave enough to ask once again about living somewhere else; I learned a new song composed by Erik; he also began to attempt to teach me Latin; and I made him a special mask for him to wear when we went on our walks (a subtle reminder that I was expecting those back). Yet, I began to notice a different change around me, something that I could sense but couldn't quite decide upon.

But again, as those few weeks came to a close, I became more and more sure about my concern. I started to flit around Erik in a nervous manner, often avoiding his gaze, darting away when he came to close. My mind had created a subconscious speech in order to tell him, but in truth, I clung onto the false hope that maybe I would never have to.

To explain to Erik that I was carrying his child seemed much harder to me than telling him I loved him or that I couldn't hit the note he had just written for me. This was something that was about us and not just me; it wasn't something that we could get used to or forget about. This would be something that would quite obviously change our lives.

Strange how I seem so calm about it, as a baby was something that came along every other day. I am very sure now, you see, although I cannot say I know when it is due.

A baby?

I can remain diplomatic and detached about it, only when I am not thinking about anything beyond tomorrow. I know that I am utterly unprepared to be a mother, but I have been unprepared for a lot of things that have been thrust upon me. Sometimes I think I am still a child myself—Erik will either completely agree or completely disagree, depending on what mood he is in—and I cannot prepare my thoughts for the idea of actually raising one myself. So I do not think of it.

But at night when it's dark, I have the oddest sensation stir inside of me, and I know I am not really alone.

That is when it hits me that I am really carrying a child.

Oh, Lord, what am I to do?

Another being in this world that Erik created… Here in the cellars of an Opera House, cut off from the rest of the world, in this strange place where music is the only light.

Is it really so difficult to understand why I couldn't believe it?

The idea of a child had never occurred to me before this moment. I am sure I would have thought of it eventually, but as to the art form of parenting, Erik and I would never have passed in my thoughts. I could be a mother, I knew, for I work well with children and enjoy them immensely. But then, why couldn't I go and care for other people's children, and not one that I had to actually call my own?

Besides, Erik does not know how to handle himself, handle me, handle anyone who had even half a mind; how would I expect him to have patience with a baby?

I decided that if I were to tell Erik and expect a non-negative response in any form, I had to wait until he was in a perfectly good mood. After putting it off, and putting it off, I still had no ideas on how he would take the news. Would he be angry? Would he be happy? I couldn't imagine either way, and I was sure that it would depend on the manner of which I told him.

So I waited.

I refused to acknowledge any physical change about me, even when I first noticed the stays on my dress twisting with difficulty. Was it so wrong of me to ignore it? When I didn't dwell on it, I didn't remember it, and when I didn't remember it, I didn't panic. For the first time, I was delighted by the fact that I cannot tell days apart down here… I hid the calendar Erik gave me under my bed so I did not have to watch time go by, and I slept when I was tired, not just when Erik told me it was night.

If my behavior took my husband by surprise, he hid it well. I still believe he accredits any peculiarity about me to my fever—I almost think he enjoys taking care of me when I am weak. But when he needs me to be healthy, for his music or otherwise, I must be.

Now, I am light-headed and tired, but Erik is asking me to sing, and I will sing. If I try to tell him I am sleepy, he will not let me out of bed for a day.

He frowns when my note flickers off rather pathetically, and says, "How horrible! You purposely lost all of your support."

I do not even apologize anymore. I just lift up my chin to indicate that he should start the phrase again. Instead, he comes over to me. "Are you alright?" he asks, and he sounds genuinely confused. "I know this is not like you."

He reaches out, as if to touch me, and I scoot back a little. He looks hurt, insulted, and then nonchalant in a matter of a second, and then folds his arms. "Are you still sick?" he demands. "You are acting strangely and I want to know why!"

"I have been feeling tired lately…"

"Fever does that."

"Erik, that was over three weeks ago! I am recovered!"

His mouth twists. "Then why are you still sick?"

"I said tired, not sick."

He looks so baffled and I realize he would never suspect anything like the thing I need to tell him. It would never cross his mind. "Well, then you must go straight to sleep! Erik does not want you tired… You must be well-rested in order to recover properly."

I take another step back, as if he would be able to feel the life growing in me if he were to touch me. I do not miss how his yellow eyes pick up on every move I make.

"You know, it is nothing." I say brazenly. "You are so silly, overreacting like this. Maybe I can go lie down and then we'll sing later."

"Maybe." he echoes, still looking at me quizzically. "You may lie down in here… I will play you something quiet."

There is nothing wrong with his offer, but I just need to be alone. I want Erik by me, but I cannot have Erik by me until he knows. And if I cannot have Erik by me, I must be alone so I can think of how to let him know so he can be by me. I shake my head and say softly, "I would just disturb you, Erik. I shall just go and relax in my own room… I will not be in there long. Will you play for me later?"

He inclines his head and fingers his music as if my absence will mean nothing to him. Angry at myself for my ridiculous actions and words, I go and place a light kiss on the palm of his hand. He looks at me sadly. "You would tell me if anything was wrong, Christine? You know Erik will make it all better, whatever it is."

"I know." I say bravely, and I let him touch my cheek.

I traipse out of the room boldly and then lock the door to my own room. Inside, I look at my midsection and desperately wish that nothing was in there.

But there is, I realize with care, my fingers coming to rest on top of it: My child is in there.

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