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My baby is dead.

Such a perfect little baby he was! He was so tiny, so very tiny, but so very beautiful!

But it was not meant to be.

That is what the midwife told me over and over again as she wrapped up my little son and soothed me. I cried. I couldn't even remember the last time I had really sobbed with sorrow, but now I did. I lamented everything that could have been, and everything that was never to be.

It all went by very quickly. Madame Peluieu told me I could remain at her house until I regained my strength. I did not argue. I was in no condition to go back home in the middle of the night.

I cannot see my son, for he is dead.

Why? Why had he stopped breathing, stopped living for me? How long ago had it been? Oh, God… yesterday I sang to him. Had he already been… gone? Had he even heard me?

As soon as she leaves, I look around weakly for Erik. I feel like I have abandoned him, like he has abandoned me… like we have abandoned each other.

When I close my eyes and turn away, I know he will come. His cold hand lies delicately on my forehead, and I wrench my eyes open.

"You left." I accuse.

"No." he disagrees. "I was here the whole time."

Two tears well up in each of my eyes. "Our baby…"

He hesitates, and then begins to stroke my hair. "Ah. I am sorry."

I push his hand away, half-hoping he will put it right back. Instead, he pulls me up into his arms and carries me to the windowsill.

The window is still open, and the air feels good against my face. The fresh air wakes me up and helps me become alert, and I dig my nails into the coat of Erik's jacket to fight the tears.

"You can cry." he says softly. "Erik did."

I shake my head. "I want to be strong—"

"Silly woman. Tears do not make you weak. Time and again, tears make you stronger."

My eyes apparently take his words to heart as they spill over again. "But why?" I sob. "What did I do wrong? I took care of him—I would have loved him!"

Erik seems at a loss for words. "Some things," he says unsteadily. "Happen for no reason."

"It's not fair."

He clutches at me. "Of course it's not fair! His face, Christine, did you see his face?"

His tone startles me and I nod fiercely. Yes, I had seen his beautiful, flawless face…

"It was perfect." Erik moaned. "It was perfect."

I realize now that Erik must have been very, very afraid that his child would share the deformity he himself had been cursed with. The thought had never even crossed my mind in all my months of reflecting.

"Why?" he says, echoing me in a mournful manner that I could never aspire to. "Why did Christine have to bear that? For what? More pain? How did she deserve that? What did she do? She did… nothing. It was Erik, oh yes, it must have been Erik. Are you punishing Erik?"

I give him a little shake. "Stop it, stop it!"

"You did everything right." he whispers. "While I was a miserable excuse for a living thing. I did nothing! What did I have to do? I couldn't do anything, I couldn't—" He takes both of my hands and put them over his chest, "—not when I was scared, I was—" He is crying now, "—so afraid for you, Christine, and I couldn't believe it! I was so afraid to touch you, so confused about what you were telling me! Erik couldn't believe, and now the baby is dead, and it's my fault."

I look around the room, as if there will be a sign telling me what to do. "I never thought of a name." I say, frowning. "I never named my baby." I look up at Erik. "Is that why he died? Did he think that I didn't—didn't care?"

The calmer I get, the more hysterical Erik seems to become. "Why do you say such things?" he asks. "Why must you blame yourself?"

"It is no one's fault." I reply firmly. "No one."

I lean my head against him so I can cry.

He rocks me very preciously and lets his hands relax around mine. When I cry, I can feel him crying too. When I cease, he seems to as well.

"Erik has much he needs to explain." he tells me quietly. "He is sorry for how he has behaved."

"I know."

"No. But maybe you will."

I like how we keep talking, for when there is silence, I remember what has just occurred, and it hurts.

"I am sorry." I say into his shoulder.

"Damn it, Christine, if you apologize for—"

I invent wildly so he will not be angry. "I am sorry—that I screamed! My voice! I didn't mean to…"

I trail off at the expression on his face. It is blank and terribly sad.

"Christine," he sighs. "I love you so much, did you know that?"

I answer in the affirmative.

"I cannot see any pain happening to you. If I see it, I feel it, and I am a horrible man who cannot feel pain when you endure it. I go crazy. But you mustn't say it's your fault. Because that hurts me even more. Do you understand me?"

I think I do.

I fold his mask away from his face and drop it on my lap. "Were you expecting the child to look like you?"

I hadn't meant to ask it so bluntly, but my emotions were scattered enough. He views me through his golden eyes, his gaze flickering back to his mask. "I do not know."

I trace the mask in my hand, aware of Erik's eyes following each movement. "I did not even think of it."

"Erik's deformity is a genetic malfunction." he murmurs. "The chance of the exact same incident occurring in the same genes is slim to none. But… I could not get my hopes up if I thought there was any chance of you being cursed with my burden child."

I almost smack him, I really did. "Burden?"

"You wouldn't see it like that." he says calmly. "You are a kind person with a big heart. I am not. I would see all the flaws that you would be too good to catch."

"Believe me when I say I wanted to carry your child!" I say angrily. "Maybe it was soon, maybe I was scared, but I thought I was taking care of my baby! And now he is gone and you talk about burdens?"

My voice has risen up at the end, and I suddenly remember the midwife and her helper. Erik looks towards the shut door, but it does not open.

He tries to put me back to bed. "Rest," he says. "I will stay with you."

My fingers tighten and will not budge from around his arms. "You will."

"I will never."

He tries to lift me again, but I bury my face into him with all the force I can muster, and he has no choice but to surrender again. "Christine," he says warningly, but I ignore him.

"Hold me close." I beg, and I can only imagine holding my baby up close as well… the baby I had spent months dreaming of… the baby I now knew that neither of us had been prepared for.

"I…"

"Please don't argue. I love you. I love you. I want you to say you love me."

He says immediately, "I love you more than anything else."

I weep and we hold onto each other like we had never properly touched before. I felt closer to him than I ever had before. Something has changed between us, I believe. It is too soon for me to say that anything good has happened, but I still feel the change. And I know that when I am calmed down, I will be able to assess it properly.

"Promise me thing will get better." I mumble through my tears.

"I promise." he returns. "Erik promises. Time will go on. Things will get better."

"And…" I cannot believe I am bringing this up only an hour or so after my first failed childbirth. "And if we were to have another baby… will you tell me honestly? Would you mind? Could—could we?"

His eyes seek mine.

"Yes." he answers, and his voice is assured and sincere.

For me, I tell myself. He is putting me before himself. He really loves me.

I cry on his shoulder.

"Things will get better." he whispers. "We will go on. I promise. And for you, Erik will keep his promises."

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