How does one say good bye to a dream? How does one give up the one thing you desire most in this world? How can you set free the woman you love?
The end of my illusions of happiness began with the acute knowledge that me beloved wife was somehow terribly unhappy. All of my pleas to her to tell me what grieved her were answered with a standard "nothing", and subsequent tears welling in her eyes.
These were not always her ways, not even after that night at the opera house did despair overtake her. For the first year of our marriage we were in bliss, the portrait of happiness. We acted every bit the young couple in love, strolling the grounds on the De Chagny estate hand in hand, snuggling before the fire, and spending all morning in bed together. With the birth of out first born, a son, Christine descended into melancholy.
The change began with her refusal to attend any social gatherings. In my naiveté, I believed this to be due to worries about her figure so soon after giving birth, and I indulged her in her desire for solitude. It soon became apparent that her figure was not to be worried over as her pregnancy weight vanished and then some. My poor wife was rarely to be seen eating anything save for a few bites at dinner to satisfy me.
So often I could hear her crying softly at night, my heart broke in my chest at the sound of it. Why could I not make her happy? What had I done to her? Repeatedly I begged her to come to me with her troubles, to no avail; she would simply stare at me with those blue eyes filled with torments only her mind knew. My wife became a stranger to me, living in whatever room of the house I did not currently occupy. In these dark nights listening to her tears, an idea began to gnaw at my heart. I believed I knew the reason for her depression, and my soul burned in agony for it. I could raise her out of her darkness, and I feared there was only one who could. I cursed him for always being between us.
Three years passed between the birth of our first son, and that of our second. Christine and I hollowly celebrated holidays, anniversaries, and each other's birthdays. She no longer came to my bed after the birth of our second child, preferring the seclusion of her own rooms. Our couplings had become more of a farce than anything before they ceased all together. Every time she closed her eye, I knew it was not me she was seeing.
The only thing she took any joy in was our children, they alone kept her alive. The one thing she could be prompted to truly celebrate were their birthdays. The only time our children could not cheer was one particular day of the year, on which her black mourning would confine her to bed for the entirety of the day. That day, I also mourned, for it was a day of terrible mistakes, the anniversary of Don Juan Triumphant, and that fateful night at the opera
In the heat of a summer's night, I lay awake; listening to her perfect voice, lull our baby to sleep. The beauty of it stunned me so that at first I heard not what song it was she sang. When my senses returned, I recognized the final aria from Aida. I leapt from bed, sprinting down the hall to where her voice came from. When I threw open the door, I realized there was no child present, only my Christine, pensively vocalizing before a mirror. I rushed upon her, seizing her by her shoulders and brutally shaking her until she cried.
"You cannot go on like this, we cannot! What must I do? Do you want to leave me and take our children? I will give you a divorce if that's what you wish." I clasped her in my arms, crying shamelessly.
"No Raoul, I won't ever leave you, I made a promise. My pain is no fault of your, worry yourself not." Somehow her words of assurance left me feeling more empty then ever.
From that day forward my wife tried to maintain all the appearances of a normal healthy woman. I could not be fooled by smiles that did not reach her eyes, and a couple of pounds being gained. I knew my wife suffered still. Two more years came and went, our oldest son was nearly five and our sixth anniversary approached.
Six years living this lie, nearly five of them in utter misery. That anniversary I would give Christine a gift that would put an end to her tears. After dinner that evening I presented her with the man who would become our children's music tutor. I had scoured all of Paris to find the world's greatest musician. A confused look passed over Christine's features, all the while a smile, a genuine one, tugged at her lips. I had finally made her happy. After the announcement I asked him if he would be obliged to move in to the manor house with us to avoid constant commute. Then I dismissed him so that I could spend a few more hours with my wife.
Christine made love to me one last that night, our union was almost enough to erase the hurt in my heart. When she whispered, "I love you", I knew that she meant it, just in a different way than I wished. The next morning I informed my household that would be away in London on business for an extended period of time. I warned the servants that I would tolerate no gossiping or rumor mongering while I was gone or when I returned.
Over the years there after the pain gradually diminished, leaving only a dull, constant ache. The light that had returned to Christine's eyes was more than an even trade for that ache. Our children adored their music instructor, and he became a second father to them. Their mother's adoration was painfully obvious as well. When after a few years a third child was born to Christine, I accepted her as a blessing and gave her the De Chagny name. I traveled more and more, leaving my family in his capable hands.
Through out my life I have tried to be a good man, I can only hope that in my small ways I have brought her a small measure of the happiness the music man brought into her life. Our children are gone now, all grown up with families of their own. Once again, my wife is a stranger to me, living in an entirely different wing of the house from me. Most of the servants are gone now as well, there is no one left to talk. I leave them to each other in peace; he has little time left the doctors say. May haps when the angel has returned to heaven, Christine can return to me.