Hello, guys. Here is a somewhat anticipated chapter. I read all the reviews and took everything into consideration. For the most part, I aimed for realism.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you as always for your words of support.

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After a hiatus, he began to compose again. Now that Christine was in a state of delight, it was easier for him to concentrate on music. They would also need the income, he supposed. Although he never asked for details, she always assured him that he made more than enough. If he thought too hard about the fact that he was earning an 'honest living' under society's rules—well…he still became annoyed.

He never accompanied her to the appointments. It would have been unpleasant to watch some physician poke and prod his wife. And considering all the sharp, gleaming tools in doctors' offices…it simply would have been unwise for him to go.

True to her word, she did not talk about it often. She might sit cross-legged and smile with her arms wrapped around her stomach. Sometimes she purchased magazines with grinning infants on the front. But she did not endlessly jabber on about the other.

Of course, Christine could not keep silent about it forever. After one appointment, she came home, sat on the couch, and slowly scooted closer him. She stared at the side of his head, waiting for him to acknowledge her. Why on earth did she not simply say what she wanted?

He looked at her. "Yes?"

"The doctor said I should eat more." She bit her lip.

"Perhaps you should," he agreed.

Christine fidgeted.

"What else is wrong?" The other had better not be harming her.

"Well…I know you don't really…care that much, but I know what our baby is going to be."

"It is human," he stated. "We verified that."

She gave a short laugh. "No. I mean, it is. I mean, she is. But I mean, we're going to have a girl."

He paused to let this information sink into his mind. A female. What did that mean? He would not have to share Christine with another male; that was a relief. On the other hand, a female would be more likely to fear him and make irritating squealing noises. Still, he preferred a female invading his space over a male. Yes, this was positive news. He summed up his feelings in one syllable. "Good."

It was enough to make her eyes light up. "I thought so, too!" she exclaimed. "I think a girl is perfect!" She hugged him. He was unable to share her enthusiasm. At the same time, he was not near the point of losing his mind. Apathy had begun to descend on him when it came to the matter of a child. He thought of the other as a gift for Christine—like a new dress or piece of jewelry or some other object she'd enjoy. And he felt pride in being able to give her such a present.

Christine bought various pink and yellow items, along with a crib and white chest of drawers. She spent hours arranging all the objects in the spare bedroom before devoting an entire day to putting up rabbit-covered wallpaper. Even if she had bankrupted them, though, he would not have scolded her over the expenditures. He might have insisted on threatening their creditors or embarking on a robbery spree, but he would not have chastised his sweet wife. Fortunately, Christine managed their money well.

For the next few months, they went through their lives without too much difficulty. She became sick on occasion, and he would grow angry at the other for harming her. For the most part, though, she was simply happy--and rather emotional at times.

"You're so wonderful," she would murmur in the evenings, leaning against him as they watched television. Tears formed in her eyes.

"You are very odd to think so," he would reply with awkward humor. "Perhaps you are tired. Or mad. Likely both."

As the other's physical presence began to show, he became nervous. It was there; the fact couldn't be denied now. He became fearful of going near the growing bump. What if he somehow squished its head and killed it? Christine would become very upset with him.

To circumvent that predicament, he avoided putting his hands near her middle, supporting himself with her shoulders when he wished to kiss her. He also could not embrace her torso and so attempted to hug her neck instead.

That did not go so well….

"Erik." She coughed and drew back as he released her. "You kind of strangled me." Christine rubbed the back of her neck and swallowed.

After that, he decided that holding her hand was the safest form of affection. At least he would only have to deal with this for a few more months….

He also fretted that the creature put too much strain on his wife's small body, taking it over like a parasitic tapeworm. One night, after Christine was asleep, he leaned down and whispered, "You had better not harm her. Or I will squish you." He sat and glared at her stomach, waiting for a response. Of course, none came.

Toward the end of the affair, Christine began to take some sort of class on Tuesday nights; he never asked for the details. One evening, someone called, and she spoke in an enthusiastic voice over the telephone. "Yep. I'll be there. I can pick you up." A pause. "I know. It's getting so close. I'm nervous, too. All right. See ya!"

"Who was that?" he asked after she hung up.

"A girl from class. Holly."

"What does she want?" He was always wary of other people entering their lives, more for reasons of privacy than jealousy.

"We partner up in the class."

"Partner up?"

"Yeah." She hesitated. "Most of the girls have husbands or boyfriends with them. But Holly is a single mother, so we work together."

He scowled. "But you have a husband."

"Yes, Erik. I have a wonderful husband. But you don't want to go to this class…."

"I do not," he agreed, suddenly wishing to escape the conversation.

She laughed. "Well, then it all works out."

"Yes." He grunted. "Go with…the…Holly."

Christine kissed the top of his head and left.

"A narrow escape for Erik," he informed Cordie as she took a seat beside him and purred. "I will be fortunate to come out of this alive."

To his relief, though, Christine was sane enough to form a plan that would ensure his survival. As the deadly date neared, she began to scribble in a notebook, organizing every last detail. Lying in bed, he warily watched her as she worked. It had been some time since he had done more than give her a kiss on the temple or stroke her hair. A despondent feeling settled over him, squeezing his heart and stomach.

"You will not die, right?" he asked.

She glanced up from her notebook, her eyes tired. "No, Erik. I'll be fine. Medical care is great now." Christine glanced at her notes again. "When it happens, I have several emergency contacts that can drive me to the hospital. I should be able to call them. If not…do you think…you could call them?"

"What am I supposed to say?"

"Just tell them that it's time. Try not to…try to be calm. Um…there's Mrs. Johnston who lives down the block; her kids are grown so she won't have to leave them. And Ginger Huddleston behind us. Then there's the Huang family; Mai was so eager to help. She even knitted a little pink winter hat. But use them as the last resort because I don't know them as well. If no one is there, we'll call a taxi or…or ambulance depending on how serious it is." She took a deep breath. "All right?"

"You will not die?"

"No, Erik. I promise I won't die."

"You had better not."

Her optimism seemed to fade in that last month. Christine would often sit on the sofa or at the kitchen table, staring out the window at nothing.

Dread filled him. He had given her what she most wished for; his body was not entirely defective. When she was ill or tired, he tended to her. He had permitted her to make purchases and go to classes and do whatever she wished as far as the other was concerned. And he had gone to great lengths to avoid crushing or suffocating it. What else was there? He nearly wanted to scream at her: What do you want of Erik?!

But, of course, that would have only made her cry.

Finally, the morning came—an inappropriately (or appropriately?) bright, sunny morning.

Rolling out of bed with wide eyes, Christine grabbed the cordless phone on the nightstand, a small gasp escaping her lips. The first person she called was not home, and she sighed in frustration. The second person was also unavailable. Justin McKenzie was home, though. Judging by the relief in her voice, he agreed to take her. "Oh, thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

Frozen in terror, he could only watch as she unsteadily grabbed a packed suitcase and threw on a grey sweatsuit. An irrational part of him considered grabbing her and taking her to the basement; she might be safest in the dark with him.

The rational part of his mind won, though, as it often had throughout the later years. He knew she had to leave. This was all far beyond him--something he could not handle nor understand. It was one of the times when Christine belonged with the rest of humanity. The best he could do was assist her in walking to the front door.

"Will McKenzie be there the entire time?" he asked, a tinge of jealousy still creeping into his mind despite the panic.

"No," she replied, taking a deep breath. "I really don't think he wants to be there for that." Her laugh turned into another gasp. "He's just going to take me to the emergency room. I'll take a… taxi home."

"Good." Fear still gripped his mind as Justin McKenzie arrived within two minutes to take her away. "If anything happens to her, I will kill you," he said as the handsome man led Christine out the door.

McKenzie blinked. "Heh, heh. Yeah. We'll be fine." He paused in his steps. "Wait. Are you coming?"

He stood there with his hands clenched at his sides, unable to move or say anything. And to his great shame, Christine answered for him. "No. Erik is…he…he needs to look after our cat. He's going to stay home." She gasped. "Let's go. We can take my car, if you want. Your car is too nice."

McKenzie blinked again. "All right." They rushed away without a glance backward, and the car sped off with a sharp squeal.

And so he was left there by himself. He had anticipated this moment and, along with Christine, thought it would be best this way. This was not something he could handle—doctors, nurses, hospitals, screaming, his wife's blood, the other….

Someone would end up dead.

The silence was almost eerie. He fell onto the couch and stared at the wall. Somewhere Christine was suffering, and he could do nothing.

But Christine would be better off without him at this particular moment.

He could do nothing.

Christine would be better off without him….

When he heard the car two hours later, he jumped up and nearly ripped the blinds off the window. McKenzie stepped out of the vehicle and lit a cigarette. He then rubbed his temples, an irritatingly vague expression on his unshaven face as he sauntered toward the condominium.

With a snarl, he stepped outside, keeping beneath the porch roof to avoid the sunlight. "Well?" he asked. "What have you done with my wife?"

The normally composed man jumped and then squinted. "Oh. Erik. You startled me. I was just about to knock on your door."

And I am about to knock a brick into your head. "What did you do with my wife?" he growled.

"I took her to the hospital and made sure she got a room okay. They said it might not…err…happen for hours, but they're sure it's about that time. She had good timing. Everything is fine."

He continued to glare, feeling entirely out of control. "She is alive?"

"…Yes. She's fine."

"She had better be." Breathing heavily, he started to turn around and go back inside.

"Erik?"

He twitched, not liking the sound of his first name on Justin McKenzie's tongue. Only Christine said his name properly. "What?"

"You should go see her. I would have stayed, but it didn't seem right." He chuckled. "Well…hey, yeah…you're going to be a father, huh? That's…congrats, man! Go see her. Hell, I'll take care of your cat."

Something dark burned within him. No one, save Christine, ever gave him orders. Ever. And even his sweet wife did it in the subtlest of ways. How dare this attractive, arrogant idiot give him orders concerning his wife?

"You will stay out of my affairs!" he snapped. With several steps, he was standing in broad daylight, cornering Justin McKenzie up against the side of the condominium.

Shocked, Mr. McKenzie dropped his cigarette and drew back, his mouth widening into an "o." "Jesus. Calm down, Erik. I didn't mean anything by it."

"If you give me one more order, I will snap your neck."

"All right. All right." Mr. McKenzie held up his open hands in surrender, pressing himself against the wall. "I'm sorry."

Realizing the situation had progressed to an unnecessarily dangerous point, he quickly drew back and darted into his home. He locked the door behind him, horrified at himself. The anger quickly morphed into devastation. He did not know what to do, but murder was not the answer to this problem.

There was no damned solution.

Or perhaps he feared the solution.

When the phone did not ring by mid-afternoon, dread began to sink in again. Despite the fact that the sun would not set for several more hours, he knew what must be done. And it had nothing to do with Justin McKenzie. Idiot.

After putting on his realistic mask, a wide-brimmed black hat, and a pair of flesh-colored gloves—he called a taxi.


She was not disappointed. She had not overestimated her joy. As Christine held her baby for the first time, she was utterly enamored. The nurses nearly had to pry the infant out of her arms.

When the doctor asked her name, Christine had paused. She'd considered this for some time, never daring to ask Erik's opinion. His answer would have surely been, 'You decide.'

"Eva," she finally answered. It was simple and definite—elegant but not gaudy. "Eva Paige."

The doctor wrote it down. "Eva Paige Ackart," he repeated. "E. P. A. Maybe she'll grow up to be an environmentalist." He chuckled at his own joke, but Christine barely heard him.

Eva screamed upon entering the world, calming after she'd rested in her mother's arms for a few moments. Christine gazed down at her daughter, stroking her soft cheek with an index finger. The infant's mouth and chin were from the Daae side of the family. Christine couldn't tell where Eva had gotten her nose. But her dark eyes--Christine recognized them from the photograph of Madeleine. Her hair was also a darker brown.

A nurse smiled at them both, and Christine felt a sense of peace. Her baby would be loved. Everything that Erik had been denied, Eva would have. And Eva's children would have. And their children would have. For a moment, Christine felt as though everything could be made right.

But after the nurses had taken Eva, Christine was alone again, missing Erik and her baby at the same time.

Erik. He'd barely been able to touch her throughout the last months. As ridiculous as it seemed, Christine wondered if it was because she'd gotten…bigger. Of all the people in the world, she'd never expected Erik to be shallow about physical appearances. But maybe Erik was capable of being just as superficial as any other man.

Tears gathered in her eyes and clogged her throat as she dwelt on it. She loved and needed him. She could take care of all Eva's needs as long as Erik was at least standing by her. But with the way he'd been acting over the last months, Christine was sometimes afraid he'd disappear.

And how dare he? How dare he draw her into isolation, without relatives and close friends, only to abandon her now?

No. Stop being a baby; you're a mother. Every decision had been hers from the beginning. She was not a victim of circumstances outside her control. And, even now, she didn't regret any of it. Resting her cheek on the sterile pillow, Christine lay there without any more answers. When she was able, she would take her precious baby girl and leave the hospital. And then….

And then.

Christine drifted off to sleep, her dreams nothing but a swirl of sounds and colors. Noise in the hallway finally awoke her, and she slowly opened her eyes. A blurred form sitting in the leather armchair at the side of her bed startled her fully awake. Save for his eyes, he was covered from head to toe. But he was there, watching her in silence.

"You came!" she hoarsely exclaimed, attempting to sit up. "You came. You came."

Erik studied her. "You do not look well."

"I'm fine. Just…I'll be fine." She reached out a hand to him, fearing he would suddenly disappear.

He rose from the chair and slowly took it, eyeing her. "It is gone now?"

"What?"

"It is not inside you now?"

"No," she replied. "I…." Before she could finish her sentence, Erik embraced her. Given her position in the bed, the hug was awkward, but it was still more affection than she'd received from him in months. When he drew back, she stared up at him in confusion. "Were you…afraid of her?"

"Of course not. I simply did not wish to crush it; that would have made you unhappy. You would have cried for weeks if Erik did such a thing."

"So that was why…." Her head fell back onto the pillow. Because Erik was usually blunt about what he was thinking, they'd managed not to have too many misunderstandings. She'd simply been too hurt to ask Erik why he was avoiding her.

"How long will you stay here?" he asked. "I dislike it. This room is like a sanitary version of prison."

"I can go home tomorrow. But…." She bit her lip. "The entire thing was a little…rough." She'd spare Erik the details of Eva's birth. "I may need to be in bed for about a week."

His shoulders tensed. "But you will be better?"

"Yes. Very soon." She smiled. "We may just have to eat a lot of delivery for awhile."

"Idiot adolescent boys at our door every evening? Delightful."

She giggled, glad to hear a touch of humor in his sarcasm. Christine paused. She was trying to resist telling Erik about their daughter, but it was nearly impossible to hold back. "She's so beautiful, Erik. I named her Eva. Her eyes are big and dark; she must get them from your side. And she's…just wonderful."

"Mm."

Christine's heart stung at his response. But at least he was here with her; he'd even come during the daytime to see her. She squeezed his hand, noticing its warmth and then realizing he was wearing gloves. They were peach-colored, and he only donned them when it was inevitable than someone else would see him. The last time he'd worn them was at her final performance.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you as well," he softly replied.

After remaining with her for fifteen more minutes, Erik left that evening, vowing to accompany her home in the morning. Soon afterwards, one of the nurses brought Eva back up to her. With Erik's promise and her baby in her arms, Christine felt at peace again. Even if everything wasn't exactly perfect--would it ever be?--she was not alone.

The following day, Erik came to get her in an upscale taxi, wearing the same ensemble as the day before. He stayed near to her side, helping her out of the wheelchair and ensuring she was comfortable in the spacious backseat. He never glanced at Eva. Christine adjusted the light-weight safety seat to the side of her and stared down with a smile. Eva stared back without crying, seeming to know that she was safe.

The ride back home was quiet. Erik kept an eye on the cabdriver, always disliking it when someone else had too much control over a situation. Christine yawned and blinked her heavy eyelids as they arrived home, already exhausted from the drive.

After entering the condominium and placing her daughter by the bedside, she climbed beneath the covers. When Eva started wailing, Christine stood and lifted her out of the carrier before crawling back into bed. In a surreal haze, she held her baby against her chest. She and Erik had existed in their own little world for so long that it was almost shocking to welcome another human being into their lives.

Erik brought her a cup of tea, continuing to keep his eyes away from Eva. He stayed close for the rest of the day, acting more like a bodyguard than a new father.

Near evening, Christine gently said, "Tonight, I can stay with her in the nursery. Or I can keep her in here. It's up to you. But it's hard for me to get up and down too much. Maybe in a week or two…."

"I want my wife in here," he stated without hesitation.

"Even with Eva?"

"I want my wife here. This is your bed, and you belong with Erik."

"She might keep you awake."

"I would not sleep without you anyway," he replied, leaving the room to order dinner.

So Christine stayed in bed and kept Eva in her arms for most of the night, grabbing at least a few hours of sleep. Erik remained silent beside her.

In some ways, she was relieved that Erik hadn't lost his mind over this. He wasn't angry or hostile. In fact, he was functional, calmly doing what was necessary to make sure there was food in the house. At the same time, he refused to accept that Eva was also his.

It was this middle ground that made Christine uncomfortable.

If Erik had raged and complained and fretted, she would have been able to comfort him. Christine had been planning speeches for months. Breathe, Erik. It's okay. She'll stop crying one day. Don't worry. We'll get through this. We'll be fine.

Of course, if he'd miraculously fallen in love with his daughter, she would have been thrilled.

But this middle ground…this calm, practical apathy toward his child--Christine wasn't sure how to handle it.

Her only moment of hope came later that week when she finally caught Erik staring at Eva with a blank expression. He stood at a distance from the crib, his arms crossed and his head tilted. After another moment, he turned around and left the room.

At least he'd looked at her. Christine had a feeling that the next year would give a whole new meaning to the phrase 'baby steps.'

With a sigh, she walked to the crib and looked down at her daughter. Even if Eva didn't have Erik's deformities, she could still end up with her share of psychological scars. The realization made Christine's heart heavy. "As soon as you can understand, I'll start explaining him to you," she whispered.

Erik's voice echoed out from the kitchen; he was ordering dinner. "Yes. You will bring that food to my house within thirty minutes. I will not tolerate lateness. If you are not here in thirty minutes, then you will not come at all."

Christine laughed to herself. Her smile faded as she continued speaking to Eva. "And you'll know, you have to know, that the way he acts toward you is never your fault. When he's angry, it's not because of you. Please know that. And know that I love you."