The Final Month

At eight and a half months, I went into early labour. I had been naive to think I could keep travelling so late into the pregnancy. Erik had insisted that I stay home for the final few weeks, but I could not bear the thought of not seeing him and simply sending a letter once his child arrived into the world.

We were sitting at the piano bench together when the pains started, mild at first and too early, so I disregarded them. But not an hour later and they had grown stronger and closer together. I tried to hide it from Erik, not wishing to concern him, but when my fingers clamped together into fists and I was unable to play, he knew.

"Christine?"

"I…I think it's time."

He stood immediately and came around to where I sat, now bracing myself against the top of the piano as the next wave of pain hit.

"Can you stand?"

"I think so…" I replied, reaching out for his arms. He held me and I leaned heavily against him as he wrapped a cloak about me and collected a purse full of coins.

"We'll take one of the opera's coaches, it'll be the quickest," he said gently escorting me through his front door.

Thankfully, the stable boy was not at his post when we arrived. I dreaded the questions that would come at my being seen back at the opera with none other than the Phantom himself. Erik helped me settle in the back of the carriage before leaving a handful of coins hidden by the stable door and then jumping up on to the top of the coach to drive the carriage forward.

The journey back to the estate was quick, but every bump in the road had me gripping ever more tightly to the handholds by the carriage windows.

Once we arrived, Erik picked me up and carried me to the door as though I weighed little more than an infant myself and, to my horror, walked straight up to the front door.

"Erik, what—?"

"Your safety, and that of our child is more important than my being seen, Christine," he replied, looking down at me, his one bare cheek flushed with exertion.

I wanted to kiss him, but at that moment Millie, one of our maids opened the door.

"Madame!" She cried, stepping back to allow us entry.

"Send for the doctor and prepare hot water and towels," Erik commanded Millie, who, to her credit, immediately rushed away without lingering on Erik's mask. "Where is your room ma petite?"

"You've…you've already been—,"

"Not from inside…"

"First floor, third…door to the…right," I panted.

Erik carried me upstairs, taking great pains not to jostle me. He settled me on the bed and poured me a glass of water from the nightstand.

"Where is the Vicomte?" It was a question I knew he did not wish to ask, but did so for my sake, and that of appearances.

"He had a meet…ing in the city today, he…believes me to…be with…Meg. No more talking, please."

Erik simply nodded and rang the bell to the side of my bed. A moment later and Phoebe, our head maid arrived, followed by Millie with the towels and water.

"Send for the Vicomte at once, it looks as though he will be a father before midnight." He sounded sad, and resigned.

"The Vicomte has already arrived, his business concluded earlier than expected, and just in time, too. Now, Monsieur, out, the delivery room is no place for a man." As Phoebe ushered Erik from the room, he looked back at me and I reached for him. Truthfully, there was no one I wanted more with me during that time.

As I closed the door behind me and began to descend the stairs, I could not help but reflect on how different life was in Persia. I'd actually helped to deliver babies there, my medical knowledge allowing me access to the room. But even without that, the father of the the child was permitted to remain throughout the birth should he choose to.

So lost was I in my thoughts and worry over Christine and the child that I walked right into the Vicomte at the base of the stairs.

"You! What on earth are you doing in my house?"

"Leave your petty jealousies, I simply brought her here because she was in labour—," I was spared any additional hatred from him as the doorbell suddenly sounded. It was the doctor.

The Vicomte showed him to Christine's room as I waited in the hallway feeling utterly helpless.

"Why are you still here?"

I looked up to see the Vicomte leaning over the bannister and glaring at me. I felt small, weak and powerless.

"Because I have to know that she's alright, please Monsieur." My words came out as little more than a whisper. The voice I usually had such command over, now cracking with emotion. The Vicomte did not need to know that 'she' meant both Christine and my daughter.

He merely nodded and gestured to the drawing room where I sat in one of the chairs by the fire without invitation. To my surprise he poured two drinks and placed one of them down in front of me before taking his own seat and sipping his drink.

We sat together in silence for a while before he finally asked the inevitable. "Why were you with Christine tonight?"

I paused, debating. "I will not lie—,"

"Really? I find that difficult to believe, but go on."

I let out an exasperated sigh, "there are things that are not my place to say. I shall let your wife speak. It's true, she was at the opera house and she was with me. I have been giving her piano lessons, I see no reason to find fault in that."

"But you're in love with her! Surely you cannot deny that."

"I will never deny that. Monsieur le Vicomte, I love your wife. I have loved her since I first heard her sing and I will love her until the day I die. No one can ever take that from me, not even you."

A sudden scream was emitted from the upstairs room, followed by a baby's cry and we both froze, staring at one another.

Soon after the doctor appeared, looking tired but satisfied. We both rose as he stopped to stand in the parlour door."Congratulations, Monsieur le Vicomte, you're a father."

"Thank you!" He said, shaking the doctor's hand. "And Christine?"

"Is doing well, Monsieur, you may visit with her now."

"The child?" I asked, keeping my distance in order to remain in shadow as much as possible.

"Healthy." The doctor replied, before leaving to return to Christine.

"All is well, now, you must leave here," the Vicomte said.

"And not be here if she needs me?"

"She has me, why would she need you?"

"She…she doesn't need me, not anymore. Please pass on my congratulations to Christine." I nodded and turned to leave.

"Wait." He sighed, "I know she'll want to see you, and only be angry with me if I let you leave, so…just stay here and I'll send a maid down once Christine is ready."

"Thank you, Monsieur."

He nodded and ran up the stairs to his wife.

Our daughter was the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on. She was so very little, and it was hard to believe she was finally here after so much longing. Raoul entered the room and gently sat on the bed. He leaned forward and placed a kiss to my forehead.

"Little Lotte."

That sweet, innocent term of endearment… What had I done? I did not regret this, no, but I did regret what I now knew: that Raoul deserved to know the truth. I began to cry.

"Hush now, it's alright, it's been a trying time for you…"

"No, Raoul," I held my daughter out to him and he looked down into the bundle of blankets where he was met with a heterochromian gaze of green and blue.

"I've seen those eyes before… this is not my child, is it Christine?"

"I'm sorry…" I sobbed.

Raoul rose from the bed, looking at the child in disgust and at me as though he hated me. "That son of a—"

"It's not what you think, I chose—"

"You chose him." He abruptly left the room, slamming the door behind him.

I tried to follow but my body was still too fragile and I cried in pain as a searing jolt raced across my lower abdomen. "Raoul, please! Don't do this, it's not you!" I cried after him as he ran down the stairs, but of course he wasn't listening.

I heard the commotion and feared that the doctor had lied when he said the child was healthy. The Vicomte appeared at the bottom of the stairs and glared at me as though he would kill me.

"Bastard!" He spat before marching to the front door and slamming it behind him. I immediately ran up to Christine, ignoring the pleas of the maid as she followed me up.

Christine looked up when I entered. She looked weary and her cheeks were flushed, yet to me she had never looked more lovely.

"Monsieur, this is highly—"

"It's alright, Phoebe, please," Christine said. Phoebe nodded, glaring at me before leaving. "Erik, oh, Erik…" she began to cry quietly. Worriedly, I sat on the edge of the bed and held my arms out for my daughter. Christine smiled gently through her tears and passed the small bundle to me.

"Ma petite, je suis vraiment désolé…" I began as I pulled back the blankets to see her little face. What I saw shocked me."But Christine, she is perfection, how did the Vicomte know?"

"Because I told him."

"You—"

"And, she has your eyes, but that matters not, he needed to know."

"How could you tell him?"

"How could I not? I love you, Erik and I want us to raise this child together, as a family."

"Oh, Christine…" I leaned forward to kiss her forehead but she tilted her chin to catch my lips. "You have given me all I ever wanted."

I watched fondly as Erik gazed down at our daughter. "I want you to name her."

He smiled. "Aria, like the beautiful melody she is."

"Aria. It's perfect, Erik. But you came to it so quickly, am I to assume you've already given the matter thought?"

"From the moment you asked me, nearly a year ago, Christine. Of course, I did not think I'd be able to share that with you."

"Thank you, Erik, for giving me the most wonderful gift."

"No, thank you, Christine. You came to me, you carried her and you'll be a perfect mother to her. You've given me something that I never thought I would have. I never would have imagined I would have a hand in creating something that I would deem perfection, other than your voice, of course." He tenderly stroked my voice box. "I love you, and I love her. I vow to protect you both, always."

Christine looked around the lavish bedroom. "Things will be in disarray for a while, and of course I shall have to move out—"

"Move in with me, temporarily, until I can find us a home above ground."

"You would do that for us? Move out of the opera house?"

"Of course, Christine, that was my intention when I first… 'proposed' — if you may call it that — to you. With you by my side, I can do anything."

Raoul stayed away for an entire week. I worried for him, but I did not know where to look. I had written to his sisters to no avail and Philippe had turned his back on Raoul when he married me. I was on the verge of writing to the Comte when my husband returned.

Erik visited us daily, much to Phoebe's distaste. I did not explain to her, it was not her place to know. We were sitting together in the drawing room when Raoul walked through the door. His eyes were red and he looked dishevelled and a shadow of his former handsome self.

"I will never be enough for you, will I?" He said as he took in the scene before him.

Erik rose and made to block me and Aria, but I caught his sleeve. "Erik, please, give us some time. He won't hurt me."

"I'll walk the grounds, but I won't be far, should you need me," he huffed as he swept from the room.

"Sit with me, let me explain."

Raoul simply glared at me, but sat in Erik's vacant chair. I took a deep, steadying breath, the kind that I used to take before stepping out on stage. "I asked him for this, the pain of being childless was hurting you and I too much—"

"And you think the thing to fix us would be to bed another man?!"

"He gave us what we both wanted!"

"But at what price, Christine? You love him, don't you?"

I could not meet his gaze so I closed my eyes against the tears and bowed my head as I nodded. "Yes. I can't apologise for loving him, I can only apologise for hurting you, Raoul. I'm so sorry, I never meant to hurt you, truly, I was blinded by my own desire for a child. I do love you, my sweet Raoul."

He looked at me sadly, "just not enough."

The room was silent for a while and I could no longer bear it, so I proffered Aria and said, "hold her?"

"She's half that demon!"

He sighed, "but she's also half of you, and she is beautiful." He took the bundle in his arms and cradled her, tears gently rolling down his cheeks. Without looking at me, he said, "it hurts, but I can understand why. I could not give you what you needed, but he could." Then he raised his gaze to me and said, "I love you Christine, but I can't forgive you. You seem like a completely different person to me now."

To have asked her to stay with me would only be punishment to us all. She loved him. She loved me too, but she loved him more - Raoul

Epilogue

It still astounded me the level of acceptance with which our daughter gave me. As a nightly ritual she would tilt her little face up to mine and demand it be kissed —by me — all over.

"Kiss my face! Here, and here, and here…" she beseeched.

To think that my own mother had never bestowed one kiss on me now made me angry, rather than hurt. For how can you refuse a child — your own child — the simple pleasure of a kiss?

Christine and I had two more children, another daughter and then a son. Thankfully, they all resemble their mother, though she swears that Aria and Charles look like how I should have.

Raoul stayed in our lives for the first couple of years of Aria's life, but eventually he met someone else and, understandably moved away. At first he denied Christine the divorce she asked for, not wishing to cause scandal, but when he met Emily he granted it. Emily was a young widow with two small children. On the few occasions our paths crossed, it seemed that he'd stepped into the role of stepfather quite admirably.

Christine and I married as soon as we were able to and, as a wedding present she gave me her name. I'd never known my own and was prepared to create one for her, but she was insistent. She said that not only did it honour her father's memory, but also that 'Erik Daaé' had a nice ring to it. Shortly after marrying we moved to the outskirts of Paris where I now spend my days composing and she once again has taken her rightful place on the stage of the Paris opera house.

Fin.