"Wear it."

The mask was tossed unceremoniously at his feet as his mother left the room. Erik tried not to scream in frustration.

For fifteen years, the mask was all but attached to his face. He was not permitted to be in his mother's presence without it.

He wondered whether the mask was inadvertently making the deformity worse. His current bout of acne and the heat from the summer sun meant that he was miserable and the mask was not helping matters.

He stormed into the next room, where his mother was sitting down to her lunch.

"You were told to cover yourself. Are you disobeying me?"

"Clearly," Erik's voice was just as sharp.

"Perhaps you need to be taught a lesson in minding your manners, you little beast."

"Little? Hardly, Mother." He stood several inches taller than her, thanks to his latest growth spurt.

She swallowed nervously and her hand crept closer to the knife on the table. "I brought you into this world, you little ingrate. Show some respect."

"And you've spent every day since hiding my existence. What would you do, Mother, if I walked onto that lawn right now. What if I walked into town and showed all your little society friends the freak you produced? What if I told them how, at fifteen years old, this was my first time outside this house? What then, Mother?"

"If you walk out of this house, you will not be allowed back in. I will have nothing more to do with you."

"So be it."

He didn't look back.

Christine squeezed his hand reassuringly as they walked up the manicured garden path. She'd insisted that she wanted to meet his mother, insisted that he needed this to heal.

He loved her and if this made her happy…

She knocked three times. A moment later, the door was opened by a tiny woman with wiry gray hair. She stared up at him and her jaw dropped.

"Erik?" She sounded as if she'd seen a ghost. In a manner of speaking, she had.

"Mother."

There was a beat of silence and then her arms were around him, squeezing the air from his lungs. He stared dumbfounded at Christine as his mother sobbed into his chest.

"I'm so sorry." She repeated the words over and over as he awkwardly returned her embrace.

They were ushered into the sitting room, which was almost exactly as he remembered it. His fingers itched for the piano in the corner.

Everything was just the same, except for the tiny woman clutching his hand as though he might suddenly disappear.

They sat down and she turned to Christine. "Forgive my manners, mademoiselle. You are?"

Christine smiled the distant smile she normally reserved for Opera donors. "Christine Daae, madame."

"Anne DuBrow," she extended a hand. "How do you know my Erik?"

Erik's back straightened. "Your Erik?"

Anne looked at him curiously. "Well, yes. You are my son."

"I distinctly remember you saying you wanted nothing more to do with me."

She hung her head. "Erik...it's no excuse, but I was young and stupid in those days. I was unable to appreciate what I had. You deserved so much better" She looked at him pleadingly. "People can change, but sometimes they need a fire lit under them. You lit that fire when you left."

"And so I am just supposed to forget?"

"I would not ask that of you. I just want you to know how sorry I am. For everything. I cannot change the past. I can only move forward, and I hope that, in time, you can forgive me."

Silence fell. "I am going to get us some tea," Anne said at last. "Erik, please feel free to take off the mask if it makes you more comfortable."

She disappeared and Erik turned to Christine. He slowly removed the mask and wig. "Did I ever tell you that this was where I learned to play?"

Christine smiled slightly as he led her to the old piano.

Erik knew that words often failed him, but music seldom did. Christine sat beside him as he played out his emotions. Anger, hurt, confusion, what he thought was a childish hope for reconciliation. Some small part of him had always hoped his mother regretted her actions. It was too much to hope for her to love him. It always had been.

And then to have her claim him! He who had always been her dirty little secret. She claimed him in front of Christine, who was effectively a stranger to her. She looked him in the eye, acknowledged her fault, and asked his forgiveness.

Would he give it? He'd imagined a thousand scenarios for this meeting and had never even considered that she might apologize.

In his mind, it was easy to paint her as a villain. It was easy to remember every awful memory and fix the blame on her.

When he was little, he'd dreamt of having a loving, caring mother. He'd read stories about it, always imagining that his cold, distant mother would become like the mothers in storybooks.

Here she was. After all this time, it seemed he'd finally gotten his wish. She welcomed him, hugged him even. She wanted him.

He knew without asking that Christine would say forgiveness was his decision. She would stand by his decision, whatever it was. He also knew that his angel could forgive anyone.

She was teaching him to be a better person day by day. Unless he missed his guess, forgiveness was the lesson she wanted him to learn today.

With that in mind, he finished the piece. Christine heard his intentions in the music and leaned over to kiss him.

Anne's voice broke in. "I don't believe you ever said how you know Erik, mademoiselle."

Christine faced her with a dazzling smile. "It's madame, actually. I am his wife." She threaded his fingers with his, letting the afternoon sunlight glint off of their matching golden bands.

Anne looked like she was about to cry. "You're married! How wonderful. Congratulations!"

"Thank you," Erik's voice was soft as he reached for his mask. "We'd better be going, Christine."

Anne's face fell. "Oh," she said, "I understand."

Erik pulled a slip of paper from his pocket, which handed to his mother. "This is our address, should you ever want to visit."

She took the slip of paper as though it was made of diamonds and pulled him into another tight embrace.

Forgiveness was not easy, Erik reflected. But, as his mother's arms came around him, he thought it might be worth it.