Christine walked the final few blocks to her destination slowly, but with purpose. The haze from above illuminated the sea of men in hats and ladies in dark parasols around her. Not since she'd lived in Paris had she seen such foot traffic in the middle of an otherwise average afternoon. It was her first time in Manhattan, and she had decided to come alone.

It had been ten days since she'd had the altercation with Erik. Gustave had proven to be quite averse to not being able to see him. After a week had passed and still Christine had said that he simply was too busy to join them, Gustave had become sullen and withdrawn. Aside from the time he now spent with a tutor each day, he preferred to remain in his room alone or out on the grounds of Phantasma. Christine had made Gustave promise that he would not seek Erik out, and the child had agreed reluctantly.

Perhaps it has little to do with Erik, she thought to herself. It had now been nearly two weeks since Raoul's departure, and they had heard nothing from him about his whereabouts or plans. She could not even coerce Gustave into joining her for supper following her performance each evening. Today, however, was Sunday, and the theater would be dark that evening. Perhaps she would be able to coax him out somehow.

She thought suddenly of the day Gustave was born. It had been a difficult delivery, and she'd fought back tears when the doctor had taken Gustave from her so Raoul could see him in the next room. Exhausted, she struggled to maintain her composure in front of the midwife, the same midwife who had delivered Raoul and who had been quite unfeeling towards Christine once the baby had come. With the door ajar to the outer room of their bedroom suite, she overheard a portion of Raoul's conversation with the family physician.

"A baby boy," the doctor boomed.

"That's wonderful," Raoul said tenderly. The baby uttered a single fretful cry and Christine imagined him being handed to Raoul. "We will call him Gustave," she heard Raoul say definitively.

Christine's heart sank. She'd hoped to name him after her father.

"He is healthy?" Raoul asked.

"Healthy as I've ever seen for a baby born several weeks early," the doctor replied.

The midwife was attending Christine at her bedside and suddenly spoke, almost in a whisper. "And so big, almost as if he weren't born early at all."

Christine looked up to the midwife and their eyes met and she instantly realized that she knew the truth: she and Raoul had only been married for seven months and the baby had indeed been born full-term. In the days that followed, the happiness Christine had felt at Gustave's arrival drained away and she prepared for her secret to be revealed, but for whatever reason the woman had apparently never denounced her. Her secret had remained safely kept from Raoul. Until now.

She finally let Erik creep into her mind. She had not seen him since their argument and his absence had formed a constant, uneasy weight in her stomach. She thought of their kiss and how wonderful it had felt to be in his arms again if only for a few brief moments. A chill ran down her spine as she remembered the way his hands felt around her waist and she blushed as she carefully followed the busy sidewalk. Then she remembered the argument she'd had with him and cringed as she mentally relived the last words they'd exchanged. She had been seething, livid even. She was grateful for the space he'd given her (at her request), but in the days that had passed she had wavered somewhere between feeling forgiveness and resentment towards him. The outcome, she mused, was not yet decided.

Christine reached her destination. She squared her shoulders and tried to remain confident as she entered the building, but she found herself wanting to shrink away as she surveyed the stillness around her. An attendant greeted her after some moments and led her to a smaller room. Madame Giry sat in the shadows against the far wall, her posture stiff against the bench where she was waiting. She looked tired as she rose to greet Christine.

"Madame Giry," Christine said in greeting as they leaned in and kissed cheeks. "How are you?" she asked, clasping the older woman's hands.

"I am well, my dear," Madame Giry said through glassy eyes, obviously exhausted. "Thank you for coming. Meg has been asking for you."

"Is she alright?" Christine asked as she surveyed Madame Giry. She looked frail, and her narrow face was the only pinch of color against her drab attire.

Madame Giry nodded. "She is improving, yes. Will you see her today?

"Of course."

An orderly led Christine and Madame Giry down the hall. Christine tensed, worrying that they'd find Meg chained to the floor in a dimly lit dungeon with other patients. Instead, she sighed audibly when the orderly opened a door a few moments later and led them into a small room furnished sparingly but cheerfully. Meg sat with her back to them looking out the window, her blond hair smoothed neatly into a bun.

"Meg?" Madame Giry called to her as she crossed the room quietly, her hands coming to rest on her shoulders. "Christine is here."

Christine stood just inside the room, and she fought the urge to shrink against the doorway as Meg stood. She looked rested, peaceful even. Without her stage makeup she looked much like she had so long ago in Paris. Christine's heart broke for her as she approached her.

"Hello Meg," she said simply.

Meg turned at the sound of her voice and smiled sadly. "Hello," she answered. "Thank you for seeing me. I know it is not an easy trip into the city. Did you come alone?"

"Yes," Christine answered. "Gustave is with his tutor this morning." She regretted mentioning him, but Meg simply shrugged.

"I guess he would prefer to be studying than see me again," she said, smiling grimly.

"Meg," Christine said gently, "don't be so hard on yourself."

"Do you hate me?" Meg asked her.

Christine wanted to stay angry at the woman who had nearly destroyed the most precious thing in her life. But now as she faced her she saw only the girl she once knew, the girl who had through circumstance and fate lost her innocence. She finally shook her head.

"No. Of course not." She took Meg's hand and squeezed it.

Tears came to Meg's eyes, and she began trying to blink them away. Christine instinctively reached for her and they embraced. After a few moments she heard Madame Giry and the orderly quietly slip out of the room, and in the stillness she felt sadness settle around her and the girl that she now held in her arms.

Meg began to grow tired after a short while, and Christine leaned wearily against a hallway wall once she had closed the door behind her. Meg seemed to be in a good place – at least, as good as could be expected. Christine shook her head at herself and her weakness for granting clemency. She had given it to Raoul countless times throughout the course of their marriage, and even to Gustave in his rare moments of disobedience. If I can pardon Meg, how can I not forgive Erik? she thought.

She straightened and smoothed her skirt, then began to head down the hall. She found the director of the hospital and after a few pleasantries had been exchanged, she started to address her main reason for having agreed to come in the first place.

"I would like to see to it that Meg is taken care of. As I understand it, this is a private hospital. I would like to ensure that she is able to stay here." She began to reach for her pocketbook.

"Madame, it has already been arranged."

"It has?" Christine stopped and straightened, her brow furrowing.

"Yes Madame, her employer came in early last week and arranged for her care."

Christine shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"It's true," Madame Giry said behind her. Christine turned, not having realized she was there. "Meg stays here under his watch."

"And you?" Christine approached her quickly, her voice low.

Madame Giry smiled sadly. "I am also taken care of. In his own way, he kept his promise, I suppose."

Christine only nodded, unable to speak.

After a moment, Madame Giry reached out and embraced her. "Thank you for coming, my dear. You were, long ago, like a sister to her." She leaned back to take Christine by the shoulders gently. "And a daughter to me."

In spite of the situation, Christine smiled. "Yes."

"Now," Giry said, releasing her. "Go. Be happy."

It was late afternoon when Erik completed his daily walk of the grounds. Mondays the park was closed to the public, and the day off afforded everyone a chance to catch their breath after a seemingly endless weekend barrage of eager tourists.

He assumed the theater remained standing. It was the only building he had not visited in many days. Fleck had been good at updating him on the theater and ticket sales, but he regretted his reliance on her. The night of his argument with Christine he had left Gustave with her several days before so he could speak with Christine, and Fleck had witnessed him making what would become a broken promise to the boy.

"Gustave," Erik had said as he brought him to the front of the house so he could see Christine before the show began. "I believe you have met Miss Fleck."

Gustave had nodded, his eyes large as he surveyed her. "Hello." Fleck had given him a sideswiped smile.

"Fleck is going to take you up to a special box so you can see your mother perform tonight," Erik had said. He sensed the boy's discomfort at the arrangement. "I promise to be waiting here for you when it is over, alright?"

Gustave's face had brightened a little. "Alright!"

Erik, of course, had not been there to meet him after the performance. He had ached to stay and see Christine perform to another sold out house, to again fall under the spell of her voice after so long. Instead he had followed her wishes and left the theater entirely to be alone. Aside from a few things to attend to within the park, he'd remained that way ever since.

Erik pushed all of these things from his mind as he returned to the aerie from the walk, prepared to work for most of the evening. He opened the door and immediately was on alert; something was wrong. He stopped just inside the doorway, listening. The air, the stillness of the room was off. He reached the end of the hallway and turned to enter the main hall cautiously.

Christine stood waiting for him.

Erik stopped in his tracks, shocked at the sight of her. He had traced every curve, every feature of her face in his mind a thousand times in the last few days, but his memory had not truly honored her.

"Hello," he said guardedly.

Christine blushed, obviously uncomfortable in the space. "I'm sorry for entering without an invitation."

"You are always welcome here. I am sorry I haven't been able to show it to you before now."

Christine eyes moved to the space around them. "It seems very familiar," she said with a small smile. There was an awkward pause and they both looked down dumbly at the floor.

"Christine…" Erik finally began.

She held up her hand. "I've only come to ask you one question."

His heart sank as he waited.

"I wondered if you would join me for dinner."

Erik stared at her, dumbfounded.

"Tonight," she continued, her voice softer.

"As you wish," he answered. Their eyes met for a long moment and it took every ounce of control he had not to say more.

"I will see you at the theatre at 8:00." She walked past him and headed toward the door, then turned back. "Goodbye," she said simply and then was gone.

Erik felt as if he were struggling to breathe.