It was too perfect. Christine had thought their hardships were over the night they left the Opera behind. A perfect wedding, a perfect husband, a perfect marriage.

And then came summons for Raoul to return to sea. And then two soldiers at her door to tell her that her husband was dead. And then a line of aristocratic mourners turning the stage of her grief into a society event.

She didn't cry. She couldn't bear it.

Raoul. Her poor Raoul.

It caused no small stir the evening she returned to the Opera. The Vicomtesse de Chagny sat cold and unmoving in the theater where Christine Daae had known her greatest triumph.

She didn't want to be back on that stage. To wear a smile on her face when her heart was torn to shreds would have been more than she could stand. At least a Vicomtesse was permitted to be stoic.

At intermission, she moved through the crowds and found her way to Box Five.

She hadn't planned this. She wasn't sure that she would even want to see Erik. She just wanted to escape the woman she'd become, if only for a few hours.

The second act began and his voice hissed in her right ear. "Perhaps you are unaware, madame, but this box is reserved."

"Erik?"

"Christine?" His tone was baffled.

"Hello," she said nervously.

"You shouldn't be here. You are free, Christine. You owe Erik nothing."

"I know." Her voice was shaky. "Can I see you?"

"Why would Christine wish to see Erik? No one should wish for such a thing."

"Please." Her voice broke as tears threatened to fall.

"Be in your dressing room after the performance."

Christine removed the cover from the large mirror in her former dressing room. Dust swirled around her as she peered into the glass.

Who was the woman looking back? Not an ingénue. Not a prima donna. Not a bride. Not a wife.

Only a widow, a stranger she didn't know.

The glass slid to the side and a living shadow emerged from the passage behind it. For the first time since she'd kissed Raoul goodbye, Christine no longer felt alone.

Her arms slid around him, gripping him like a life preserver. He was bony, and skinnier than she remembered. The familiar smell of death filled her nose as she was enveloped in the folds of his cloak.

"You're here." All of the emotions she'd been repressing surged through her like a tidal wave. She was a tiny ship bobbing on the surface and he was the mooring keeping her close to the shore.

She didn't know what the future held, or what she was thinking. She didn't know who she was and barely knew who he was. She simply clung to the only remaining man she'd ever cared about.

Sometime soon, it would matter who she was and who he was. It would matter to her what their relationship was. They might never see each other again. They might make music for the rest of their lives.

She didn't care. She didn't want to care. She let him hold her as her tears soaked his lapels.

Just for this moment, she allowed herself to be whole.