End

This is slightly uncomfortable for me. I have never been much of a journal-keeper, but Christine gave me this very handsome journal and I'm writing in it so as not to hurt her feelings. My wife, however, is a different story. Every night I can count on seeing her scribbling away at the desk, her head bent low, her brows knitted, and her lips pursed. A while ago I asked, teasingly, of course, if I should be jealous of the journal. She gave me the most haunting look, and I'll remember it for the rest of my life.

"This journal," she said softly, "was probably the only thing that kept me sane when..."

Then she hugged it to her chest and walked out of the room. I had no doubt as to where she was headed; she always goes to our son's room down the hall. Once she calms down, she returns and apologizes, and I instantly forgive her. After all, Christine should be offered some leniency, considered all she had been through. But I cannot go into that just yet. For now I'll focus on the happier aspects of my life and briefly skim the surface so future generations who read this (which I sincerely doubt) will understand a bit about me.

Christened Raoul de Chagny, I am now forty, having just celebrated my birthday two days ago. A strange feeling, to be forty now. I met my wonderful wife, Christine, when we were children at a private school. Years passed, and I experimented with many different things before finally returning to my family roots to pursue a career in business management. When I was twenty-four, I found Christine again. We were happy for a while, and I fell in love with her. Before I had the chance to propose, however, she disappeared – kidnapped right out of her own apartment. It was worse than hell itself. No trace of her was left, and all I could do was pray and wish and hope she would return. And she did, four years after her disappearance. But I don't wish to write about that now, as I have previously stated. I want to get down the basics of our life.

We married a few months after her return, and she became pregnant on the honeymoon. Poor Christine; her kidnapping, added with her return, marriage, and sudden pregnancy has made her very poor in health, yet she is recovering slowly and surely. She smiles quite often now, and positively adores our son, Christopher (named after her father), who is a tyrant and our greatest joy at the same time. And yet, Christine was so upset by our unexpected conception. I remember when she told me. I was going over some papers in the bedroom when she entered, looking terrified.

"Is there something wrong?" I asked, setting the papers down and watching her fidget uncomfortably. "Christine?"

"I..." Her eyes filled with well-known tears, and I rushed over to comfort her.

"Christine, what is it? You can tell me anything."

She nodded and tried to collect enough air to force something out. "I... I'm..." Looking at the floor, she burst out the last part. "Going to have a baby!"

I was shocked, yet immeasurably excited. "A baby?" I questioned eagerly. She nodded, tears dripping down her nose onto the floor. I took her chin and forced her to look at me.

"Why are you crying?" I demanded incredulously. "A baby is a wonderful thing!"

"But we haven't been married for two months yet! This is too soon!"

"That doesn't matter to me," I responded firmly. "I love you, Christine. And I'll never stop."

Her pregnancy was very difficult. Complication after complication arose, and we were extremely anxious we were going to lose little Christopher before he even breathed fresh air. Yet he arrived, a healthy, squalling little thing, about a month early, but that did not seem to matter. It still frightens me to think that Christine almost died during labor; she is such a small thing, and so fragile. Silly of me to say, but she is. For a few hours not a thought passed through my mind of the baby – only Christine. She had some difficulties during her birth and had been rushed out of the room before I had had the chance to say a word to her. When the doctors confirmed she was going to live, they also had some grim news.

"Unless by some miracle she grows healthier and bigger, you two should not try for any more children."

When I told Christine she burst into tears, violently blaming herself for everything and that I would hate her now for everything she's put me through. It shocked me.

"Stop being stupid!" I snapped, more than a bit angry, I must admit. "Do you think that matters as long as you and the baby we have now are fine? I could never, ever put you through something like that again."

A ghost of a smile flitted across her pale, strained face. "You sound like – " Yet she stopped, bit her lip, and asked me to get her something to drink. When I left I heard her start to cry.

Christine cried quite a bit during the first months of her return, and, to be perfectly honest, it did irk me that she would not say why. I wanted to help her and comfort her, but she would only excuse herself and pretend that she was feeling pains from the unborn baby. After interrogating Nicolette and my mother, I found that they did not cry that often from the pain. I then took Christine to the doctor's, who said that there was a slight complication, but if she rested in bed and took medication it should be fine. Before we left, Dr. Balhorn (our old family doctor) asked if he could speak to me in private.

"To be perfectly frank, Raoul," he said to me, leaning in and folding his arms over his desk, "Christine will more likely than not give birth earlier than normal. The baby should be fine, but I'm more worried about your wife." He carefully adjusted his picture frame on his desk as I felt the blood drain from my face.

"Will she be all right?" I asked hoarsely, gripping the arms of the chair painfully hard.

"I'm trying to be blunt with you, but still have a sense of compassion," Balhorn said lightly. "It's not easy being a doctor."

"Stop, please. Just tell me honestly: will Christine be all right?"

The doctor gave a heavy sigh and stared at a legal document on his desk. "I'm not sure. But – ! Before you run off with your feelings, listen to me. Since your family and I have been friends for quite a while, I will ensure that Christine gets the best care possible. Meanwhile she needs, like I've said, bed rest and medication. She is just so – forgive me – fragile and...weak. The mental and physical pain of childbirth might be too much for her. Do you understand?"

I nodded curtly; I knew Christine to be delicate, but to have it plainly stated in front of my face rather offended me. However, I knew Balhorn was doing all that was possible for her, so I simply asked if there was anything I could do.

"Has she told anyone at all everything that happened when she was kidnapped?" he immediately enquired and, after seeing me shake my head no, continued. "She needs a confidante desperately. Women, as you are highly aware, Raoul, are very different from us. If Christine has a female friend or relative that she can talk to, she might heal better. And I'm not talking about physical injuries, you understand."

I was skeptical of this advice, yet decided that Christine did need someone to whom she could talk freely. No matter how badly my curiosity ate at me, she had only given me scant details of what had taken place while she was gone. The police – how I hate them – never officially returned. More, I think, to satisfy me than anything, they called us to say that they were looking for the man everywhere. I am still positive that they did, and are doing, nothing, and it makes my very blood boil. It took me a while to think of in whom she could confide. Finally, after her delivery, I knew; her sister, Lydia. Christine had mentioned her more than once. I felt quite stupid when I didn't think of that earlier and arranged to have her family pay us a visit. After introductions and a tearful reunion, the two spent the whole day in the bedroom and, when they finally emerged for dinner, both of them were red-faced and tearful, occasionally glancing meaningfully at the other. I did not even think to ask what they talked about when we finally went to bed.

Michael and Lydia left a week after that, and even to this day the latter and my wife cannot go more than a month without visiting the other. It doesn't really bother me; I'm used to it now and Christine is much, much happier.

During these ten years Christopher has grown at an alarming rate. A father can't be prouder than a son than I am of him. He's the smartest in his class, naturally, and Christine and I are considering moving him up a class, since he complains of boredom during lessons. He has also excelled beyond measure in art and music. Christine started teaching him how to play the piano when he was six, and before long there was nothing new she could teach him. We hired a private tutor, and after a few years it was obvious he wanted more than that. After enrolling him into a nearby orchestra he took up cello and violin lessons, and is already producing amazing sounds from both. Once I asked Christine about the startling pace at which he was progressing. She gave a lopsided smile and said quietly:

"He gets it from his father."

I laughed and left her to her book, yet she was distant for the rest of the day and called Lydia the next. Christopher adores his mother beyond measure and, although we're close, I know that there's something that the two of them share that I will never hope to be a part of. Once, returning early from work, I happened upon a startling discovery. Beautiful music was drifting down the hall from Christopher's turned-into-a-study playroom. With slight hesitation I started towards it, and then I heard Christine start to sing. It was...the most incredible sound I have ever heard in my life, and I am not saying that simply because she is my wife. Christine had liked to sing, but after she was returned, she never once made the attempt. It didn't seem consequential, so I didn't press the matter. But this...this was astonishing. I have no idea what she was singing or any technicalities of the sort, but I immediately made my way towards the music. Attempting to be as quiet as possible, I opened the door. Christopher was playing the piano, naturally, gazing at his mother with quiet adoration as she held herself gracefully, her sweet mouth open and emitting the most heavenly sound on earth. Sadly, she caught sight of me and stopped immediately, her cheeks flushing with color and her shoulders drooping.

"What? Why are you stopping?" I asked, opening the door a bit wider and allowing myself full entrance.

"Oh! It was – it was horrible, really." She was starting to look uncomfortable. "I haven't tried for years, and I didn't really get a nice warm-up. I'm sorry."

"Christine," I breathed, "I had no idea...at all...! Why didn't you tell me? You could sing onstage like you've always wanted to! I'm completely tone-deaf, as you know, but that was amazing!"

She shook her head. "It isn't important. Just a whimsical thought of mine. I think I'm going to go help with dinner now."

Seeing it useless to argue, I gave a grin to Christopher and left, disheartened, but not before hearing him say, "But mom, we just sang yesterday!"

----

I know there are innumerable secrets Christine keeps from me, most of them about her kidnapping, yet she has not kept that from Lydia. And yet there are secrets which would be better if she told me. There are times when I catch her absently gazing off into the sky, a far-away look in her eyes. There are times when I can hear her still cry, and, thankfully, those are becoming less frequent, yet still not completely gone. There is always a time in a husband's life when he doubts his wife's love for him, but for Christine, I am almost anxious when it comes to her. I would do anything I could to please her, but she asks so little. It seems as if I cannot give her anything. I made it perfectly clear as soon as we were married about this, and can remember it vividly.

"Christine?"

"Yes?" She was bent over her book, studying intently. Soon after Christopher was born she went back to finish her schooling, and she is now a registered nurse at the local hospital.

"I want you to know that...that I would do anything for you."

Turning to me, a small smile graced her mouth. "I already know that, Raoul. Thank you. But I already have everything I want: a home...a family...you."

Yet she still asks nothing. I don't think she would ask for food if it was denied to her. Perhaps it is something about her nature; I have never known a more generous and patient person. This is why she is loved so much at the hospital and at home. I love Christine more than I can say, more than I can describe. But I fear that she might belong, heart and soul, to someone else.

Fin