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Raoul watches his wife in the sparkling blue dress, throat adorned with a matching blue jewelled necklace that seems to wrap around her like chains. Her voice is more beautiful than ever as she sings, the sparkles in her eyes and flush on her cheeks adorable and heartwarming, and Raoul wishes so desperately that it is because she is looking at him, but he knows better. On the other side of the stage, in the wing, standing quite like he himself is, is he, the phantom, the man that is not man, he whom Christine now is looking with pure elation, and Raoul makes his own decision. The walk away from the stage is like walking through mud, or walking while carried down by stone, but he takes one step and then another, over and over again until he is back in the hotel room.
He sneaks back into the theatre, into the dressing room, leaves a letter for his wife on the small table and steals into the night once more, course set on a ship that’ll take him back to Paris.
All his life, or at least as long as he has properly known Christine, Raoul has wished to be everything for her, as she is to him. After the happening in their youth, he thought things to be clear, safe, absolute. And then life happened.
He does not blame her for falling out of love with him. He does blame her for being unfaithful, for having a child with the man that tried to trap her and murder him, Raoul, so many years ago. But he cannot find it in his heart of hearts to hate her, not when she is still the most precious in his life.
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The house is empty. No Christine is humming happily as she walks from room to room. No Gustave is running around being a carefree child. Raoul walks the rooms and floors and sobs.
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It’s only been three days of moping by his lonesome, when Raoul gets a surprise in form of his wife and child storming into the smallest sitting room with one of the valets carrying a few bags.
“Dad! Dad you’ll never guess what happened! Miss Giry got mad, like really mad! And, dad, mum says I have another father too, and it’s Mr Y, but that you are my dad and we missed you and why didn’t you wait for us on the ship?” Gustave rant with all the energy of a ten year old.
All Raoul sees is Christine. Christine, who looks at him with eyes briming with unshed tears.
“I promised to share a lifetime with you, Raoul. Each day, each morning, everything, with you.”
He reaches for her in a daze, and she clings to him, crying and laughing and the world is turning around itself too fast for him to follow along, but if she is here with him, Raoul will take what little he can get, even he can never give her that dark rush of music.
Later. Gustave has gone to bed. Raoul has kissed him goodnight, as always, Christine has sung a lullaby, as always. And now Raoul sits by the fire in the small sitting room, and his wife is nestled on the loveseat beside him, curled up close as she hasn’t been in a while. Not that he has, either.
“I sang for Gustave. A little bit for him, because he has that grip over me, still. But mostly, firstly, I sang for our son, Raoul. He was going to take Gustave, threatened to kill him. I couldn’t. I couldn’t lose our son, Raoul, and I didn’t dare tell you. And I’m so sorry you ever thought I’d leave you, darling,” Christine say as long last.
“He… but… but to his own…”
“Well, he didn’t know, and then he said he changed his mind because he found out. But Raoul, I don’t trust him. No matter the grip he and his music have on me, no matter the ghostly grip on my soul and mind, I don’t trust him anymore. I chose you in the underground lair all those years ago. I chose our son when I sang. I will chose you both any day, each and every morning. Always.”
Raoul can only think of one truth to say to his wife.
“Christine, I love you, I’ll go anywhere you go.”
She smiles at him, traces a finger over his cheek to his lips.
“That’s all I ask of you, dearest husband. And Raoul, you have never needed ensnaring music to win me, to keep me, to make me feel so very love, even if life is hard and not always a shimmering masquerade.”
Raoul leans in and kisses her.