Unconventional

The Final Month

At eight and a half months, I went into early labour. I had been naive to think I could keep travelling so late into the pregnancy. Erik had insisted that I stay home for the final few weeks, but I could not bear the thought of not seeing him and simply sending a letter once his child arrived into the world.

We were sitting at the piano bench together when the pains started, mild at first and too early, so I disregarded them. But not an hour later and they had grown stronger and closer together. I tried to hide it from Erik, not wishing to concern him, but when my fingers clamped together into fists and I was unable to play, he knew.

"Christine?"

"I...I think it's time."

He stood immediately and came around to where I sat, now bracing myself against the top of the piano as the next wave of pain hit.

"Can you stand?"

"I think so..." I replied, reaching out for his arms. He held me and I leaned heavily against him as he wrapped a cloak about me and collected a purse full of coins.

"We'll take one of the opera's coaches, it'll be the quickest," he said gently escorting me through his front door.

Thankfully, the stable boy was not at his post when we arrived. I dreaded the questions that would come at my being seen back at the opera with none other than the Phantom himself. Erik helped me settle in the back of the carriage before leaving a handful of coins hidden by the stable door and then jumping up on to the top of the coach to drive the carriage forward.

The journey back to the estate was quick, but every bump in the road had me gripping ever more tightly to the handholds by the carriage windows.

Once we arrived, Erik picked me up and carried me to the door as though I weighed little more than an infant myself and, to my horror, walked straight up to the front door.

"Erik, what—?"

"Your safety, and that of our child is more important than my being seen, Christine," he replied, looking down at me, his one bare cheek flushed with exertion.

I wanted to kiss him, but at that moment Millie, one of our maids opened the door.

"Madame!" She cried, stepping back to allow us entry.

"Send for the doctor and prepare hot water and towels," Erik commanded Millie, who, to her credit, immediately rushed away without lingering on Erik's mask. "Where is your room ma petite?"

"You've...you've already been—,"

"Not from inside..."

"First floor, third...door to the...right," I panted.

Erik carried me upstairs, taking great pains not to jostle me. He settled me on the bed and poured me a glass of water from the nightstand.

"Where is the Vicomte?" It was a question I knew he did not wish to ask, but did so for my sake, and that of appearances.

"He had a meet...ing in the city today, he...believes me to...be with...Meg. No more talking, please."

Erik simply nodded and rang the bell to the side of my bed. A moment later and Phoebe, our head maid arrived, followed by Millie with the towels and water.

"Send for the Vicomte at once, it looks as though he will be a father before midnight." He sounded sad, and resigned.

"The Vicomte has already arrived, his business concluded earlier than expected, and just in time, too. Now, Monsieur, out, the delivery room is no place for a man." As Phoebe ushered Erik from the room, he looked back at me and I reached for him. Truthfully, there was no one I wanted more with me during that time.