Unconventional

Epilogue

It still astounded me the level of acceptance with which our daughter gave me. As a nightly ritual she would tilt her little face up to mine and demand it be kissed —by me — all over.

"Kiss my face! Here, and here, and here..." she beseeched.

To think that my own mother had never bestowed one kiss on me now made me angry, rather than hurt. For how can you refuse a child — your own child — the simple pleasure of a kiss?

Christine and I had two more children, another daughter and then a son. Thankfully, they all resemble their mother, though she swears that Aria and Charles look like how I should have.

Raoul stayed in our lives for the first couple of years of Aria's life, but eventually he met someone else and, understandably moved away. At first he denied Christine the divorce she asked for, not wishing to cause scandal, but when he met Emily he granted it. Emily was a young widow with two small children. On the few occasions our paths crossed, it seemed that he'd stepped into the role of stepfather quite admirably.

Christine and I married as soon as we were able to and, as a wedding present she gave me her name. I'd never known my own and was prepared to create one for her, but she was insistent. She said that not only did it honour her father's memory, but also that 'Erik Daaé' had a nice ring to it. Shortly after marrying we moved to the outskirts of Paris where I now spend my days composing and she once again has taken her rightful place on the stage of the Paris opera house.

Fin.