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Raoul and I had married and left the past behind. That final night at the opera house had become nothing more than a memory and memories couldn’t hurt, could they? I knew that Raoul had taken every step to ensure it would never come back to haunt us. We stayed in Paris, but after that night we never returned to the opera. We had a happy beginning, honeymooning at the shore and acting like the children we once were. I loved him, truly I did.
And yet my heart had always beat for my angel. Always. Even in our darkest hours, it was his name in every thought. Could a heart love two people equally? I had chosen Erik that night, whilst my heart was breaking for Raoul. And then Erik released me, making the choice for me, and my heart broke for him. But, like the child I was, I obeyed and left with Raoul, relieved that I would no longer be torn. At the time I simply accepted that Erik had my best interests at heart, but being a wife had made me grow up. I was no longer the little ballet girl who believed in fairytale endings.
Things changed a year into our marriage. It was my understanding that by this point Raoul and I should be expecting, but as the months went on it became apparent that was not the case. Our bliss began to show signs of cracking. My arms felt empty. We began to row. And it began to hurt…