"Thank you for coming back," Nadir says holding the door open for Erik and Christine. "I simply did not know what to do."

"Perfectly all right," Erik says, helping Christine remove her cape, folding it over his arm. "Where is she?"

"In the study, where we last spoke," Nadir says, leading the way. "I did not wish to move her, not knowing what was wrong."

"What happened?" Christine asks, pushing past Nadir once they reached the doorway. While Erik seldom visited Nadir, Christine was often a guest of Adele's over the years and the house was familiar to her. Many an afternoon was spent in this room for tea when both women were not involved with work. Christine could escape from the demands of her children and Adele could reminisce with old friends, Sorelli often joining them. It was a hide-out of sorts for all three. None of their men ever considered the "other" Bay Ridge house might be a sanctuary for the women.

"I was trying to clean up the used cups and glasses and tripped on the rug," Adele says from the long sofa sitting in front of the floor to ceiling windows looking out on the garden. "I lost hold of my cane and fell."

"Your wrist is bleeding – quite badly it appears," Christine says, taking the older woman's hand in hers, removing the linen napkin she presumed Nadir placed there. The aquamarine eyes unable to connect fully with Adele's deep brown orbs. "Erik?"

Joining his wife, he observes the cut, before putting the linen back in place. "Keep the pressure up. Why did you not clean the wound – stitch it up. I thought you knew more about these things, daroga."

"I told him the cut was nothing, the napkin would suffice," Adele insists. "There was no reason to disturb you."

"Should I do it now?" The flustered man has lost any of the calm he normally shows.

"I have my bag…"

Christine clears her throat, shaking her head and lifting her chin toward the doorway.

"…in the car," Erik says, hiding his medical kit under her cape, setting both on the leather chair he so recently abandoned. "We need to suture the wound."

"The sewing kit is in the kitchen – closer than the car," Nadir says. "Alcohol as well."

"To the kitchen it is," Erik says as if speaking to one of the children.

"And an ice pack," Christine adds. "I see a lump forming on Adele's forehead."

"Yes, of course," Nadir fumbles in place, seemingly unsure of which way to turn.

Erik shakes his head. "I shall go with you, my friend. You seem to be in as much need of care as your wife."

"Do not mock me," Nadir sneers, finding his footing, walking from the room.

"Never would I do such a thing," Erik chuckles. "However, you do seem to be less than your usual officious self."

Erik glances over his shoulder at Christine, who gives him a short nod and a pinched smile.

"Hold the napkin in place," she says to Adele. "I want to get you something to drink – you are much too pale." Going to the parson's table, sets two glasses on a tray. In one she pours water. In the other some of Erik's Armagnac. "Here drink this, while I clean this wound a bit more before they get back."

"I never indulge in the brandy – it is for Erik," Adele pushes the glass away.

"It is for the shock and to provide some pain relief, especially since your wrist will need several stitches. Purely medicinal."

"I can deal with pain," Adele huffs. "It would have healed on its own."

"Humor me, then," Christine says, sitting alongside her, pressing a freshly dampened napkin against the wound.

A few sips find Adele coughing.

"Slowly – swirl the snifter, it is to be savored and enjoyed and your senses dulled," Christine laughs lightly. "I often think Erik uses it as much to forget as enjoying the taste. Personally, I find it has too much bite for my taste but do like the effect. After a while you do not even care what it tastes like."

"It was an accident."

"What was?"

"The cut…on my wrist."

"Did I suggest it was not?"

"I know what you are thinking."

"Do you?"

"You think that I cannot deal with what happened with Meg."

"I believe you can deal with just about anything, my dear Madame."

"But you believe I intentionally slashed my wrist."

"Did you?"

"Maybe. I do not really recall," Adele sighs, taking another drink. "I felt the need to do something, so cleaning up was something. I stacked everything on a tray and reached for my cane, then everything just blurred. The broken saucer seemed to invite me. I thought of Meg and all the glass from the mirror."

Christine takes the now empty snifter from the older woman's hand, returning it to the tray. "Did you think she wanted to die?"

"She was so unhappy. Everyone around her became unhappy when she was around – she was this toxic thing. A disease like that flu. I think she finally understood. Dancing was something lost forever. Her face was ruined. She knew that much. I am not certain she would be able to live scarred, bad enough being crippled."

"What happened to her – to make her so unhappy…angry?" Christine smooths Adele's hair away from the red mark on her forehead, already beginning to swell. "Can you hold the cloth against your wrist? I want to put a compress on your head."

Adele nods, holding her wrist, against her stomach. "I see what you mean about the alcohol. I hurt, but somehow I do not care."

Dampening another napkin, Christine places it against the bump. "This will have to do until they get here with the ice." Sighing, she says, "I was never able to really speak to her after she…took Gustave."

"Oh, Christine, will you be my confessor?"

"What do you mean – confessor – like a priest?"

"I am the sinner. I made her what she became."

"You want me to give you absolution?"

"No. Yes. I killed my own daughter for sins I was responsible for."

"You want to tell me your misdeeds as a parent," Christine smirks. "That might take all night and then some. All parents make mistakes. We do the best in the moment. I often wonder what Gustave might say if I asked him to list my sins – or Emilie, God forbid."

"You know what I mean. Do not trivialize what I did to her."

"Fair enough, but we all have free will."

"I should never have brought her to America – she wanted to be a prima ballerina – she was already gaining some renown."

"From what I understand, the police were as interested in finding you as they were Erik," Christine replies. "My father took me with him from Sweden, travelling all around France after my mother died. Should he have left me behind?"

"That was different."

"Was it?"

As much as she loved her father, an ember of rage still burns inside her at losing her mother and being ripped from her home to live on the road. Never knowing where she would sleep from one night to the next – indoors or out. Would Pappa earn any money from playing is violin? Would there be any food to eat? Would they be safe? She shivers at the memory of the one time they were not.

"At least Meg was old enough to understand what was going on – the danger you were in. Given the option, I would have gladly changed places with her." Christine's tone rueful as she refolds the compress on Adele's head.

"I had no idea at the time. Imagine how different we all might be had you joined us that night."

"I do. Sometimes."

"What ifs are a luxury I try not to indulge in. They often make the present even more loathsome."

"Was your life so difficult?"

"You may have noticed, my young friend, I am not the most jovial of people." Adele allows herself a bitter laugh. "Dancing was my greatest joy – when I lost that, there was nothing to replace the feeling…until I met Nadir. All the years in between were about surviving. Now, I have no idea what is going on in his head."

"Meg brought you no happiness?"

For a moment Adele's face softens, ever so slightly. "She was a beautiful child. Angelic. But whiny – never satisfied. I gave what I could. I suppose I was not the most patient of mothers. Louis' early death did not help. A difficult unhappy mother with a difficult unhappy child."

Christine examines the woman lying on the couch in front of her – picturing her own mother – in those last days before she died. Never did Rebecca seem to resent her. Was she a difficult child with her inquisitive nature? If she was, it never seemed so, her mother always had time for her – a moment for a hug, or a tug on her braids, followed by a warm smile.

Adele may not have resented Meg, but she was harsh – it was her nature. Erik taking her under his wing – developing her voice – was a reprieve from the prison of dancing and the tutelage of Madame Giry. Not a woman one would seek out for warmth or comfort. The match with Nadir surprised just about everyone. Opposites attracting.

Some might say the same of her and Erik. Little did they know how soft his heart was – much softer than hers – especially when it came to their children. Like Adele at the Opera Populaire, she was the disciplinarian. Was Adele ever given the opportunity to be soft? Not in her experience. In some ways, Emilie was like Meg – always seeking attention, particularly her father's. Perhaps this was a lesson for her and the relationship with her daughter.

Sighing deeply, she returns her attention to Adele and the situation at hand. The woman whose hand she held just recently killed her own daughter – her only child. How could that happen?

"Meg was weak – completely wrapped up in herself. She could not help herself, I suppose."

"From what I observed she helped herself quite a lot," Christine's tone is bitter.

"You were friends once and I interfered."

"Madame. Adele. Please stop this talk – none of your behavior was intended to harm Meg."

"I had her believe Erik cared about her. I told her Gustave was your son – that is why she tried to kill him. It was my doing."

"I know. I know all of this." Christine gets up from the sofa, waving off the words. Does Adele think she has forgotten? That every time Meg went off on one of her tangents, all the understanding she forced herself to develop would crack a little bit, reminding her she was not the all-giving, all-compassionate being she might want to be…and how others may see her. Dear, ignorant man, Erik felt too much guilt himself to be a receptacle for her still present anger at both women. She could not, did not want to imagine what he might do if he knew the true depths of emotion she felt towards both women. With Meg it was clear enough – Adele was more complicated. Seeing her now, compassion was the overriding factor. Losing a child in any way was devastating. Having lost two herself. The memory of those babies would drive her care of Adele, however different the circumstances might be.

"She was bad because I was a terrible mother."

Christine sighs, turning back to Adele, folding her arms. "Perhaps that is so. Erik may have been bad because he had a terrible mother. I have been bad but I had a loving mother who died too young. I am a mother and often find my children to be unbearable at times."

"You? You were never bad – not as I have been."

"I killed a man…once."

Adele squints, tilting her head in disbelief. "In self-defense no doubt or protecting someone."

"My father."

"There you see."

"It is still taking the life of another human being."

"Does Erik know…about the man?"

"Of course – his reaction was much like yours. Not diminishing the act, simply believing I acted in good faith and should not feel any guilt or remorse."

"I am so confused. I thought I was doing a good thing. For all of us, now I cannot help but regret my actions. I killed my daughter, Christine," she cries. "Oh, God. I killed my daughter."

"Yes. You did and now you must live with that knowledge," Christine says, staying where she is, not moving to comfort the woman.

Adele's laugh is curt and cold – the tears gone. "Your honesty is refreshing. I know you did not intend for me to find any humor in what you told me. Dear Christine, you are so sincere and good and kind. You could not even hate Meg properly…or that fool, Raoul."

"I suppose I should be pleased your mood has lifted…at my expense," Christine says. "I am not the automaton Erik created, Adele, much as you might like to see me in that light. I carry the thought of that man and the loss of my two babies with me always."

"Two babies?"

"A son with Raoul in France. A daughter…here…with Erik."

"I did not know." The look of shock on Adele's face is real. The lines around her eyes and lips soften – her self-pity transformed to compassion by Christine's own confession. The new clarity brightens the dullness her dark eyes.

"Now you do. I pray for them every day. They do not haunt me. There are no nightmares or dreams, just a black bit of memory I will never let go of. Something you will learn about now." A glimmer of light returns to the aquamarine eyes, along with the gentlest of smiles. "If I can help, I will."

"Thank you."