A Woman's Devotion (Phantom Of The Opera x Reader)

22. Intruders of the Night

Y/n's POV:

 "How do you still manage to love me, Y/n?"

Erik was in one of those dour moods where he doubted everything about his entire existence, especially the security of my love for him.

 "Because you're my husband, I refuse to ever have another man in that role, and you have turned my black-and-white world into vibrant color."

 "How eloquent," Erik said, smirking, "but I don't deserve such praise, you know."

 "And why ever not? You're charming, charismatic, and the man I love. That should be enough."

Erik looked down at his hands, which held a hammer and nails, as he was constructing some furniture for our cabin. I had moved my washboard and pile of laundry nearby to spend time with him. After several minutes of trivial conversation, he finally began hitting me with the questions riddled in self-doubt.

 "But I was heinous to sweet Harmony, and I'm so ashamed of it now."

 "I know you are." I said. I rose from my tub of sudsy water to peck his cheek. "And you've felt your remorse enough. Besides, everyone deserves a second chance. Rhapsody and Harmony will have a lovely life. Just imagine it, Erik. They'll have birthdays and friends, maybe school, and- oh! We can't forget about Christmas."

It was December now, and the air was cold enough to attract snow. Currently, the twins were bundled up inside before a delightfully cozy fire and napping peacefully. For Erik and me, though, work stopped for no chilly temperatures.

 "I never thought I'd have children I could give a happy Christmas to, Y/n. But I'm so gad we do."

Forgetting my laundry entirely, I tumbled into some childhood reminiscences. 

 "Didn't you always dream of splendid Christmases as a child? Like the ones you read about in storybooks, with hoards of presents, and loving parents smiling at you, and sweets, and everything is beautiful and covered in snow and pretty frost?"

As I spoke, my voice took on the whimsy of a little girl, one who had never experienced the joys of a proper Christmas season.

 "Of course, I did," Erik said before his tone changed to bitter contempt, "but the circus barely tolerated such things. Abominable place."

 "Oh, Erik," I sighed, lightly touching his arm, "I'm so sorry. For what it's worth, Uncle Mike was no better."

We relapsed into silence and continued our work with a diligence, as if to prove to a hateful society that we were worth something in this world.

 "How did your uncle handle Christmas?" Erik asked.

Genuine curiosity accented his tone, so I was not offended by the personal question.

 I shrugged, then said, "he didn't handle it in much of any way. One year, when the defiant teenage streak was at its worst, I questioned why Santa Claus never bothered to visit our house. I said some awful things about him probably avoiding it because Uncle Mike reeked of alcohol, but my uncle had a different reason."

I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat, then failed to continue. Erik's tone was gentle, as he prompted me to continue my story.

 "What did he tell you?"

I sniffed, blinking away the tears. I had already hated rats then, but this experience cemented them as creatures to be eternally feared.

 "He said that Santa Claus had come, but the rats had eaten the presents before I woke up. Gobbled up each and every one of them. He described it in such detail that I almost believed him, but you know how teenagers are, so- so"