In the next week, Philippa got an urgent letter summoning her to her family. Her father was passing on, and with Haya at the house, Erik was forced to stay behind. But, Philippa did take the kids with her so as to assure they saw their grandfather one last time. The woman assured Erik that she would be alright by herself and left him with a quick kiss on his lips.

Erik was able to see the relief from Haya's softened features as his wife left. She looked pleased that the blonde was gone, no more lies to rest between them.

"Erik?" Haya asked that same afternoon.

"Hm?" He replied, their positions in the living room nothing much. Erik was reading a paper on the sofa, and Haya was playing the piano, testing a few new pieces she had thrown together.

"Your wife really does not like me, does she?" She inquired heavily.

They had failed to openly talk about her dislike, and Erik felt guilty for not discussing it sooner.

"As a composer and woman yourself she does... but bigotry lies deep within people like her, and she finds herself incapable of being truly civil. I do apologize for her, however, I was unaware of it until I had fallen in love with her."

Haya shrugged and looked back at her music.

"Would you help me?"

Erik looked up from his paper and raised an eyebrow at the composer, wondering why on Earth she of all people would need help.

"Help? From myself, my dear, you are the composer..."

Erik stood anyways, placing his paper to the side and joining Haya on the piano bench. He tried to keep away from her, but there was that damned feeling between him that pulled him closer to her each and every second he sat close to her. She was just sitting, too, only expecting his help for the time being. Sometimes, though, Erik had trouble believing she only wanted his help. When she would lean down to play a bass chord, she would brush him with her arm, maybe purposefully, maybe not. But he got his answer when they had finally composed a finished song. The work was beautiful, and the two were very proud of their work. Pride was in the both of them, also a factor that kept them apart as a couple.

Erik just did not expect the sudden outburst from his old friend.

"Why her, Erik?"

Confused, Erik replied, "What is your meaning?"

"Why, of all the women on Earth, did you chose her? She...." Haya was flustered, obviously, as she could not finish her sentence with out releasing the frustrated groan.

"She was just there, Haya. As I have mentioned before, I did not know she was a-"

"I do not care what she is, Erik. My question is why not me? What is so valuably wrong with me that you had to go and get yourself some random blonde? I loved you, Erik. Maybe I still do."

Haya had tears streaming down her face, and in their proximity on the bench, Erik wanted to wipe them away and tell her he loved her, too. But he couldn't, and that tiny sliver Haya still held of his heart grew larger, removing some from Philippa's hold.

"I have no answer for you, Haya."

"Of course not," she huffed, crossing her arms and closing her eyes. "I doubt you ever loved me. I think you lied to me all those years ago when my father passed on to sate me. I should have known, all men are bastards."

"No!" Erik interceded quickly, but he realized the trap had snapped on him only after it had killed him.

"Erik!" Haya said ashamedly, looking into the masked-man's eyes.

"That was an awful thing to do, Haya."

The young woman simply looked at him with disgust as tears rimmed his eyes, red from crying.

"What have we done?"

She leaned into him, Erik bewildered by the occurrence, but far too focused on her touch to comprehend anything of value. All that ran through his head with everyone in the house missing was that Haya belonged in his arms, the woman he loved. And of course he would think that since he loved her. It was the only viable option when a man loved a woman.

"We've ruined ourselves," he finally answered, wrapping his arms around her waist and grasping her tightly, their hug soon lasting longer than either were comfortable with.

"We sure have," Haya said in the comfort of his hold.

Erik pressed a kiss into her hair, the warmth of it flowing down into her by the shiver he witnessed in her body. The thin brunette, who's curls were untamed and who's eyes were the most amazing brown, was there in his arms, still to that day confessing her love, and there was nothing he as a useless man could do about it.

Though, he never wanted to do nothing about it any longer. There were things that he'd seen, been through, things he had done that needn't involve someone like Haya. He loved her too much to do that to her. Wasn't it bad enough he'd let two women he cared for into the hell that he was? Why would Erik subject Haya to that when he loved her.

"She'll come back worse than when she started, Haya."

The young woman with tanned skin pursed her lips as she retreated from the feeling of Erik. His warmth, his everything was gone from her.

"Why?"

"Her brother is a very..." Erik bit his tongue.

"He's a bigot, just like her."

Erik looked very ashamed as he shook his head no. How did he form his words when she was the cat that held his tongue?

"Her brother is worse."

Haya could have cried.

Why of all people did Erik get himself involved in the people unlike him and unlike her? What had she done to deserve the separation from the man she loved, from two men she'd cared for? What was that all about? Why had it happened to her, was she truly a sin as they had claimed her to be? Just because her mother was a woman of color and her father was not? Who in their right mind decided that that was the justice she was to be provided? It simply wasn't fair in the slightest bit, and the worse part was that she surmised people knew that. Why wouldn't they know, because if they didn't, the bigotry wouldn't exist.

Haye closed her eyes tightly, sighing at the overwhelming amount of information. The whole of the family was insane, and she counted Erik there as well. His children were beautiful and excluded from insanity, of course, but the man was not. The father took his claims of mental unsettlement, and Haya could feel his presence attempt to approach. But she stood from the bench and fully stopped the attempt. The need was too strong to be able to sit next to him and then to not have the man be hers? What kind of torture had God created for her?

"You're going to be the death of me," Haya said suddenly and left the room, returning to the guest to get ahold of her astray feelings.

The next day, when Erik awoke from a deep slumber, he heard the slamming of a door. It wasn't anything that could allow him to sleep again, so he jumped from the bed and ran to see what had occurred. Had Philippa returned so soon? He doubted it, so Erik went out to the living area.

Of course, the first thing he saw after inspecting the scene was a note written in beautiful scrawl, sitting atop a piece of music in the same beautiful handwriting.

Dearest Erik,

I'm sorry....

I don't truly have much to say to you any longer, and my presence is merely a burden at this point. I understand... hollowly, but it is understood nonetheless why you love who you do. I hate that I understand, and that I must step aside to allow you to torture yourself.

There is so much better out there for you, take your children and go away from her!

I can't ask that of you, I know.

I cannot ask anything of you because I have no right to do so.

You mean the world to me, Erik, and if I cannot let you be my world, then I cannot see you day to day. I'm leaving so that I don't hurt myself anymore. You're hurting me.

There is nothing I wish more than for you to have your happiness and love with whomever it may be. I always wanted you to be happy, you know that? I just wanted it to be with me.

Ive learned that one cannot always achieve what they wish, Erik.

I love you,

Haya.

Erik looked at the letter hollowly before taking a deep breath and crumpling the paper, throwing it to the ground as he went back to his room to sleep off the pain.