The first time Regina uses magic, she harnesses anger and turns it into power. She thinks about how the love of her life died in her arms, how she watched the life fade from his eyes. She thinks about how deeply she wants revenge and channels all of her pain into an act that would only lead to decades of more heartache and loneliness.
The last time Regina uses magic she channels love. It's happening again, Regina thinks to herself as she cradles her love, clutches the limp body close to her chest. She looks down at the person who's supposed to be her happy ending, tears streaming down her face as one last "I love you" falls from her lips.
Magic has failed Regina before, but never like this. She's always found a way to get what she wanted, to get closure. But this is different. It feels different. Something about this feels final, and she knows there's no way out of this one. Magic won't fix this.
She spends that night on the couch, legs folded, eyes staring blankly straight ahead. The house is just as they'd left it that morning: clean, yet lived in; organized, yet comfortable. Emma's gray sweater hangs over the arm of the chair in the corner, despite a week of Regina asking her to hang it up in their closet. Suddenly, Regina is thankful that Emma ignored her.
Henry sits by his mother for a few hours. He doesn't say anything, though; doesn't ask how Regina's doing, or if she needs anything. He already knows the answers to those questions. Instead, he brings her water. He puts away the dishes. He turns on the lights when the sun starts to set and the house goes dark.
Regina is still on the couch when Henry goes to bed. She offers a strangled "goodnight" when she feels him kiss her on the head, squeezes his hand instinctively as if to comfort him. She tells him she'll be up in a little while. She never leaves the sofa, though. She stays there through the night, holding herself, in a state of shock. She doesn't cry that night either.
Regina doesn't cry at the funeral three days later. Even after three sleepless nights, Regina seems… sober. Everyone in Storybrooke is there. People Emma had saved over the years, friends from across the realms, all line up to offer their condolences. They leave flowers and cards, gifts of thanks. Even Rumple leave a small token of appreciation, though he gives it to Henry.
When they get home, Regina goes back to the couch. She keeps her heels on, wraps herself tighter in her black coat, and sits with her hands in her lap.
Regina does sleep that night, though. Henry finds her curled up on the couch, lays a blanket over her, kneels beside her and brushes her hair out of her face. He sits in the chair across from her, tie unfastened, sleeves rolled up. He wakes up the next morning to find the blanket over him and Regina gone.
When she's sick a few days later, Henry thinks it's because she's not eating. Their refrigerator is stocked full of sympathy meals and Regina hasn't touched a single one of them. Her cheeks are starting to hallow out and her clothes look almost… loose. Henry has never seen Regina like this before, can't remember a time she's been this despondent.
After a week of illness, Henry asks Regina to see Dr. Whale. She assures her son that she's fine, just tired. She even eats an apple as if to prove to Henry she's alright. But when she looks up at him, she sees the anguish in his eyes—Emma's eyes—and appeases him.
She doesn't cry when Whale breaks the news to her. Instead, she laughs; it's hollow and its sad, and Whale wonders if he shouldn't offer to take her home. Regina pulls herself together though. She thanks him for his services in her best mayoral tone. Whale simply nods and watches as she leaves, waits until he sees the black Mercedes pass by before returning to his office.
Regina drives away from the hospital with only one destination in mind. She doesn't realize she'd forgotten to put her seatbelt on until she slows to a stop, the dirt still swirling behind her car. As she gets out of the car, the knot in her chest tightens. She falls to her knees in front of Emma and fights the stinging sensation behind her eyes.
"I wish you were here," she whispers. "I need you."
After two months, Regina starts to see Emma in her dreams. She hears her laugh, feels her strong arms engulfed around her. Sometimes they talk, but mostly, they lay together side by side. She dreams about their first date, how Emma had been 15 minutes late, but claimed she'd actually gotten there early and just waited in the bathroom because she was nervous.
She dreams about the first time she and Emma kissed on the front porch. Regina had been self-conscious about how public it was, but Emma's careless attitude made Regina want to kiss her even more.
She dreams about the first time she told Emma she loved her that night in the park. They'd been holding hands, talking about Henry. It had just come out, before Regina realized she'd said anything.
Once in a while, Regina can still feel Emma beside her when she wakes up and turns to face the empty space. Emma's side of the bed remains untouched. Just as her clothes remain folded in their drawers and just as her toothbrush remains in their shared cup. Her gray sweater hasn't moved either.
Most days, Regina spends her time in the mausoleum scouring her mother's old books. She does her best to translate fairy texts, rifles through ingredients for potions she hasn't made in years. Henry calls her three or four times through the day. She only answers one of them.
When Regina is home, she lays on the couch. Henry brings her something to eat, and she thanks him, takes a few bites, and then falls asleep. He notices she's stopped being sick, but he's still worried. He considers asking Snow and David for help, but thinks better of it when he visits them one day and Snow bursts into tears while cooking. So, he recalls all the ways Regina used to take care of him when he wasn't feeling good or when he was sad. He's determined to be there for his mother.
Regina stops searching for answers in June. She's gone through all of her mother's books at least three times. Nothing has what she's looking for. She does everything short of turning to the Dark One.
She decides she can no longer keep it from Henry and the Charmings and gathers them together at her house one afternoon. Snow starts crying immediately and reaches to hug Regina. David's lips are pressed together in a tight line and pinches his brow as he offers Regina a sad smile. Henry, though, is furious.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Henry asks. Regina shakes her head and says she doesn't know. She apologizes for hiding it, says that maybe, she just wasn't ready yet. But Henry doesn't hear her. He storms out and slams the door behind him. Regina's first instinct is to follow him, but something stops her. She considers what Emma might say, sets a time in her head to go after Henry.
It's almost 10 when Henry comes home. Two minutes before Regina is set to search for him. Snow and David have long since left, and Regina's been waiting at the dining room table for her son. She hears the door creak open and shut quietly, listens as footsteps grow closer and closer until Henry is in the seat directly across from her.
"I'm sorry," Henry murmurs. "I shouldn't have left like that."
Regina glances at him and offers a sympathetic shrug. "I shouldn't have waited so long."
"Mom would've been pumped," Henry thinks aloud.
"Yes," Regina smiles half-heartedly. "She would've."
When Regina wakes up, Henry is in the chair next to her, a small bundle in white cradled in his arms. She tries to sit up and get a better look, but regrets almost immediately and winces slightly.
"Is she OK?" Regina wants to know.
Henry looks up and beams at his mother. "See for yourself," he tells her as he stands up. He shifts the small creature slowly and lays her in Regina's arms.
Regina peers down at the dark eyes staring up at her curiously, runs her fingers through the coarse blonde hair on the newborn's head. "She's perfect." She gives her pinky to the baby to grasp and can't help but gasp when a small hand wraps around it. "She's strong," Regina observes.
"What are you gonna name her?" Henry asks.
She looks back at the baby and hears Emma's voice say the name she'd heard in her dreams all those nights ago. "Vida," Regina declares. "Her name is Vida."
Henry hums his approval. "I love it." Suddenly remembering, Henry reaches for his back pocket and pulls out a folded envelope. "This is for you." Regina takes it with her free hand, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Grandpa Gold gave it to me at the… at the funeral," Henry explains. "I'm sorry. I just—I wasn't sure when to show you."
Regina lifts the flap of the envelope and pulls out a piece of paper. When she opens it, she recognizes the handwriting instantly. "Emma," she chokes.
'Regina,
I'm guessing that if you're reading this, I'm not there with you. I'm sorry, Regina. I hope you know that I never wanted to leave you.
If I know you, and I think I do, you're probably trying to find a magical way to fix this. Honestly, I'd be doing the same thing if I were you. But something tells me that this is it for me. And you know what? I think I'm OK with that. I mean, I'm not OK with leaving you. But I think I finally understand why I was here—it wasn't just to break a curse, or to find my parents. It was to be with you. To find my happy ending with you and Henry. And if I only ever get a few weeks with you two, then I'll die happy.
You and me had a rough start. Even now, we have our moments. But I've loved you every step of the way. Queen or no Queen, magic or no magic. You're it for me, Regina.
I gave this letter to Gold after we moved in. In case anything ever happened to me, anything that was out of the control of magic, I needed you to know what you meant to me. Before I met you, Regina, I was alone. I was OK with that for a long time. I'd accepted that was just what my life was going to be. But then Henry showed up. And he brought me to you. And you helped me see that I didn't want to be alone anymore. I wanted to be with Henry and you. I wanted our family.
We both know Mom can't keep a secret to save her life. Dad is too loyal to her so he would've spilled the beans. And Henry is too… he doesn't need something like this on him. Besides, Gold owes me.
We both know I've never been the best with words. What I'm trying to say is this. I love you, Regina Mills. Now and forever. Thank you for giving me the life I always wanted.'
Vida's asleep when Regina finishes Emma's letter. And finally, she feels her eyes water with this. She looks down at Vida and thinks of how something so amazing could have possibly occurred after something so tragic. She wishes that Emma were there with her, that Emma could see their daughter. For the first time since Emma died, Regina lets herself cry; tears of sadness and tears of joy trickle down her cheeks as she loses all sense of time and space in her baby girl's eyes.
When she looks up, Regina swears she sees Emma leaning against the doorframe with a loving smile. Just as Regina will always remember her.