Soooo here we are again, most wonderful time of the year!
2016 has been brutal on a lot of us, and since last year you guys seemed to enjoy my short Christmas multi-chapter The Christmas Exclusive, I thought I'd bring you a new multi-chapter to read this holiday season. I truly hope you like it and that the coming days are merry and bright for you all!
Please keep in mind this is unedited and unbetaed, as I wanted to post it ASAP, so I'm sorry in advance for any mistakes.
PS: You may notice some inaccuracies about how the foster system and the adoption process work. Please know I don't mean to offend anyone, I'm well aware that these things are not exactly like I describe them here, but I had to tweak them a bit to serve the story.
It's ridiculous how much the idea of winter in New York is romanticized these days.
So the park looks pretty when it's covered in snow. Big deal. So does every park, if you think about it. Regina can't exactly grasp what's so special about frozen lakes and dirty slush on the streets while cars honk away and splash you with too-cold water, or what's so wonderful about people clogging the sidewalks all bundled up in mismatched coats and scarves, clutching large cups of terrible coffee. As long as she's lived here, she's never been able to understand why the freezing cold and cloudy days around the holiday season are so fascinating. But for some reason, it's a thing.
She's always hated winter. Always.
However, today is not so bad.
It's sunny, for starters, and while the temperatures are low, there's no wind gusting and messing up her hair, no flurries dampening her coat, no sludgy puddles to avoid. She's gotten the good coffee, from the little cafe down the street that has the rich dark roast that she likes, and she's even able to find a cab easily enough despite the hustle and bustle of the city.
She gives her driver the address, and sips on her coffee as faces and buildings blur by, anticipation growing in tickling waves in her belly.
The adoption agency on Williams Street is a quiet place, with not a lot of room, but organized and cozy, with comfy chairs where she's instructed to wait while her case worker finishes up a call.
Isabelle Tinker is all smiles when she waltzes out of her office, beckoning Regina with an enthusiastic wave and acknowledging her with unparalleled excitement.
"Good morning, Izzie," Regina greets.
"So glad you're back! How was your Thanksgiving?! Are you ready to get started?!" she replies as she draws her into a quick hug, talking a mile a minute as she grabs the cup of tea her assistant gives her and walks back inside her office, Regina trailing just behind her.
There's a few minutes of small talk, where they both discuss what they did for Thanksgiving (Regina tells her she had dinner at her friend Kathryn's house, nothing fancy, and leaves it at that, while Izzie rambles on about the seven dinners she attended at different homes, all of which belong to families she helped put together), and then Regina's impatience wins out.
The manila folder filled to the brim with documents goes from her hands to the desk, lands with a heavy twack! on the worn wooden surface, disrupting Isabelle's detailed account of the snowball fight she had with the Jones boys at their new home.
"Sorry," Regina says, somewhat sheepishly, "I just really need to know that everything's in order."
"Right," she says with a smile, unfazed by the interruption. "Let's get to work, shall we?"
And then her young and spunky case worker is off, speaking faster and faster as she sifts through Regina's tax returns, health information, employment letter, character references, and everything else she made her compile for pre-approval.
And then she gets to the last document in the bunch, the sealed envelope containing the psych evaluation and detailed family history of the prospective parent. Her darkest secrets.
Regina never knew her father, was raised by a mother who, as a matter of fact, never even informed the man she was pregnant. Because Cora Mills was an heiress, and he was no more than a lowly waiter she had a one-night-stand with in her youth, she'd explained. A mistake. That's what she'd always called her pregnancy, and by extension, her daughter.
When Regina was younger, she'd ask, over and over again, why her father didn't know she existed. Maybe they could find him, maybe she could meet him. Her mother would refuse, insist she had done many things, struck many deals, to keep them from ever having to associate with her pauper of a father. So no, she couldn't meet him. She couldn't tell him. Mother forbid it.
Instead, she'd been raised in the home of her stepfather, Leopold Blanchard, a disgusting man, if she'd ever met one. As a child, she'd hear the lewd comments he'd throw Cora's way, and how she would return them. He would ask her why she would ever sleep with a waiter when she could've had the Blanchard name all along, and Cora would reply that it should've never happened, that she shouldn't have had that fourth sherry that night, that she should've just left and found him instead.
From what Regina understands, Leopold had been after her mother for years, and so when she finally accepted his advances (out of convenience, of course), it wasn't hard to get him to take Regina in as his own. And it had worked for a while. He'd ignored her or the most part, something Regina now considers a blessing, really. Not having his attention meant she didn't have to spend time with him or Mother, and could stay home with her kind nanny Johanna instead.
Only, as Regina had shed her awkward phase and grown from child to woman, Johanna was let go, and Leopold's beady eyes had started to wander toward Regina rather than her mother.
There had been strange encounters where he'd brush against her just a little too close, make excuses to stay in the house with her while Cora was out... He'd even insist on taking her to the club, on teaching her to golf, and then his hands would try to do more than just correct her swing. Regina had tolerated it, told herself she'd be gone to college soon, where he couldn't get to her... and then he'd kissed her.
She'd told her mother what had been going on, with tears running down her face. But she should've known Cora wouldn't take her side, should've known that when Leopold insisted it had been Regina who came on to him, her mother would believe him over her.
She'd slapped her, yelled at her, locked her up and isolated her from the world for over a month, until finally, Regina had found her backbone. When the maid had opened her door at the usual time to deliver her lunch, on a day both Leopold and Cora were out of the house, she'd ran.
Her trust fund, a gift from her late grandfather, had become hers to manage the moment she became of age a few months before her escape, and the first thing Regina did when leaving the house was get to the bank and make sure Cora and Leopold were forbidden from touching her money.
She'd paid for school, and gotten her degree, and then a job, moved to New York, and never looked back. She doubts her mother even knows where she is, or cares. She was a mistake, after all, she probably did Cora a favor by leaving.
All of that is in the three-page document Izzie is currently perusing, a frown appearing and deepening the further along she reads, making her nerves churn heavily in the pit of her stomach.
Regina has been in therapy for over five years now, working through the effects of her mother's influence on her life, from her eating habits and self-image issues to her constant anxiety and the unconscious shudder that ripples through her at the mere thought of Leopold Blanchard's clammy lips on her own. She's in a place now where she can admit and accept that Cora Mills was an abusive hag, and Leopold a disgusting piece of trash. That none of the things Regina blamed herself for were actually her fault. But it still worries her, that her past will define her future, and jeopardize the realization of the dream she's come here to fulfill.
"Your mother is a piece of work," Izzie says, looking up from the papers at last.
"I'm good now, I promise, I'm in therapy, have been for a few years, as you can see," she juts her chin out toward the document in her hand, "and I swear to you, I am nothing like my mother. I'll take classes if that'll make it easier, I'll—"
"Regina, it's fine," Izzie interrupts, "this clearly shows you've been through a lot, and have found the strength in yourself to become who you are today. That's nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, it's quite commendable, and I promise you, none of this will hurt your chances of becoming a mother."
Regina sighs in relief, blinking back the tears that have gathered in her eyes. Izzie is kind, gives her a moment to recoup while she tidies up the pile of documents in her hands and continues reading.
"It says here you never met your father. Maybe the agency could help you find him, if you want?" she starts, eager to help, as always, but Regina shakes her head, and tells her the one part of the story that isn't on the paper.
"I hired a P.I. a couple of years ago and found him. He started his own business shortly after I was born, became quite successful. He lives in Maine now, in a little town called Storybrooke. Seems like a good man."
"Have you talked to him? What did he say when he found out he had a daughter?!" she asks excitedly, and Regina shakes her head with a smile.
"He has a wife and two teenage kids, and they seem happy. It didn't feel right to intrude in his life like that. And I'm... I'm okay now. I've moved on."
"Don't you think he deserves to know?" Izzie insists.
"He leads a simple life, me showing up would only complicate things for him. Besides, I don't need a father. Not anymore," Regina answers, wanting the subject to be over and done with.
"I'm sorry, that was rude of me," Izzie says, catching on. "I put families together for a living, it's hard to shake that off."
Regina smiles politely at that, tells her it's alright, she understands, and then waits while the woman continues reading the report from her therapist.
"Your doctor says you've made great progress in his sessions, and that he believes you're more than capable of raising a child on your own," she reads, looking up at her as she adds, "I happen to think you'd be a great mother, too."
Regina smiles pleasantly at both Dr. Hopper's assessment and Izzie's.
"Thanks."
"Still, can't have been easy growing up like that," Izzie presses on, looking at her expectantly. It's a test, Regina is sure of it, but what she isn't sure of is what kind. Is she looking for her to open up? To cry? Or does she want her to talk badly about her own mother to ensure she really has no plans to become like her?
In the end, she goes with the truth.
"It was a long time ago. And ever since I left, I've taken steps to make sure I don't let her dictate who I am. I like to think I've managed that." Her tone is a little steely, just a tad defensive as she tries to figure out what it is Izzie wants from her, but then the blonde nods with a grin, the few wispy hairs that have fallen from her bun bouncing slightly as she moves.
Regina realizes then, the woman was only trying to be friendly.
"Alright, well, we've got everything we need," Izzie says then, stretching out a hand to her. "Only question left to ask is, are you ready to find your child?"
Regina's eyes well up with tears, hope blooming warmly in her chest. Her child...
She leaves the office with an appointment for the next day already set up at a foster home in Westchester. There's a baby there Regina's been waiting to meet for a month now, and excitement bubbles up inside her as she heads back out into the city.
She can't believe it's finally happening. That the hole in her heart, left behind by years of fruitless treatments and unsuccessful pregnancies, is about to be filled in the most beautiful way.