Emma's high-heeled boots clicked against the hospital tiles as she searched for her client's room. The nurse's instructions had been clear enough, but the hallways made no sense. After fifteen minutes of wandering, she finally found it.
When she knocked, a middle-aged white man answered. "Hello?"
"Hi, I'm Emma Swan. I think your wife hired me…to find your daughter's birth parents."
"Ah," the man, who could only be Mr. Richmond, sighed, "Right." His eyes tightened in anger, but he let her in. A teenaged girl – Felicity – lay on a hospital surrounded by textbooks and binders. Her mother sat next to the window, staring at some paperwork. "That…private investigator is here." He glared at his wife, whose head snapped up at once.
Martha Richmond had grown paler and thinner, like she was made of wet tissue paper, since Emma had last met with her in person. "Thank god you're here. You've met Felicity. This is my husband, Stephen."
"Nice to meet to you." Emma told Mr. Richmond. He gave her a stiff nod.
"Hi, Miss Swan." Felicity waved. If her mother looked thin, Felicity looked skeletal. Her golden-brown skin had lost its glow and dark circles underlined her eyes. Despite this, she wore a genuine, slightly timid smile.
"Hey, kid? How've you been?"
Mr. Richmond cut in, "She has cancer. How do you think she's doing?"
"Stephan!" Mrs. Richmond got to her feet.
"No, don't you 'Stephan' me." He barked, "You're the one who wanted to waste our time and money on this –" He gestured to Emma, unsure how to finish his sentence. Pale blue veins stood out against his alabaster skin.
"Finding a donor for our daughter is not a waste." Mrs. Richmond replied, her voice low and brittle.
Mr. Richmond moved his hard eyes from his wife to Emma. "And have you actually found anything?" He demanded.
Emma pulled a manila envelope out of her bag, "I have. Felicity's birth mother was a woman named Anza Montoya. She passed away a few years ago. Diabetes. But she came from a big family and had three other children, so there's a good chance someone is a match. The birth father is named Roberto Alvarez. I haven't been able to track him down, yet. He has a sister, but they weren't on speaking terms, so I'm not sure if she'll want to help."
"My birth mother's dead?" Felicity's lip trembled, "I assumed… So, I have half-siblings?"
"Full-blooded, mostly likely." Emma explained, "You're birth parents never got married, but from what I can tell they had an on-off relationship for many years. You're the youngest."
Felicity flinched as if Emma had slapped her, "Youngest?! You mean they had three kids together but when I came along, they just threw me away?"
Emma felt a pang somewhere deep in her chest. She walked over to Felicity and sat on the side of the bed. "Your birth parents did not throw you away. They placed you for adoption because they couldn't afford to raise another child and wanted you to have a good life."
Avoiding Emma's eyes, Felicity shook her head and muttered, "That's bullshit." Small tears welled up in her large brown eyes.
"Hey, language!" Mr. Richmond scolded his daughter. "I knew this was a bad idea."
"Bad idea?" Mrs. Richmond let out a shaky breath, "Stephen, we have potential donors. She can have the operation now. She can get better."
"If – and it's a big if – those people care enough to help." Mr. Richmond countered.
"Why wouldn't they? To them, she's fam—"
"Don't." Mr. Richmond glowered at his wife, "Don't you dare. They are not her family, they're strangers."
"Really, Stephan? That's what this is about?"
"We don't know anything about those people. They could be gangbangers or drug addicts for all we know."
'Typical,' Emma repressed a scowl. 'Just assume the Latinos are criminals.' She hoped Felicity didn't have to hear this crap on a regular basis.
"Or they could just be nice, regular people." Emma chimed in. She handed Mrs. Richmond the envelope. "This is everything I've found: names, dates, phone numbers, addresses. Please, feel free to call if you need anything else."
She turned to Felicity, not sure what to say. Emma knew a lot about abandonment. She had been found on the side of a highway as a baby with only a blanket that had her name on it. She got adopted right away, but her adoptive parents decided they didn't want her anymore after three years. Then she spent the next thirteen years moving between foster homes, group homes, and psychiatric wards. She almost wanted to say, "I know this is hard, but you can always talk to me," but what kind of advice could she possibly give? She was a mess.
"I hope you feel better." Emma croaked, then fled the room.
After pausing at a small bakery to buy herself a birthday cupcake, Emma retreated to the comfortable familiarity of her apartment. An elegant manuscript covered the front door and inside the rooms were large, white, and bare. Half her belongings were still in boxes, even though she had lived here for almost eight months.
She placed the cupcake on the kitchen island and fished through the cabinets for a candle and lighter. She chose the blue star-shaped candle, lit it, and closed her eyes.
I wish I didn't have to be alone
The instant she blew out the candle, someone knocked on the door. 'Who the hell is that?'
Emma walked up the front door and threw it open. A fair-skinned, dark-haired and brown-eyed little boy stood at the door, sporting a large grin. "Can I help you?" she asked, wondering where his parents were.
"Are you Emma Swan?"
"Yeah? Who are you?"
"I'm Henry, your son." The boy ducked into her apartment before she had the chance to respond.
Emma spun around, "Hey, wait. I don't have a son."
"Ten year ago, did you give a baby boy up for adoption?"
"No." Emma's answer came as swift and blunt as a bullet. She felt that familiar pang in her chest watching his confident smile shatter. She had run into plenty of dead-ends herself, back when she still cared about finding her birth parents. Part of her wanted to wrap him up in blanket and give him some hot chocolate.
He blinked in confusion. "A-are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I would know if I placed a baby for adoption." Emma gave him a sympathetic smile, "I'm sorry that wasn't the answer you were looking for."
"But it has to be you." Henry insisted, his voice rising an octave, "That's the only way any of this makes sense."
"And what exactly is 'this', kid?" Emma asked.
She wondered why he seemed so sure that she was his mother when they looked nothing alike. Emma assumed he was white and she herself clearly wasn't. Emma didn't know her racial or ethnic background; only that she had tawny skin, dark brown eyes, and curly black hair that she'd been dying blonde for the last two years. People guessed she was anything from black to Native American to Arab to Filipina, but she honesty didn't have the slightest clue where she came from.
"It's hard to explain. I don't think you're ready to hear the whole truth, not yet alt least."
'Are you serious?' Emma scoffed, "Whatever kid. Just let me call your parents so they can pick you up."
Henry considered this for a moment before stating, "No. You have to come home with me."
"Why do you want me to drop you off?"
"You wouldn't be dropping me off," Henry explained, "You'd be coming home with me, so I can show you what's wrong and then you can fix everything."
"Yeah, that's not going to happen." Emma put her hands on her hips and lean back against the kitchen island. "Would you prefer if I call the police?"
Henry didn't miss a beat, "Then I'll tell them you kidnapped me."
"And let me guess, you'll tell them I'm your birth mother and they'll believe you?" Emma moved closer to him, "You're not going to do that. I can always tell when people are lying to me."
His shoulders slumped. "Please," he begged in a small voice, "Come home with me."
Studying him more closely, Emma noticed that he did look a bit familiar: he looked like Neal. Once the thought entered her brain, it wouldn't leave and her head spun with the possibilities. He would have been conceived around the same time she and Neal were together, give or take a few months. It wouldn't surprise her if he had cheated on her. Maybe his birth mother had been another one of Neal's girlfriends and through some mix up, Henry thought that was Emma. The thought bubbled in her stomach like too-sweet caramel, making her want to curl into a ball on the floor.
Emma brought herself back to reality. Neal had a common face. Maybe she was just seeing things. Or maybe it was just a coincidence that this kid looked like her ex-boyfriend. In any case, it wasn't her business where this kid came from, only that she got him home safely. She had to admit, she sort of felt sorry for this kid. "Okay. Where's home?"
Maine. The kid had taken a bus to Boston all the way from freaking Maine.
"What you were thinking?" Emma scolded him when they were in the car, driving north on the interstate. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to travel this far by yourself?"
"I wasn't scared." Henry insisted.
Emma shook her head, "That's not the point. God, your parents must be worried sick."
"Doubt it." Henry grumbled.
A red flag immediately went up in Emma's head. "Why?"
"Well, it's just me and mom - my adopted mom, that is - and she doesn't love me. She just pretends to." Henry answered, chewing the corner of his lip in anger.
She didn't know how to respond. When she was younger, she had tried multiple times to run away from the foster homes she's put stuck in and finally got out for good when she was sixteen. But an adopted kid – a kid with a family – didn't have much reason to run away unless things were really screwed up at home. He had said he expected her to fix things…
'No,' she told herself, 'You're probably overthinking things. Maybe he's just being dramatic. It's not like you're an expert on families anyway.'
Desperate to change the subject, Emma glanced over at Henry and noticed for the first time a large brown book resting in his lap. "What's that?" The words "Once Upon a Time" were embossed on the front cover in gold. "Fairy tales?"
"They're not just fairy tales," Henry gauged her reaction, "Everything in this book is real. It all actually happened."
Emma raised an eyebrow. "Fairy tales aren't real kid." He seemed a little too old to believe in that stuff.
"Yes, they are." Henry insisted. "Maybe you're not ready to believe, but you will be."
A couple of hours later, they passed the sign that read "Welcome to Storybrooke". The small, quaint town sat in the middle of a large, dense forest bordered on one side by the Atlantic Ocean. Small shops and an inn dotted Main Street, as well neat houses with evenly cut lawns and white-picket fences. It had the typical small-town charm, but Emma sensed something off about this place.
"Okay, what's your address?" Emma stopped the car in the middle of the empty street and turned to Henry.
"44 Not Telling You Street." He hopped out of the car.
"Hey," Emma got out after him, "Come on, kid, it's late. It's…." she looked at the clock-tower looming in the distance. "8:15?"
"That clock doesn't work. It's been broken for as long as I can remember. That's because time's frozen here. Nobody ages expect me."
"This isn't a game Henry. I have get you back to your mom."
"But you're my mom. The Evil Queen put a curse on the whole town and when you vanquish her, we can be a family."
A lump formed in Emma's throat. A lot of people had said they wanted to be a family with her. "I'm not your mom, kid. I never was and I never will be. Now stop being difficult and just let me take you home."
"Is there a problem here?" a young woman asked.
Emma looked up at her. A woman walking her dog, a small collie, approached them. Everything about her was pale; from her beige coat and eggshell white dress to her alabaster skin and short platinum blonde hair. Only her eyes held any color, a deep green like forest leaves.
"Hi Miss Blanchard." Henry smiled widely at the woman and then at Emma. "This is my—"
"Emma." She cut in, "Emma Swan. I'm just giving him a ride home. As soon as I figure out where that is, exactly."
"Mary Blanchard." She extended her hand and Emma accepted it. "Thanks so much for finding Henry. The whole town's been worried sick."
"He sort of found me, actually." Emma admitted.
Miss Blanchard studied Emma closely, "Have we met before? You seem familiar."
"No, I don't think so." Emma answered.
"Anyway, he and his mother live at 108 Mifflin Street. The mayor's house is the big white one. You can't miss it."
"Thank you, Miss Blanchard." Emma sighed, relieved that her odd night was almost over.
"Mary." She insisted, "It's nothing. Have a nice night. C'mon Wilby."
"You too," Emma called as she watched Mary walk away. "Let's go Henry."
"That's my teacher. She's Snow White, but she doesn't know it yet. She used to have long black hair, but the Evil Queen cut it all off and changed the color. I can still tell it's her because she has seven birds, like the seven dwarfs." Henry stated. "And she's your mother."
Emma suppressed an amused smile, wondering why such bizarre things kept coming out of his mouth. That woman couldn't have been more than a couple of years older than her. Between that and the fairy tale thing and his belief that she was his birth mother, she began to wonder how he ended up with such an overactive imagination. She'd been serious and practical even as a child; growing up in foster care didn't leave room for much else. It must be nice being able to come up with fantastic stories like that, though she worried about Henry sense of reality.
The mayor's house was just where Mary had said it would be, imposing and elegant.
"Please don't make me go back there." Henry pleaded as Emma dragged him up the front walkway. "She doesn't love me!"
Emma stopped and knelt to face him, "Look, kid, I'm sure that's not true. It might feel that way, but—"
"Henry? Henry!" a woman came bursting out of the front door. A tall pale-skinned man with a police badge pinned to his vest followed her.
Emma froze as the woman, the mayor, grabbed Henry and threw her arms around him. She then looked him over, searching for injuries.
"Oh, thank god you're all right. Where were you?"
"I found my real mom!" Henry declared. He wrestled himself out of his mother's grasp and ran into the house.
For the first time, the mayor seemed to realize Emma was there. Her eyes widened in horror and bewilderment. "What the hell? How are you here?"
Emma glanced between her and the police officer, nervous about what he would do. "Hi," she squeaked, "I…. he just showed up at my apartment earlier and I gave him a ride home. I'm not his birth mother. I mean, I don't even look like him, do I? Sorry, I really don't know what's going on."
The mayor took a deep breath and regained her composure, though Emma could see a smidge of panic remain in her eyes. "Oh? Okay. Would you like to come in for a glass of apple cider?"
"Got anything stronger?" Emma shrugged.
"I'll go check on Henry." The officer offered. Emma felt the knot of unease in her belly loosen as he walked back into the house.
Inside, the mayor sat her on one of the plush couch and poured her a drink. "My name's Regina Mills, by the way."
Regina was in her late forties or early fifties, Emma guessed. Her grey dress looked a little fancy to wear around the house and she still wore a full face of make-up despite the late hour. In addition to brown eyes and silky salt-and-pepper hair, she had a small scar on her upper-lip. Something about her gave Emma the urge to run away, but she couldn't tell what.
"Emma Swan. It's nice to meet you." She felt awkward sitting in Regina's expensive, sophisticated house in her red leather jacket, jeans, and scuffed brown boots.
"So, did Henry mention why he ran off?"
Emma took a sip. "Well, he seems to think I'm his birth mother, obviously. But I've never placed a child for adoption."
Regina sat down in a wingback chair across from her. She looked more relaxed. "You don't have any kids?"
"No."
"Well, then I guess you can't imagine how difficult parenthood is." Her tone was condescending.
"I guess not." Emma kept her eyes on her drink to keep from glaring at Regina. She'd almost been parent once, a long time ago.
"Do you have a job?"
Emma muttered, "I keep busy."
"Well imagine that on top of being a single parent. Am I strict? Do I demand order? Of course, but only because I want the best for my son. You don't think that makes me evil, do you?"
"Of course not." Emma replied. She didn't understand the point of that little speech and honestly just wanted to get out of there.
"I don't know why he'd possibly want to find the woman who gave him away." Regina continued, unconcerned with Emma's clear discomfort, "I adopted him when he was three weeks old and I've given him everything he could possibly want. More than that woman ever could have, for sure."
Lie.
But Emma couldn't which part was the lie. She could mention that she had some insight into being adopted and feeling abandoned, but she's didn't want to be in Regina's presence a moment longer than she had to. Instead, she supplied, "Kid's probably just having a rough time. I have to admit, he's pretty odd."
Regina glanced up at the staircase that led to the second floor before returning her gaze to Emma, "Odd how?"
"Like, how he thinks fairy tales are real and his teacher is Snow White. And that you're the Evil Queen from the story."
The panic returned the mayor's eyes. "Does he?"
"Yeah, he's been saying weird stuff like that all night."
Regina's face grew stiff, "It's think it's time you left Miss Swan."
"You're right, it is getting pretty late." Emma set down her glass and stood to leave.
Footsteps came down the stairs, "Madam Mayor, apart from being a tired little boy, Henry's all right. I just put him to bed."
"Thank Sheriff Humbert." Regina nodded at him.
Humbert looked at Emma, "And you are?"
"Leaving." Regina interrupted.
Emma glared at her, then turned back to the sheriff, "I'm Emma Swan."
"I'm Graham." His smile was a little too fond for a first meeting.
After a moment's pause, Emma forced herself to smile back and said, "It was nice to meet you both, but I should get going." And she was out the door.
As Emma strolled down the Mills walkway, she looked up at one of the upstairs windows and could have sworn she saw Henry looking down at her.
