Her abdomen twinges for the fourth time this hour and her hand flutters gently to her rounded stomach. Emma Swan runs a hand through her long, blonde hair as she can no longer deny the truth: she's in labor. The past nine months have been awful. Well, eight and a half. The doctor estimated conception two weeks prior to her incarceration. Her time with Neal was…her heart clenches as the thought of him. It was thrilling. Now it's heartbreaking. It was a heady rush of love. Now it's a bitter reminder not to trust. Tears threaten to spill over as Emma sits on the hard jail cot, overwhelmed. Eighteen years old and locked up for what she thought was love, abandoned yet again. Loneliness fills every corner of her heart not occupied by longing or hardened by hurt. She paces in the small cell, preferring the solitude in this moment to the populated commons area. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. It was supposed to be her and Neal, forever. Together on the run, their lack of home creating a home within each other. Now she's all she's left with are keys, memories, and a baby she doesn't want. Well, no. That's not true. Part of her longs to hold on to the child inside of her, to keep the precious being her and Neal made together. But Emma knows she's not fit to raise a child. Someone, anyone else would be better suited to give this child its best chance.
Everything hurts, and Emma knows it's only going to get worse. She squats into a ball, trying to relieve the pain even a little bit. Contractions are coming at an even six minutes now. With any luck, her baby will be here soon. No, the baby. It's not hers. She's giving it away. She has housed the tiny being for nine months, but its as much hers as it is Neal's, and if she keeps the baby, she will never move on from what she lost. Neal made her feel loved, made her feel whole. She never should have trusted him, never should have trusted anyone. It only brings pain in the end. Emma had never imagined this kind of pain though. She grits her teeth and closes her eyes as another contraction grips her. The pain seems to last forever, but at last it subsides. She stands with great discomfort, feeling the baby's head already descending into the birth canal. Slowly but surely, Emma makes her way to the infirmary, grateful that the hallways are mostly deserted. She arrives at the window just as another contraction overwhelms her, leaning heavily on the counter, head dropped on her arms. The admitting nurse takes in the scene before her and quickly enters data into the computer. She's seen Emma a few times for prenatal care and knows her pain tolerance is high. She must be getting close. Emma stands upright again and pushes sweaty strands of hair out of her face, fear and exhaustion displayed clearly in her features. The nurse opens the infirmary door and guides Emma back to a secluded room. Her heart twinges as the officer cuffs the young girl's ankle to the hospital bed. She knows protocol requires it, but Emma wouldn't hurt a soul. She's endured too much pain herself to knowing inflict it on others.
Emma watches the officers, feeling the cold metal as they latch it around her thin ankle. She doesn't want to be here. Had it not been for her determination to give the child its best chance, she would've given birth alone in the bathroom near her cell. Her stomach clenches and she feels the baby's head move even lower, filling up even more of such a tight space. Everything feels so much worse laying other back. She doesn't want tone here, not without him.
"Emma, you have to push, now." She screams in agony as she pushes with all her might. The pain of birth is unbelievable, but it is nothing compared to the ache in her heart. He should be here, with her, welcoming their child into the world. This should be a happy moment, but all Emma can feel is heartbreak. Another contraction rides right on the back of the previous one, and everything seems to burn as the baby's head crowns. The pressure eases slightly as the baby''s head slips completely free, but Emma's hands clench on the bed rails hating the doctors fingers inside her as he checks to make sure the umbilical cord isn't wrapped around the baby's neck. The metal rails provide some comfort against Emma's sweaty, hot skin, but she would give anything to be holding the warm flesh of Neal's calloused hands. Today is the last day with their baby, the last day Emma will allow herself to wallow in his memory. Tomorrow he will be nothing but a distant part of her past, locked away in the corners of her heart. The pressure returns with an overwhelming urgency. The lights flicker as Emma screams, releasing the baby into the outside world. She hears a cry and squeezes her eyes shut as tears flow down her cheeks. "Do you want to see your son, Emma?" She shakes her head no, clenching her jaw to prevent a sob from escaping. A son. What if he looks like Neal? She won't look; she can't. She would never forget the sight of her little boy, just like she'll never forget his father. No. It's not her little boy, not their baby; he belongs to someone in Maine, someone who will be able to love and take care of him. Someone who will give him his best chance.
A/N: I've never given birth, so parts of this were very much well educated guess work. If anything is woefully inaccurate, please let me know! Thanks for reading :)