Emma woke in her bed as usual, and turned over, sliding her hand over Killian's chest and humming lightly, all thoughts of the vile orange cloud of smoke that haunted her dreams erased by the feel of his skin under her fingertips. Feeling a little cheeky, she slid her hand down Killian's torso, intending to wake him up with a pleasant surprise. As her fingertips toyed with the waistband of his pants, he moved in a sudden motion, his hand grabbing her wrist tightly, his head turned to face her, eyes boring into hers.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Killian growled, and if it weren't for his voice, Emma would think that he might just be playing with her.

"I was just –" she started, shrinking away from him slightly as his grip on her wrist tightened.

"I know what you were just doing, you evil witch," he snarled, his eyes like daggers of ice.

"Killian…"

"How dare you call me by that name!" He flung her arm away with such force that she toppled out of the bed, wincing at the pain the laced through her wrist as she landed. "Get out of my house, vile woman, and do not return!"

"What happened to you?" Emma asked, using the mattress to pull herself up.

"Nothing has happened to me, woman, I am exactly the way I have always been," Killian answered, the hatred in his voice tempered with confusion.

"But yesterday," she stammered, trying not to look at him directly, "yesterday you loved me."

"As though I could ever love someone such as yourself," he sneered, and his voice had never sounded so cold.

Emma turned on her heels and fled the bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time in her haste to leave the house. As she opened the door, she reached up to grab her jacket from its customary place on the hook, but it was not there. With a curious look at the little row of hooks, none of which held her jacket, Emma fled the house, desperately trying to hold back the tears that pricked the corners of her eyes.

She made her way to the docks, sitting down at the edge and dangling her feet over, kicking them back and forth over the blue-green water. As her thoughts grew darker, the water beneath her toes began to churn, and the sky grew cloudier, a storm brewing high in the heavens. Emma didn't even realize what she was doing until raindrops began to fall thick on the docks, soaking her through in a matter of seconds. She hopped to her feet and took off, running to her parents' loft a few blocks away, and pushing open the door without a knock or a second thought.

"Mom? Dad?" she called out as she opened the door, and five startled faces turned to look at her.

"What are you doing in my house?" David asked harshly, moving to stand protectively between Emma and Mary Margaret, who had pulled Neal into her arms. Only twice before had Emma seen her mother look at her with such fear in her eyes, and it made her shiver to think of it.

"Dad, what are you -?"

"Why are you calling me that?" David interrupted, his hand moving to one of the guns holstered at his side. "I am most definitely not your father."

"Be careful, David, the evil wench must be trying to trick you," Killian said, stepping forward and raising his hook.

Emma ignored his words and looked at her son, hoping that he might be able to help her understand what was going on.

"Henry, please –" she started, and he jumped a little as she addressed him.

"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO MY SON!" Killian roared, stepping forward with his hook raised, held back only by David's hand on his shoulder.

"What do you want from us?" Mary Margaret asked, her voice cold, the same tone Emma had heard her use with countless villains.

"Who do you think I am?" Emma pleaded, trying to appeal to her mother's compassion and ignoring the others. "What did I do to you?"

"You're the Lady Morganna," Mary Margaret answered plainly.

"You killed our daughter," David continued, clenching his teeth.

"And Lily," Mary Margaret added.

"I didn't…" Emma stammered, astounded by their accusations.

"You think we don't know who killed our own daughter?" David replied angrily, his voice rising dangerously.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, backing away from the hateful stares that bored into her. "I'm sorry."

Emma ran from the loft, her mind spinning with all the information. How could her parents and herhusband not know her anymore? How could they hate her so much? How could they honestly believe she had killed anyone? She felt hurt and betrayed, but even so, she knew in the back of her mind that it was not their fault. The whole thing reeked of a curse, but to figure out how to fix it, she had to determine how much damage it had done. Emma redirected her footsteps, heading back to the house Killian had picked out for them, safe in the knowledge that he and Henry were at the loft.

She pushed open the door and stood in the hallway, unsure of where to start. The pictures they had hung on the wall caught her attention, and slowly Emma made her way toward them. When she saw them, Emma's breath caught in her throat, and tears burned in her eyes. She had been removed from every single photo, as though she had never existed. Most of the pictures were of Killian and Henry, but in a few, in the ones that had just been of her and Killian, she had been replaced by images of Milah. She focused on the large photo they had framed of their wedding day, but instead of seeing her blonde curls tumbling over the white silk dress, she saw Milah's dark ones. It was Milah's hands that clutched the bouquet of flowers, Milah's eyes that smiled up at Killian, Milah's face that Killian's fingers caressed.

"What are you doing here?"

Emma jumped, she had not heard the door open. Killian stood there in the open doorway, rainwater dripping from his hair, blue eyes as cold as ice. Emma hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks, taking a deep breath to prepare herself for the onslaught of his hate.

"I was just trying to find some answers," she said, her eyes flickering up to meet his.

"In my family photographs?" he pressed, stepping forward, the clack of his boots on the wood floor sounding threatening.

"Sometimes answers can be found in unlikely places," she replied.

"Apparently," he hissed, taking another step forward.

"Killian, please listen to me," Emma pleaded, trying to convey her honesty through her eyes. "Something is wrong, there's been a curse…"

"Why would I ever believe you?" he spat, now standing menacingly close.

"Because I know that deep down, there is a part of you that knows that something doesn't make sense," Emma said, trying to recall all the things that had been said in their previous meetings to help change each others mind. "There is some part of you, Killian, that trusts me, that believes what I'm saying right now."

"It is just some magic spell you have put on me," Killian retorted, but his voice lacked the conviction it had held moments earlier.

"Killian, I would never use my magic to hurt you," Emma said, and he gave a small jerk of the head that Emma thought may have been a nod.

"Tell me what it is you believe has happened," he conceded, "though I cannot promise to believe what you say."

"Last night, Maleficent unleashed a curse on the town," Emma explained her theory. "The curse erased me – my real identity – from all of your memories, and replaced them with memories of someone you hated. My guess is that the stronger your feelings of love for me were, the stronger the feelings of hate became."

"I have told you before, Morganna, there is no possible way that I could ever have loved you," Killian denied, but his voice was softer, and she could hear that her words had had some effect on him.

"My name is not Morganna," she answered, stepping a little closer to him, "it's Emma."

When he heard her name, it was as though something inside of him broke, some instinct that told him to hate her was lifted. He need only think the name Emma to be flooded with memories of trust and warmth, and knew this woman before him must have something to do with that feeling, whether he remembered it or not. Before he really knew what he was doing, he had closed the space between them, his lips crashing into hers. He had a brief moment to process how soft her lips were before he felt magic rush forth from him, and a bright light illuminated his closed eyelids.

"Emma," he murmured into her lips as the memories came flooding back to him. "Emma, I love you."

"I love you too," she answered, and when she opened her eyes, she found herself restored to all the pictures on the wall, her red leather jacket hanging from its place on the hook by the door.