Goodbye
Storybrooke's sign looks much more worn off than what she remembered, the name now barely visible, the painted town line also starting to fade. And as strange at that is, as she stands in front of it, hands on her pockets, her key cars carefully tucked on her right one, the visual of that slowly disappearing line makes her smile tightly, tears building up behind her eyes, the smell of woods making her remember again, remember the freedom she had once felt, the feeling of happiness, of a finally chosen life waiting in front of her.
She wonders, in the middle of basically nothing, jacket closed and face half covered by her hair, slightly shorter now, she wonders where her path had started to move again even though she had finally decided that it was time to settle, settle with the woman who had been so much, who had brought her pain and happiness, love and confusion. She wonders when her promise to live there, next to the ones who had turned out to be her family, had started to feel like a chain, like a jail, instead of comforting.
She couldn't place the moment, the second, she couldn't place the time in where looking at Regina had been too much. Not love, not anymore.
And they had loved each other so fiercely, so passionately, that when she had finally realized that the flame had gone she was merely able to chock, feeling the coldness reaching for her again, long digits caressing her flesh, whispers of another places echoing inside of her every time she tried to sleep.
She didn't want to hurt the former queen, not on purpose at least, she only wanted to keep walking her path. And maybe she should have fought harder, better, or maybe she had actually fought too much and that's why everything looked grey at that point. It hadn't mattered at that time and she couldn't decide it now.
She had loved her too much, she had loved until every piece of her was bleeding and raw, when every piece of her soul was marked with the brunette's name. She had loved and waited and thought that her feelings weren't real anymore. She had fought and stood and cried.
She had broken in two, and in three and four and she had given everything in order to protect the woman, just because she couldn't stomach the idea of losing her and when she had finally opened her eyes and saw Regina's looking back at her she had merely been able to laugh.
But life wasn't a fairytale, it didn't have words, it didn't stop only because the narrator stopped paying attention. Life went on, life changed.
And so did her.
And she had loved Regina and probably she forever would because every time she caught a whiff of her perfume in some strange place in whatever town she was she almost wanted to smile and cry and call her. And every time she heard her name she needed to swallow and try not to think on her smile, her brown eyes, her red lips, her gentle hands, her strength, strength that had been so pure even when she hadn't believed in herself.
She wouldn't forget that, the touch of the other woman skin, their rings clicking together, promises shared under droplets of water, words whispered with still sharp edges but soft undertones. She wouldn't forget.
Because the day she had sat in front of the brunette, hands nervously moving, eyes looking at everywhere but at the older woman's eyes, she had known that she wouldn't be able to stay there.
Because it would hurt too much, it was too much.
And she had probably tried to ask for forgiveness a hundred of times now, calling in the middle of the night and hanging up before the phone started ringing, too coward to be able to find the words.
"Sorry because I failed you, sorry because I needed to go"
The words were like knives, too sharp, too lethal and so she didn't call, not even after the days transformed themselves in months, in years.
And yet…
She never forgot her; because there are persons who don't matter how much you tell yourself that you have already done it, they never leave you. They are there, walking next to you, looking at you from points of the past in where you thought that you were your definite version of yourself. And you were wrong.
She is far from perfect, far from a hero. She is her and she loved once, then twice and then she thought that she had walked enough. But she is not only the daughter of two written characters, she is her and so she has a path, a path she needs to walk.
The veil moves and a young man is standing there, green eyes just like hers looking straightly at where she is, a sad smile on his face, a face that makes Emma think of the man that died so long ago, of the woman that is still there, maybe, behind the veil.
"Hello Henry" She says and Henry nods, anger no longer tainting his movements but tiredness. He is holding his backpack and he looks as young as Emma now felt herself back when her world first changed.
"Mum says goodbye" The young man answers as he walks towards her, taller than her but still looking at her with the same awe he once used back when he was ten. And Emma wants to cry and smile at the same time.
"Is she ok?" She manages to ask and well, she almost wants to turn and look, look for anything at the other side of the veil. Look for her. Even when she has long ago moved away. Or maybe not.
The boy nods and sighs. Not wanting to say anything, unable maybe to answer.
"She is"
And Emma knows that what hurts the most is that Henry looks sincere. And that she is left alone, in the middle of a road of the place that it was once her home but not anymore. And what hurts it's not that but the memories, the memories of the one she was, of the path she built, of the people she loved. Of the people she knew.
"I'm happy for her" She finally says. And she is.
She is.