Three months later
Emma stumbled through her front door, toeing off her heels. She slumped against the hallway wall tiredly, as the silence of the apartment overwhelmed her like it always did whenever she came home.
She slid down the wall, pulling her knees to her chest, hugging herself tight, resting her forehead on her knees as she struggled to breath. She couldn't do this, this whole looking for myself thing. She was living a lie, her entire life back in a town in Maine.
She pulled out her phone from her purse, dialling her parents' number, her thumb hovering over the call button. She hadn't contacted them since she left, without even a goodbye. She hadn't let them know, and she hadn't even visited like she said she would. She'd ignored everyone of their calls and texts. She didn't know if they would even take her back.
They would, a voice in the back of her mind replied. They're your parents. They would take you back in a heartbeat.
She felt the traitorous tears fall down her cheeks as she struggled to breathe, to reign in her emotions before she realised that no one was there to see her like this. No one was there because she left them. She left her parents. Henry. Oh god, Henry. She left him just like she had been left behind as a kid. And Killian, her mind reminded her as his last words to her echoed through her mind.
"You leave now, Emma, and that is it. I won't come for you this time."
Outraged, she threw her phone against the wall watching it as it shattered into pieces, much like her heart. She started to sob loudly, sitting broken and pathetic against the wall, all alone because she was too scared.
Coward, a familiarly accented voice called out mockingly, making her cry harder, yearning to hear his voice again. For real.
His touch haunts her when she dreams and his voice when she's awake. Tormenting her, teasing her, loving her.
She could still see his broken, betrayed expression behind her eyes, clear as the night it happened. She could still see Henry's unbidden anger. She could remember it with startling clarity that every time she thought of it, it crippled her, rendering her a useless, sobbing mess.
This was all a mistake. A big mistake. A coward's way out and she needed to fix it. She needs to go back.
She struggled to get up from her perch on the floor, gripping the wall for support. She walked through the living room, rushing past the empty walls stripped off of every reminder of Henry. She stumbled past his old, now empty bedroom, her resolve growing. Hurriedly she packed everything she needed, making all the calls necessary to make arrangements for the rest of this stuff to be sent back to Stroybrooke. This time, she had no plans on returning. That was her home. It always had been. She just needs to get it back.
She stuffed her bags into her car, feeling half-giddy and half-terrified out of her mind. But it was time she owned up to her mistakes. It was time she returned to her parents, her son. Her true love. She revved her engine, speeding (as fast as her car could) down the road, towards Storybrooke.
-/-
She stayed in her car for a very long time after she reached the apartment, trying to build up the courage to go and knock on their door. She knew for a fact that even though it was pretty late, they weren't asleep. She could see that the lights were still on through the window facing the street.
She felt her heart speed up as she thought about how she was going to see her parents again. Her little brother, see how much he'd grown in the time she'd been gone. She shouldn't have left at all, she repeated to herself. It was momentary lapse and now she has no idea what sort of chaos it created in her family.
Whether they would forgive her. Whether Henry would. Whether Killian would. She had hurt him the most, she knew. She'd dangled a future together only to snatch it and run away with it. She rubbed her tired eyes, her self-depreciation getting the best of her.
She swallowed down her emotions painfully around the lump in her throat. Time to face the music, she decided, grabbing the duffle bag next to her and getting out of the car. She could get the rest later, she had to go see her parents now.
-/-
"David, could you get me Leo's bottle for me?" Mary Margret called out, cradling her son against her, rocking him back and forth as she soothed him, singing softly. "David?" she called out when she didn't hear a reply from him.
She carried their son to the living room in search of his father, her eyes tearing up at the sight. Her husband was sitting, looking defeated at the picture of her and Emma. His thumb was tracing their daughter's face, a fat drop of tear landing on the glass.
"Oh, David," she mumbled, sitting next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "She'll come back to us," she assured, kissing his cheek reassuringly.
"She's been gone for three months. Without a single phone call or text or anything. She's not coming back, Mary Margret," he whispered back, his voice devoid of any emotion.
"Don't say that," she admonished gently. "You heard what Killian said. She said she'd visit. That she just needed space. She'll come back to us, David. We just need to have faith," she said, shifting Leo in her arms so that she could embrace him from the side.
"He said that to reassure Henry. May Margret, we've lived our whole lives holding on to faith, letting fate decide for us. Look at where it's led us now," he argued.
"We're happy now. Emma may not be with us, but we know she's safe. David, I know how much it hurts, I do. Sometimes, it's only the faith that I hold onto when the pain gets too much. So, don't tell me to stop hoping because that's all I have. Hope that someday our daughter will come back to us, just like she did before." She was crying at this point, rendering David speechless.
"I didn't realise-"
"That I wasn't really okay with her going? I didn't either. I thought I'd come to terms with it, but-" before she could finish, they were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. She raised her eyebrows in question, as David shrugged.
"Were you expecting someone?" she asked.
"No," he stood up, going to answer the door.
"If it's one of your 'mates' again asking you to another one of your 'man-talks', you're not going," she warned, going to the kitchen.
"It's guy talk," he grumbled in retaliation, making her roll her eyes. He opened the door, starting to decline whoever was there on the other side, when he saw who it was.
His hand slipped off the door handle in shock, speechless and eyes wide is disbelief. He blinked, thinking it was an illusion, because it couldn't be his daughter standing in front of him, eyes red with a duffle bag grasped in her hands.
He must have been too lost in his own thoughts because he didn't hear Mary Margret come behind him. But he did hear her gasp, pulling him painfully back to reality.
"Emma!" she cried, her hand covering her mouth in disbelief as tears sprang in her eyes.
The blonde smiled back, her lower lip trembling as tears welled in her own eyes. "Hi, mom. Dad," she said weakly, fidgeting in the doorway.
The next moment David had pulled her into a tight hug, his hand holding her head to his shoulder, even as his eyes remained open in shock. Mary Margret soon joined the hug, careful not to squish the baby between them.
"Oh, Emma," she cried. "I'm so glad you're back."
"I'm so sorry," Emma sobbed into his shoulder. "I am so, so sorry that I left like that. I'm sorry, dad, mom," she whimpered, even as the two of them soothed her.
They slowly pulled her into the house, closing the door. David sat her down on the couch, taking a seat next to her as Mary Margret bustled around the kitchen making hot chocolate.
"I'm so sorry," she mumbled again, leaning her forehead on her father's shoulder.
"Shhh, it's okay," he murmured soothingly. "It's okay, it's okay. We're here."
"I shouldn't have left. I wanted to come back every day."
He was tempted to ask why she didn't, but wisely chose to keep his mouth shut, gently running his hand down her hair, revelling in the feeling.
"It's okay. You're here now," he replied, pressing a kiss into her hair.
"Here," Mary Margret said, handing her her hot chocolate. "It'll help your relax."
"Thank you," Emma whispered, her voice hoarse from tears.
"Mom, I'm sorry for running away like that," she apologised, hugging the woman in question.
"Well, I guess this made up for your teenage tantrums," she joked tearfully, making the other two chuckle lightly. "I'm so glad you're home, honey."
"I'm glad to be home," she croaked. David and Mary Margret exchanged watery smiles, as she mouthed Hope, making her husband smile wider, as he ran a warm hand up and down his daughter's back.