The story of how the swan lost her wings and couldn't have been happier.

The Flight of the Swan

II.

The Last Flight of the Swan

Emma had spent her whole life in flight. Moving. Running. Leaving.

When she was eight years old, her foster brother hit her across the face after she accidentally broke one of his toy cars. She flew two miles down the dusty California road before the family found her. When she was ten, she tried to find her birth parents. She made it as far as the highway before a policeman picked her up and brought her back to her new family. When she was fourteen, she got in with a bad crowd and got kicked out of her fifth home after they found her cigarettes. She fluttered between towns, living on the streets for two weeks before a social worker happened upon her and put her back in the system.

When she was eighteen, she packed her bag, spread her wings, and left her seventh and final foster family.

For the first time in her life, she had hope and freedom and possibilities. And with no destination in mind, she hopped in her trusty yellow car and let the wind carry her.

Arizona was right next door, so she found a tiny apartment in Phoenix and a job at a diner across the street. She thrived in that never-ending buzz of activity, and in that heat, she was content.

She thought she might stay there forever.

And everything was going so smoothly until she met him. He was emotionally unavailable but led her on anyway and she was young and craving intimacy. She had never planned on falling in love, but before she knew it, she fell into his trap, seduced by secret meetings, stolen kisses, and promises of the future, promises of forever.

But forever never came and those promises were left hanging, and she was left hanging that cold, rainy night as he walked out of the diner and out of her life.

And the words she had tried to say – I'm pregnant – were left hanging in her throat as she stood there alone and willed herself not to cry.

At eighteen, Emma had a high school diploma, a job waiting tables, a tiny studio apartment, and a baby on the way. And somewhere in those eighteen years, her life had become exactly what she had never wanted.

But Emma was a fighter, and if she could survive being tossed on the side of a freeway as a newborn, she could survive this too. So she took vitamins, practiced yoga, and found the perfect family for her baby. And despite how much she hated the idea of doing to her child what her parents had done to her, she knew without a doubt that her decision was for the best.

Those nine months passed by quicker than she had ever known, and before she knew it, she was cradling her tiny little baby, her son, in her arms. He wrapped his hand around her finger and in that moment, she felt her resolve falter. In that moment, she would have given up anything for him – she would have stayed, settled down in Arizona, tucked away her wings for him. But then, her eye caught her apron, draped over the back of a chair. And she knew she could never keep him. For the child in her arms, her precious baby boy, deserved better than to be a waitress's son.

In her first and last moment with him, she rocked him back and forth, and whispered a familiar lullaby.

Little boy blue, come blow your horn. The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn. Where is that boy who looks after the sheep? Under the haystack, fast asleep. Will you wake him? Oh no, not I. For if I do, he will surely cry.

She hoped his first memory might be of her voice.

As she stroked his cheek, the nurse came in, I have to take him now. And Emma put on her bravest smile even as her heart was breaking and leaned down to kiss him goodbye.

I'm so sorry, she murmured, but I wanted you to have your best chance. And before the nurse picked him up from her arms, she swore she could feel his hand tighten around her finger ever so slightly, as if to say, I know, I understand.

She watched the nurse carry him out of her life and didn't allow herself to cry until they were gone. And later that night, when her tears had dried, she drifted off to sleep and dreamed of a tiny hand and soft cheeks and a warmth against her heart.

Anyone else might have given up after living the life Emma had in just eighteen years, but Emma was a fighter, and if she could survive her pregnancy, she could survive the aftermath too. With the adoption completed, her baby gone, there was nothing left to tie her to Arizona, so Emma did what she did best. She left.

Missouri was next, then Michigan, then Illinois. She stayed in Pennsylvania for a while, and then took an extended detour in Florida. She hadn't planned on staying there for quite so long, but it was in Florida where she first got into her line of work. She had a natural talent for finding people and there was a lot of work down in the sunshine state, and that was why she stayed. But another part of her stayed out of a secret longing that she might one day find them: her parents, or her son.

And it was because of this longing that she took case after case, even as common sense told her to pick up a more stable line of work. But Emma had never known stable and if she did, she couldn't remember, so a bail bondsman she remained.

One particularly difficult case led her to Boston, and despite a mostly nasty run in with the Feds, she took a shine to the city and found a nice apartment and settled down on the east coast. And everything was going so smoothly until she met him. Until he found her. The son she had given up ten years ago, the son she always secretly hoped to someday meet again.

He was a lot smaller and skinner than she imagined and for a moment, she wondered if he was playing a practical joke. But then he waltzed right into her apartment like he belonged there and asked her to bring him home and she knew by the attitude in his voice and the glint in his eye that he was hers. And for as brave as he acted, she could still see a hint of fear in his face, a look that was so familiar, because she had been like him once – young and abandoned and alone.

And she couldn't really say no, could she, not to this kid, her kid, so she sighed and went with him to a town called Storybrooke.

She never meant to stay. She had done her part, she had returned the kid, and that should've been the end of it. And she hadn't planned on it, but she fell for that little boy named Henry with the brown hair and brown eyes, and she found that the love she had for him remained the same, even ten years later.

He spoke of magic and curses, and it was crazy, it was all so crazy, but Emma listened anyway because she loved hearing him speak. And ten years later, here she was again, falling into love's trap, full of secret meetings and promises for the future.

But she knew better now – she knew how this story would end, with someone getting hurt, someone left alone and crying. Because Henry was not hers and maybe he never was, and he was better off without her, he was better off with the mayor.

Emma was a flight risk, she always had been. And Henry deserved better than to be her son.

But every time she tried to leave, she felt a tugging in her heart, a hesitation in her step and there was just something about that place and those people that made her want to shed her wings and settle down.

And a small part of Emma, or maybe a rather big part, had long since grown tired of moving, leaving, running. And she loved having the freedom to stretch her wings, but sometimes, she just wanted to stay on the ground.

And sometimes, all she wanted was for someone to want her, for someone to want her around. And it was here, in Storybrooke, where she found those people.

Stay with me, Henry begged.

I think you have to stay, Mary Margaret murmured.

Stay a while, Graham said.

And so, Emma shed her wings and was finally content.

And she thought, she knew, she would stay there forever.