a/n: hello all! i know it's been a while since i've updated this story, but i hope y'all are still excited for it. i've just finished the fourth chapter, so im crossing my fingers that my muse stays interested in the story so i can update it more often. but i can't make any promises lol. this chapter isn't too long, but the future chapters are a little bit longer. enjoy!


She learned as much as she could about her unknown son.

Archie answered any and all questions that she had, at least to the best of his own knowledge. Archie gave Emma his personal cell phone number, telling her that it was absolutely okay for her to text him or call him if she had any future questions. Emma texted Archie random questions that she was sure he wouldn't know the answer to about her son, but he always texted back quickly with an answer, which led Emma to believe that he was in close contact with the son she gave up so many years ago.

Emma learned that his name was Charlie.

Emma learned that Charlie was adopted when he was a week old by the Nolan's.

Emma learned that Charlie was a straight-A student in every grade and was quite the drawer.

(Emma tucked that piece of knowledge deep into her mind, counting that as one similarity with his father.)

She also learned that he was a freshman at Boston University, the very same place where she taught, majoring in graphic design.

(Yet another similarity with his father.)

With the knowledge that her son—Charlie—was so close, Emma's heart froze. Her niggling fears about meeting him reared their ugly heads. She was so sure that he would be angry with her for putting him up for adoption, when she went on to have another child and kept him. She was positive that Charlie would hate her, would want nothing to do with her just as she chose not to have anything to do with him. Emma wasn't sure how she would explain herself to him, even though she wanted him to know that it wasn't like that. She wanted to keep him more than anything in her young life, but she also knew that putting him up for adoption would give him his best chance at the life she never had.

And from what Archie had told her, Emma knew it was the correct decision.

And when Archie called her two weeks after their very first phone call, telling her that Charlie wished to meet her as soon as her schedule permitted, Emma swallowed back the knot in her throat and reiterated what she had told Archie that Saturday two weeks ago.

She would meet Charlie.

She would meet Charlie in exactly one week, at a bench at BU Beach.

After the meeting was set, Emma's mind changed between wanting to call Archie to cancel the meeting and just blissful acceptance that she would finally be meeting the baby she gave up all those years ago. Henry helped her through her waves of indecision, encouraging Emma and reminding her that this was the right decision. And every time Emma looked into Henry's eyes, she knew it was indeed the right decision. Her kid deserved a brother—something she never thought she would ever be able to give him.

And Emma could see that Henry was more than excited about the prospect of a sibling. When Henry wasn't assuring Emma that she should meet Charlie because it was the right thing to do, Henry flounced around ideas for sibling nights, where the two of them just played video games and ate pizza, just the two of them when Emma was gone on one of her relatively frequent trips across the country or world. And she loved that he was so excited about Charlie. Deep down, it had been another fear of Emma's, that Henry would find out she had had another son before him and he would be angry with her for allowing the baby to slip through her fingers. But that fear had been fruitless, as Henry had always been happy being an only child and was already surrounded by close friends—something that Emma was always so proud of him for finding at such a young age.

As the days grew closer, Emma found herself unable to focus on anything. Her students' assignments were beginning to accumulate on her desk, both at home and in her office at school. Whenever she sat down to begin grading them, her mind would drift off to the baby she heard screaming that day, with lungs as powerful as an opera singer. And through that train of thought, Emma would pull up Google and type in the name 'Killian Jones.' Lists of links would pull up, but none ever yielded much. Only his LinkedIn profile, yet again, which did show a promising email address.

She should tell him.

She should definitely tell him.

But Emma would always shake her head, closing out of the browser and leaving her desk to find something else to keep her mind occupied. She had been sure that she would never need to contact the man she had never stopped thinking about, that there would never be any excuse for it. But now, with Charlie's meeting edging closer and closer, Emma knew that she should tell him. She had to tell him. She had to confess to Killian Jones that she had kept a secret from him for eighteen years. She had to confess that they were still talking when she had found out—when he was back in England and going to school and Emma was back in Augusta in her final year of high school—and that was why she ceased all communication with him.

She had to confess that she ached for his hand in hers when her (their) son entered the world and was immediately taken away to his new family.

But no, Emma wouldn't do it. Even though she had to confront the child she gave up, she wouldn't confront the man that left.

She couldn't.


"Tomorrow's the big day, isn't it?" Elsa asked as she poured red wine into the glass in front of Emma's plate.

Emma nodded, pushing a piece of steamed broccoli around her plate as Henry eagerly ate his grilled chicken. "It is."

"You nervous?" Elsa asked as she turned to her own glass, pouring it halfway and then placing the bottle back onto the island behind the kitchen table.

Emma took a deep breath as she speared the broccoli. "No."

Henry snorted at his place on Emma's left at the four-top table, his mouth full of half-chewed chicken and rice pilaf. "Yeah, she is."

"Henry," Emma spoke sternly as she looked over at him.

"What? You are," Henry replied, then looked back at his aunt Elsa. "She paces around all of the time. She mutters about calling Archie back to cancel the meeting. I've had to talk her down from the ledge at least twenty times in the past three days."

"Henry."

"Sorry, Mom."

"Why are you so nervous?" Elsa asked as she took her seat again and picked up her fork to spear her chicken. "I thought this was what you wanted."

Emma sighed and relaxed in her seat with her arms crossed over her chest. She stared at the bunching of her blazer around her elbows as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. She didn't want to lay all of her cards on the table, so to speak. She didn't need help. She would deal with her anxiety on her own, even though what Henry said was true. Emma didn't need her sister to repeat the same things that Emma herself had been telling herself since she set the date to meet Charlie.

"It is. I'm fine, Elsa," Emma spoke, looking up at her sister's worried, bright blue eyes. "We're meeting tomorrow at three at BU Beach. I'll be wearing my red jacket and he'll be wearing green Converse sneakers. Everything will go fine."

"Is that you assuring me or is that you assuring yourself?" Elsa asked and damn her and her freaking psychologist stare.

"Elsa."

"I'm just saying, Emma," Elsa replied, shrugging.

"I'm fine, Elsa. I can handle it," Emma repeated.

Elsa sighed and glanced over at her nephew, who was continuing to shovel food into his mouth. "Henry, would you like to go to my bedroom and watch some TV? I'd like to talk to your mother alone for just a moment."

Henry nodded as he scooted out from his chair, grabbing his plate as he stood from his chair. "Okay."

Henry quietly walked past the couch in the living area, and through the bedroom door, against the far wall of the apartment. Emma sighed as she looked at her sister, already aware of where this conversation was going. Even though Emma was adopted at the tender age of twelve into Ingrid's family, where Elsa became her sister, Emma knew that look. She had seen it when Emma hid a failing grade from Ingrid or when Emma snuck out the night before to go see Killian during that summer.

She had seen it when Emma was hiding the fact that she had missed her period and she had no idea what to do.

"Please don't pull the psychologist shit on me, Elsa," Emma begged once she heard the door close behind Henry.

"I won't. But I'll pull the sister shit on you," Elsa replied, sitting forward in her chair and pushing her plate away from her to fold her arms on the table. "Why are you freaking out?"

"Elsa, please—"

"No. Stop running away from your issues. Why are you freaking out?"

"Elsa, seriously I'm not gonna talk about it. Just leave it be," Emma replied with her teeth clenching. "I will be fine. I will handle it. I just need a good night's sleep and my normal coffee tomorrow and I'll be okay. If I'm not, then you can gladly tell me 'you should've talked about it.' But right now, I just don't want to. Okay?"

"You gonna tell Killian?"

Emma sighed and groaned at the same time, dropping her head against the back of her chair. "Elsa, I will take care of it. Please, just leave it be."

"He deserves to know, Emma—"

"Dammit, Elsa, I know!" Emma exclaimed as she slammed her hand on the wooden table, looking back at her sister across the table. "I know that he deserves to know. I will do it when I'm good and ready."

"And you haven't been ready for the past eighteen years?" Elsa asked, with her arms now crossed firmly over her chest. "You should've told him immediately, and now it's going to be much worse when he does find out because he'll know you kept this secret from him for so long."

"I know how you feel about it, Elsa. I recall those conversations from when I was pregnant. Just let me fucking deal with it on my own, alright? Give me time. And who knows, Charlie may not even care about knowing his father."

Elsa raised her eyebrows and Emma knew that that last statement was a far shot. If Charlie wanted to meet his biological mother, he more than likely would want to meet his biological father. But a part of Emma was still hoping that he wouldn't care to meet him, that she would be enough for him.

(But she never was.)

"I'm gonna head out," Emma spoke as she scooted from her chair, the chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. "I have papers I really need to begin grading before I get emails from students and parents about the lack of grades."

"Emma—"

"I'll call you after the meeting tomorrow, if I'm up for it," Emma spoke, not looking over at her sister as she walked to the island beside the table and grabbed her purse. "Henry, it's time to go!"

A few moments later, Henry exited Elsa's bedroom, looking rather sheepish. Emma realized that he must've heard her outburst at Elsa, given that Emma wasn't exactly quiet about it. When Henry reached the kitchen table and placed his now-empty plate, Emma wrapped her arm over his shoulder to soothe him and said "goodbye" over her shoulder to Elsa, who remained at the kitchen table. Other than that simple word, Emma and Henry exited the apartment silently and Emma's thoughts drifted back to the anxiety surrounding the big meeting tomorrow.

And that night, when Emma found herself unable to sleep, she sat at the desk in her bedroom, staring at the LinkedIn page for Killian Jones. She stared at the email address there, nearly clicking on it several times over. She knew she had to tell him. He deserved to know, just as Elsa had said. And even though Emma knew she had to tell him, she knew he would be angry, and rightfully so. But, even after eighteen years, Emma still held some love for the boy she met that summer. She didn't want to experience his anger, even if she deserved it. She wanted him to be happy, even if it meant keeping him in the dark. She didn't want to ruin his life simply because she didn't have the nerve to tell him eighteen years ago.

So, reluctantly, Emma closed out of the browser at three in the morning, after staring at the screen for the past three hours, and crawled back into her bed, where she remained sleepless.


"Are you alright, Emma?" Belle asked and Emma is pulled from her thoughts, staring at her computer screen and she honestly had no idea when Belle showed up.

"What—oh yeah, I'm fine," Emma replied as she looked over at her open door, where Belle stood in those ridiculously high heels of hers.

Belle pursed her lips as she stepped into Emma's office, her hands folded in front of her with a stack of manila folders bursting at the seams. Her gentle eyes stared at Emma and Emma suddenly felt as though Belle could sniff the secret right out of her.

"You've been distant for the past few weeks. You're not alright," Belle astutely stated in her Australian accent. "You know you can talk to me if you need to, right?"

Emma let out a deep breath and nodded. "I know. A lot of stuff is going on. I'm fine, Belle. Really."

"Will's been saying that you don't spend much time in your office anymore," Belle spoke and Emma sighed.

"Fucking Scarlet," Emma grumbled under her breath about the man who occupied the office directly across from her. Of course he'd spill those details to his wife. Emma rubbed her eyes as she glanced down at the clock on her computer. 2:28. "I'm fine, Belle. Seriously. But I gotta head out right now anyways."

Belle sighed and looked dejected, which made Emma feel sorry. She wanted to talk to her friend about all of this, but Emma also didn't want to risk something so personal to get out. Emma would tell Belle later, when things were more figured out. She didn't want to tempt fate by telling her friend about all of this before even meeting the son she gave up all those years ago. It would wait.

"We'll get lunch or something next week, okay?" Emma spoke as she heaved the strap of her bag onto her shoulder and dropped her cell phone into the pocket of her red leather jacket.

"Of course. Have a nice weekend," Belle replied with a smile as she waved and exited Emma's office just in front of Emma.

As she locked her office door and marched out of the exit of the building, Emma's thoughts went blank. From the nerves of the upcoming meeting with Charlie and the anxiety of all of the homework she had to grade, Emma's mind just shut off from the stress of it all. At this point, she had worried enough about everything that her brain just decided that enough was enough. So, Emma walked thoughtlessly to the large park dubbed BU Beach and sat on a bench near the large metal sculpture there. Behind her, a busy road interrupted the silence of the green pasture. And after that road laid the Charles River, drifting slowly on this early autumn day.

She just allowed herself to listen to the rushing cars and to the conversations of the people who also chose to relax at BU Beach. There were countless students lying in the grass around her, talking with their friends or studying for whatever homework they may have. They were all utterly clueless to the fact that Emma's life was going to change forever in just a few short minutes. It was just an average day to everyone else at this grassy knoll. To Emma, this day would be remembered forever. She clasped her hands together on her lap and they twisted together nervously. It seemed as though her nerves weren't even being caused by her thoughts anymore. Her nerves had settled into her bones and muscles, causing her to shake even though she wasn't even thinking anything anymore.

Emma stared down at her hands, taking deep breaths to steady her pounding heart. She couldn't help but be nervous about the meeting. She knew it could go about twenty different ways, but she couldn't help but attempt to prepare for the worst of them. Emma expected Charlie to yell at her, to ask her why she had to give him up all those years ago. And honestly, Emma thought she deserved it. She didn't think she deserved happiness after giving him up, even though she was young and knew she had to do it to give him his best chance.

And what if he wasn't angry with her? What if Charlie truly wanted to know his biological mother?

Emma didn't know if she was prepared for that, especially if he asked questions about his biological father. She knew that if their meeting went that route, he was bound to ask about his father. But Emma knew she would not be ready for that, no matter how long it took for Charlie to ask her about him. Sure, she still remembered every little thing about Killian Jones. But it was a different thing to actually tell someone about him, rehashing those old wounds and scars.

Oh man, she was not ready for this.

A thought sprang into her head that she didn't have to do this. She could just leave. There was still a few minutes before it was three and she had plenty of time to leave, to forget that this had ever happened. She could block Archie's phone number and try to forget that she was a coward.

But before she could even react to her thought, a voice called to her.

"Dr. Emma Swan?"