The days went on like that, with the two of them fighting on and off. Some nights were fine; they tucked Henry into bed together, kissed his forehead, and went to bed to fall asleep in each others arms. Other nights, Emma found herself drunk, empty, lonely, and back on the couch. All Henry understood was that his parents were fighting; he had no idea why. And they certainly weren't about to tell him. Luckily, Henry had also managed never to see his mother intoxicated. She usually either went out to the bars or waited until he was asleep to start drinking.
"I want you out," Regina finally said, on one of Emma's bad days.
"No, you don't," her wife retorted. "You just want me to stop drinking."
"Yes, but you won't."
"I can't."
Finally, she'd admitted what they both knew was true.
"You need to go to meetings."
It had been weeks since she'd attended the first, and she wasn't looking forward to going back, but she knew her wife was serious. The last thing she wanted was to lose her again, so she agreed.
This time, Regina didn't accompany her to the meeting. Emma went alone. Embarrassed to park her easily identifiable car out in front, she decided to drive around to the back of the church and park it there. She snuck in the rear door to the basement and sat down in a chair in the back row. It won't take long, she told herself. I'll be fine. I'll be out of here in no time.
But the meeting seemed to drag on forever. As much as she didn't want to be there, she took each speaker's words to heart, thinking of her family and the prospect of losing them to her destructive habit. What she really wanted to know was how to stop feeling so shitty. In her eyes, her surroundings were what caused her to drink, not her own personal choices. Blame is always something that is difficult to accept. Even so, the more stories she listened to, the more guilt she felt. By the end of her second meeting, her self-esteem was at an all-time low.
When she walked through the front door back at home, she was surprised to find her wife sitting quietly on the couch, reading the newspaper.
"What are you up to?" Emma asked casually, shutting the door behind her.
"Reading," Regina answered shortly, not looking up.
When Emma said nothing else, Regina finally lifted her gaze.
"How was the meeting?"
Emma sighed and stepped into the living room, looking around at all the pictures of their family that decorated the walls and end tables beside the couch.
"Hard," she finally answered. "It was really hard."
Regina nodded in understanding and set the newspaper down on the coffee table as Emma sat down beside her.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"I want to drink."
"Why?"
"Because even though it makes me realize the horrible things I'm doing to our family, which makes me want to stop, it also makes me feel like shit, which makes me want to drink myself in oblivion."
Regina sighed and looked Emma over, registering the stiffness of her posture and tenseness of her voice.
"You're a good mom, Emma," Regina told her.
Emma shook her head.
"But I'm a terrible wife."
When Regina said nothing to this, Emma's eyes started to water.
"Oh, come on, Em... Don't cry... Please don't cry."
But it was too late. As Emma drew heavy breaths, her fists clenched and her face grew hot with frustration.
"I... I like when you call me 'Em,'" the blonde stammered, looking up into her wife's eyes.
"I know, babe," Regina whispered, leaning in and kissing her lips. "And I like it when you moan my name."
Caught off guard by this, Emma pulled away from the kiss and looked back at Regina.
"What?"
"Why don't we go upstairs and get in bed?" Regina asked coyly. "Then maybe you can show me what a good wife you really are."
Emma blushed.
"You mean... You still want to... to..."
"Yes," her wife whispered back, kissing her cheek. "Now come upstairs with me."
As Regina took her hand, she began to feel less alone. After tucking Henry in to bed, the two of them shut their own bedroom door and took turns showing each other just how devoted they were.
