Regina just gaped at Emma for a few moments, her face a confusing mixture of emotions. "So this is what you think of me?" she said gently. "Thank you, Miss Swan…for your candor." And then she was gone.

Emma followed Regina's path toward the door and close it before sinking into a heap on the floor. She closed her eyes and listened to all the voices echoing throughout the house. Gradually the voices decreased in number until there were only a few quiet ones from stubborn night owls drawing energy from the moon.

Emma couldn't see the moon from the library. She turned off the lamp and sat in total darkness. When there was nothing but persistent silence, Emma stood up and walked robotically to her room.

Mary Margaret and Belle were fast asleep when she came in. She removed her shoes and stepped carefully so as not to disturb them. Suddenly, her bare foot collided with paper where it should have been hardwood floor. Emma knelt down to feel for the object, finding a folded sheet that had apparently been slipped under the door.

Emma strained her eyes to see that the sheet was covered in tight sprawled handwriting. Unable to resist her curiosity, she slipped into the bathroom to turn on the light. The note was from Regina.

Dear Miss Swan,

Before I begin, I'd like to make clear that this note is by no means an attempt to renew the advances you earlier found so…detestable. I have no wish to cause you further discomfort. However, I do feel that I need to address the serious offence you laid against me: that which places me in the blame for ruining the life of one Killian Jones.

I do not know what falsehoods Killian has told you, so I will give you a full account of all my dealings with him. Killian Jones and I were childhood friends. His father worked for my father as the manager of the Enchanted Forest Hotel in New York. My father was a very kind man, and he cared very deeply for Mr. Jones and his son. In fact, he paid for Killian to attend the same private school as me, so you can imagine how close our families were. However, as we got older, Killian became reckless and developed some self-destructive behavior. He was expelled from school for destroying the principle's office with some criminal friends he'd made. When his father died, my father promised to take care of Killian, and I tried to help him too, but I think by that point he was beyond our help. My father died when I was sixteen and left Killian a large sum of money, which he gambled away in less than a year. Even so, Killian and I remained close.

When I was seventeen, I fell in love with Daniel. Daniel worked as a coachman in central park taking tourists around in horse drawn carriages. However, my mother had all kinds of ambitions about my future. She wanted me to someday marry a lawyer or a politician, and I knew she would never allow me to keep seeing Daniel if she found out. I kept our relationship a secret from everyone except Killian, who I thought was my friend. Little did I know Killian had grown bitter and jealous over the years. He ran right to my mother and told her about Daniel. She had me sent away to boarding school in England as a result. I found out that Daniel died in a car accident a year later. I never got to see him again.

I cannot tell you the deep feeling of loss that I experienced from Daniel's death, nor can I convey the betrayal I felt by both Killian and my mother. I have not spoken to either of them since the event. I used the trust fund my father left me to pay for college and graduate school, and I founded Big Apple Architects when I was 23. I am ambitious, but I assure you I have never stepped on others to accomplish any of my goals.

In addition to my apparent destruction of Killian Jones, you also accused me of being a "pompous arrogant asshole." If my behavior towards you has offended you, I am sorry. I have not had a relationship since Daniel. I felt a connection to you early on, and to be truthful, I was afraid. I was trying to deny my feelings by pushing you away. Obviously, that worked out better than I wanted it too.

I wish you luck, Miss Swan- in life and in your art. I may not have liked your painting of me, but I do not deny your talent.

Sincerely,

Regina Mills

Emma reread the letter two more times, looking for some inconsistency or some sign that she had been right all along. She could find none. There were enough consistencies between Regina's story and Killian's to suggest it was rooted in truth, and Emma didn't think even Regina was cruel enough to lie about something as tragic as Daniel's death. The only conclusion to make was that Emma had grossly misjudged Regina Mills, and had played the fool to Killian Jones's lies. She squeezed the letter in her fist and broke down in tears. How could she have been so stupid?

In less than one weekend, Emma Swan had become a social fugitive. There was no way she could handle staying at the Nolan's vacation home for even one more day. That's why the very next morning, Emma made a thousand and one apologies to David, Kathryn, Belle, Elsa, and Mary Margaret before hoping in a taxi to the train station. She spent the remainder of Sunday and all of Monday hiding in her apartment and doing a lot of self-reflection.

If anything good had come of the situation, it would be that the time Emma spent in hiding was one of the most prolific she had in terms of her paintings. She finished three works that had been collecting dust in the corner of her room for months and began a new piece. It was a self-portrait.

On Tuesday, Emma tried to call in sick for work, but Mary Margaret wouldn't hear of it. She came bursting into Emma's apartment (Emma's doorman had a thing for Mary Margaret) and found Emma covered in two days' worth of paint, scratching frantically at her canvas.

"Emma!" gasped Mary Margaret, looking very worried. "Please tell me what's wrong?"

"I can't" resisted Emma, swallowing a sob. She didn't even look at her friend. She was far too embarrassed. She just kept painting.

Mary Margaret walked around to see what Emma was doing and gaped at the painting. "Oh my god, Emma. What does it mean?"

Emma finally stopped. "It means I'm…separate." Emma broke down and cried.

Mary Margaret comforted Emma and waited patiently for her to regain her composure. Wiping away a lingering tear from Emma's cheek, she asked, "What do you mean you're separate?"

"You know about my time in the foster system," Emma began, and Mary Margaret nodded solemnly. "Well, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately…and I think I've been using it as an excuse to always see the worst in people." Emma looked at her painting in which she wore thick metal armor. "I was hurt so much growing up that now it's like I'm wearing armor to protect myself from getting hurt again, but it also hinders me from actually feeling anything. That's what the painting means."

"What brought this about? Was it something that happened in Maine? Is that why you left early?" Mary Margaret stroked Emma's hair consolingly.

"I don't want to talk about it," answered Emma, closing back up. She knew if she told Mary Margaret what had happened with Regina, her friend would give her some lecture about not being overly judgmental, and Emma didn't think she could handle that.

"Emma…"

"Just please?"

Mary Margaret looked at Emma and sighed. "Okay. Why don't you take today to recover? But, Emma, I'm here if you need me. Whenever you're ready to talk."

Emma went back to work on her painting and heard Mary Margaret close the door behind her. One more day: that was all Emma needed.

Emma woke up the next morning feeling much better. She had made a mistake. She knew that. But she was determined to make a learning experience of it.

It was Wednesday, which meant it was Emma's turn to get coffee for everyone at the shop. She headed down to Granny's diner where she usually went, but was shocked to find the place closed. Emma couldn't believe it. In all the years she had worked just down the block, Granny's had been open every day, even holidays. Feeling confused, Emma walked another street over to the next closest bakery before showing up for work.

"She lives!" called Ruby, who was reading a magazine at one of the arts and crafts tables. "We were worried about you yesterday."

"I'm fine," replied Emma, putting down the coffees and a box of donuts on the table. "What's up with Granny's diner? Is your grandmother okay?"

"Well I guess that would depend on your definition of okay," began Ruby, standing up to retrieve her cup. "She's been acting very strange lately. Going on and on about that wretched woman… And get this: she's selling her diner!"

"What?" gasped Emma, as her jaw dropped.

"Yeah," continued Ruby, nodding her head. "That's why I couldn't come on the trip with you guys. She made me stay and help her close up shop. I never in a million years thought I'd see the day…"

"Do you know who's buying it?" Emma asked, though she had a pretty good idea of who it might be.

"You're not going to believe it," said Ruby, taking a sip of her coffee. "The one and only Cora Mills! But don't tell Granny I told you! She wants me to stay out of it. She keeps saying, that creature is more powerful than you can imagine, whatever that's supposed to mean. Maybe you should warn your friend Killian that his boss is a real hard ass."

"Actually," replied Emma, pulling the tab back on her hot cocoa. "I think he may already know, and he's not my friend."

"Boyfriend?" Ruby's voice jumped up an octave, as she looked teasingly at Emma.

"Definitely not!" replied Emma, trying to control the emotion in her voice.

"Really? Cause last time I checked you got heart eyes every time his name was mentioned."

"Well not anymore," snapped Emma, causing Ruby's face to fall like an abused puppy.

"What happened?" she asked softly.

"Can't say." Emma wasn't ready to confess how misguided she'd been in everything having to do with Killian Jones. Not to mention, she wasn't sure Regina would like her spreading around her personal history.

"Ok…" Said Ruby sensing Emma's discomfort. She looked around awkwardly for some distraction. "Hey, wanna help me change Mary Margaret's desktop to a picture of David's head photoshopped to Fabio's body?"

Emma sighed and made an exasperated face at her friend's immaturity. "Yeah, okay."

After that, things seemed to calm down for a while. For the first time in what felt like years, Emma went several full weeks without any major upsets to her life. The Painted Heart had a steady stream of clientele, August was making progress with his painting, Ruby added a second red streak in her hair. It was business as usual once again.

That is, until Belle came in the shop one Thursday morning and destroyed Emma's peace as if it were a delicate rose.

"Can I ask you guys a totally huge, enormous, gargantuan favor?" she plead.

"Yes, affirmative, we consent," Emma mocked.

Ignoring the quip, Belle continued, "Mr. Gold left on a business trip to London yesterday. He was going on and on about some rare teacups or something. And I am in charge of everything here in New York for a whole two weeks! Anyway, I have my hands full at the shop, and I really need someone to deliver this envelope to Cora Mills as soon as possible. I would do it myself, but she's all the way in Tribeca, and I can't afford to lose an hour."

"Cora Mills?!" Emma and Ruby exclaimed in simultaneous disbelief.

"Why would Gold be sending an envelope to Cora Mills?" asked Ruby, popping her gum.

"Why can't you just put the envelope in the mail?" inquired Emma, leaning across a child-sized table. She had been testing the ceramic paints to see which ones were dried out.

"Mr. Gold specifically said that the envelope must be handed directly to Mrs. Mills herself. He said it was of the utmost importance, and he wouldn't risk it being lost in the mail or dropped carelessly by a messenger. He has a blatant distrust of mailmen, he won't tell me why," Belle explained before drifting off thoughtfully.

"I would do it," said Ruby, "but Granny gets every spare moment I have these days." It was a weak excuse. Emma regretted telling Mary Margaret to take the morning off to meet David for coffee. Belle's big blue eyes turned her way.

Emma did not want to meet Cora Mills or anyone with that last name, and she most certainly did not want to go anywhere near Killian Jones. But then Belle looked so helpless..."Fine," she groaned. Maybe she deserved this anyway, for being such a fool.

"Yay! Thank you, Emma!" Belle clapped, wrapping Emma in a side-hug. Emma snatched up the envelope. It was one of those rectangular orange ones with the metal clasp at the top.

"Geez, is there a book in here?" Emma asked, weighing the envelope in her right hand.

"I don't know." Replied Belle, unconcerned. "Mr. Gold said it's for Mrs. Mills' eyes alone."

"oooh top secret," Ruby made to grab at the envelope.

"No!" screeched Belle, looking scandalized. "Mr. Gold is trusting me!"

"Relax, my beauty," laughed Ruby. "I was just kidding."

"All right simmer down, kids," said Emma, stowing the envelope in her backpack. "I guess I'm off to Tribeca."