January 25th, 2002
Emma 18, Snow 46

There was no question about her returning to school and finishing for her diploma. She knew people would talk, but she desperately needed some sense of normalcy around this. She had to prove that she could do this. She was sixteen weeks along now and obviously pregnant. And since she'd returned from the Christmas break, the whispering behind her back hadn't stopped.

Morning sickness was gone, but she still felt weak and woozy sometimes, and tried to only leave class for the nurse's office when it was particularly bad.

This particular day had just been a disaster. She'd woken up late, exhausted, and despite her mother's protests had driven herself to school and discovered she'd forgotten her lunch. Her mother insisted on packing it, on making sure she was on a proper diet and eating healthy. So she'd had what she could stomach from the cafeteria, but ended up sick in the end. This baby was particular. She hoped he wasn't a picky eater forever. (She hoped it was a he).

She ended up in the nurse's office, waiting for her to write up a pass back to class. The woman cast a look over her thin-rimmed glasses, glancing at Emma's stomach where her school sweater was buttoned over her growing bump.

"Has anyone discussed your options with you?"

Emma's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"You're so close to graduating. Are you sure you want to go through with this? It'll be very hard to handle college and a child at the same time."

She reached up, snatching the pass from the nurse's fingers. "I know what I'm doing, thanks," she spat, turning for the door and only regretting that she hadn't yanked it hard enough to send it slamming back on its hinges.

It was like everywhere she turned, people had an opinion. It wasn't helping the fact that she was, in all honesty, frightened to death. She was still a kid, and now there was going to be one. But something in her, something she couldn't name and couldn't define, longed to meet him—or her. Longed to know him, and no matter who said otherwise, she would.

-O-O-O-

January 30th, 2002

"Wow, that was fast."

Emma ducked her head, trying to focus on the work in front of her, pressing her pencil a bit too hard against the paper.

"I wonder when she's due. Its gotta be sooon."

She was used to it by now. People whispering about her. Because in a school mostly made up of girls, and in a place where parents shelled out cash for their kids' educations, she was an anomaly.

"I read an article that was talking about how seventy percent of children whose mothers get pregnant as teens never go to college." They weren't whispering at all now. Emma glanced up, spotting the teacher at his desk, peering down the bridge of his glasses at his gradebook.

"She's trying to prove she'll make something of herself now. There's no reason why she should even finish up. It isn't like she's going anywhere."

She turned, glaring back over her shoulder at the trio of girls who had shooted their desks together to feign working on a group project. "Hey!" she said sharply. Several other people looked away from their work.

"Be quiet," she said, setting her jaw. "Some of us are trying to work."

She didn't have to look back at the teacher to know she'd caught his attention too. All three of the girls were looked apologetic and slightly embarrassed, trying to avoid his gaze.

"Sorry," one girl all but scoffed. Emma turned back around, looking back to her equations. She silently begged herself not to cry, and managed to successfully make it through the hour without having to run for the bathroom to wipe her eyes on the sleeve of her sweater. She waited until she was in the car after the final bell, and had just made it home when it weighed on her all over again.

She didn't start on her homework, and was asleep by the time her mother got home from work at five o'clock. She heard her creep in, felt her weight on the edge of the bed and her fingers combing through her hair. But otherwise, she didn't let on like she was awake. She ate dinner silently that night, dodging worried glances from her mom until she was able to go back upstairs and read herself to sleep.

-O-O-O-

February 14, 2002

This wasn't even the first time here, and it was still weird. She counted the specks in the ceiling tiles, trying to relax and not let the way the baby was pressing into her bladder at this angle, or the cool gel on her belly and the even colder air in the room bother her.

A whoomping sound echoed rhythmically throughout the room.

"There's the heartbeat," the tech told them. Her mother let out a little 'ah' of intrigue. Emma felt tears streak over her temples.

"Do you want to find out the sex?"

It was all she could do to manage an affirmative murmur, and the doctor moved the probe around on her belly again.

"Congratulations. It's a boy!"

Her breath caught in her throat. She didn't know how long she held it.

"Emma?" Her mothers voice beside her was gentle.

She waited a few more seconds and finally looked over at her, blinking as a tear dripped over her nose. Her mother reached over, grasping her hand that was fisted in her shirt. "A little boy," she echoed.

Emma nodded. "I know," she said simply. She wasn't sure if she had enough air to say anything more.

"Hey." Her mother gave her hand a squeeze that made Emma looked over at her. "Are you ok?"

She let out a long breath, and nodded. "Yes. Can I just have a minute?"

The ultrasound tech flicked on the lights and Emma righted her shirt, excusing herself to the bathroom. Emma was still gone when the doctor returned to the room to dismiss them.

"Doctor," Snow began. "Would you know anything about…depression during pregnancies, or why she might be becoming distant? Its…I'm just having trouble getting through to her recently. I'm worried something's happening at school, but she won't talk to me about it."

"She has a tougher time than other expectant mothers, certainly. She's young, and I'm assuming the father isn't in the picture anymore."

Snow glanced at her hands in her lap, fidgeting.

"The best choice is to probably find a therapist. She should talk to someone, if she isn't talking to you. I can make you a referral."

As the doctor finished his paperwork and Snow waited for Emma to return, she couldn't help but think that was the entire problem. Or at least what worried her. That Emma wouldn't speak to her. Things had been rocky recently, but they had always had a resilient relationship. She hoped this wouldn't be the point of no return for them.

In the car, Emma watched out her window, her palm flat on her round belly. Snow had to make her open up. She had to get inside her head. Distance would not be good for any of them—the three of them.

"Emma?" She waited until she could sense Emma's eyes on her. "I just want you to understand that you don't have to do this by yourself."

It was all she felt she needed to say. She knew that Emma was pulling away on purpose. She was trying to figure out how to untangle the knot of thoughts and fears that had been shoved upon her. And she knew she didn't feel like she was worthy of being helped. And Snow wasn't sure she knew how to.

She heard Emma's shaky intake of breath, and her heart clenched tight.

"I just…" Emma began. "…feel so scared and worried all the time. I don't know how to be a mother. And I'm pretty sure his life is going to suck. Because of me. And I just can't help thinking about the idea that…I've been abandoned."

"Abandoned, what do you mean?"

"Neal! Neal was supposed to be here through this. Even if he didn't want to. This is his responsibility to, and I'm past crying over him because he broke my heart. This is about my son now."

"You're right," Snow agreed, reaching over a hand to settle over her daughter's.

"But it doesn't change the fact that I'm alone. It doesn't change the fact that every man I've almost had in my life has left. This kid is going to need a father."

Snow glanced over to her briefly, her own eyes suddenly prickling with tears. "Your father didn't leave," she blurted, because she knew exactly where this was going. "Your father wanted you to have your best chance."

Emma scoffed. "Yeah. My best chance. Knocked up and barely getting through school at eighteen."

She wanted to explain, and the looming feeling that she should have long ago settled on her chest before she could decide on what to say. Emma sank away again, into her own thoughts, gazing out the window again. She retreated directly to her room once they arrived home, and Snow didn't try to bother her until that evening when she brought their dinner into her bedroom and set out a makeshift picnic on the bedspread.

"I have to tell you this, Emma," she said, waiting for her daughter to shuffle to a sitting position, her belly weighing her down. "I have to tell you the truth about your father."

There was a typical sigh, and Emma rolled her eyes. "How many times have you tried to do this?"

It sent a sting through her veins that wasn't easy to shake away before she spoke again. "Its going to seem strange. But you've got to trust me."

Emma didn't look convinced, but waited for her to continue, biting into her grilled cheese.

"I was…We are…not from…" She sighed, trying to gather her thoughts. As many times as she'd thought about saying all of this, the words failed her now. "Do you remember the stories I used to tell you when you were a girl?"

Emma nodded. "About the prince who married the thief. Yeah."

"And that thief was actually a princess who'd be banished from her own kingdom?"

Emma nodded again, waiting, seemingly more patient than before.

"The thief in the story was me."

"So it was some metaphor about you and my father, is that what you're trying to get at? But you always ended the story with a happily ever after."

Snow reached over, gripping Emma's free hand that rested against the blanket. "No. Not a metaphor."

She waited, just a few seconds until realization flooded her daughter's eyes and then a laugh bubbled from her lips. "You're trying to tell me it was real? That you're a princess and my father's a prince and you ran away from some evil queen? Mom, are you hearing yourself?"

"You think I'm lying?" Snow set her expression, watching attentively, waiting for the pieces to click together in the way she thought they subconsciously might inside her daughter's mind.

"Well…eh…" Emma glanced away, looking across the bed towards the wall. "No. I don't know…" She sighed. "I think it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. And its hurts too much to think you made it up," she said, seemingly talking more to herself, rolling through possibilities and impossibilities, sorting it out. "So if you aren't lying…" she started, looking back at her, locking eyes in a gaze that too fierce to tear away from, "What does that make me? Some princess?" Her voice darkened at the word.

Snow nodded, cocking her head. "Indeed. The crown princess, actually. And your son would be crown prince. Of course, not of any land you know of here. Its…difficult to explain. The place…there's magic there, for lack of a better word."

"Oh my god…" Emma breathed, setting her sandwich down on her plate and raising her hands. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. I can't. I just need to…I mean do you realize what kind of bullshit I'm going through right now? I'm getting fatter everyday, I just found out I'm having a boy, and I'm really happy about that part. But everything else is so…insane! I can't even call your bluff because compared to everything else, why the hell can't I be some princess from a magical world?"

"There really was no better way to tell you…" Snow said, drawing away.

"Of course not…" Emma groaned, blinking and rubbing at her belly.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," she snapped, leaning back a bit. "I just…I can't talk about this. Can I please just be alone?"

"Alright." Snow stood, gathering up their dinner from between them, stacking plates together and trying not to look upset at how much Emma hadn't eaten, because that wasn't a war that needed to be waged right now. "I'll bring you some tea."

"I don't want any," Emma grumbled, leaning back further into her pillows and stretching out her legs along the mattress.

"Ok. I'll say goodnight then."

"Fine."

Once the dishes were washed up, and the house was silent, Snow could just barely hear the sounds of Emma weeping. The barrier that she'd erected between them, the idea that she'd betrayed her, left her feeling hapless.

-O-O-O-

February 30th, 2002

It was the most rebellious thing she'd done in awhile. But staying home once her mother had left for work afforded her plenty of time to watch a marathon of Indiana Jones and stuff her face with vanilla ice cream to her heart's desire. Honestly, she couldn't face those girls at school today. Or the teachers. She was supposed to show them that she could do this. Even convince herself. But she didn't feel up to it today. She just felt like screwing all of it, however irresponsible it was.

She glanced down, rubbing a hand over the growing swell of her belly.

"Hello in there," she said softly. "The doctor says you're as big as an avocado."

She never got why mothers talked to their stomachs, but here with just her—with just them—it didn't seem so weird. It grounded her.

"Things have sucked recently, and I'm sorry. I have no idea what I'm doing…" She sighed. "But you're going to be loved so much, its crazy. I'm going to make sure of it. You're going to have more family than you know what to do with."

She sat a moment, just thinking. Hoping for the future. Things were going to turn out ok. It would difficult at first, and she'd have to learn. She'd have to grow up. But for him, she'd already made up her mind that she would do just about anything.

There was suddenly a little movement. Just a little flutter under her hand, barely there. It came again, and she gasped out loud.

"Well, hello," she laughed, patting the spot. He kicked again and she couldn't handle it anymore, letting tears stream over her cheeks for seemingly the millionth time that week. But this time, at least they were happy.