Even with the door closed, Emma could still hear the muffled melodies of children's songs and murmur of voices from downstairs. She pulled the sleeve of her navy sweater over her fist and used it to mop up the tears she hadn't been quick enough to blink away. It had seemed safest to dart upstairs when she realised they were about to spill over, rather than face the tilting heads of pitying friends and besides, she was sure that the ability to fob them off as hormones wouldn't last forever. It was true what people said; the pain did dull with time, until days like this when it sliced like a knife through the layers of protection she'd been building up.

There was a tentative knock on the door.

'I'm fine,' Emma called out, adjusting her hair in the vain hope it would detract from the tear tracks on her face, 'I'll be down in a sec-' but the door was already being pushed open to reveal Mary Margaret in a short white dress adorned with bright yellow sunflowers and tiny green leaves. The brunette had barely taken a step into the room before she ran towards her daughter with open arms and wrapped her into a tight hug.

'Oh, honey,' she whispered and, to her surprise, Emma squeezed her back.

'Did everyone notice?' asked the blonde, who breathed a sigh of relief when her mother's head shook from side to side.

'No, just Ruby. She was going to come up herself but I managed to persuade her to let me come instead.'

Pulling away, Mary Margaret took Emma's hand and led her to the edge of the bed.

'Can you believe,' she began, sitting down and tapping the duvet to encourage her daughter to do the same, 'that it was a year ago today that you held that tiny baby in your arms for the first time?'

Emma gave a long sigh and shook her head. 'It seems like yesterday,' she murmured, 'I've never been so scared and so happy all in the space of ten minutes.'

'She gave us quite a fright, didn't she?'

'Well that's an understatement,' replied Emma with a wry smile.

'So, you want to tell me why you ducked out of your daughter's birthday party?'

She knew it had been coming, but Emma still couldn't think of a way to explain what she was feeling. Of course she was happy, just as any mother was when celebrating the first year of their daughter's life and yet there was that inevitable ache deep inside, which never went away.

'It's nothing,' she began but a raised eyebrow from the pixie-haired woman sitting next to her, told her it wasn't going to work. She took a deep breath, and for the first time in a while, said exactly what was on her mind. 'There's a hole isn't there? A dad-shaped hole in her life.'

'Sweetheart, I hate to tell you this but you're wrong. It's not Lily who has the whole in her life, it's you. You and Henry and every one of us in this town who knew Neal. Your daughter can't have a hole because she doesn't even know what shape it should be.'

'That's what I mean - she should have a hole. She's a year old and her first word won't be dada because she doesn't have one,' Emma sniffed as fresh tears fell, leaving dark dribbles down the front of her sweater.

'Emma, you have got to stop doing this to yourself!' exclaimed Mary Margaret, rubbing her hand up and down her daughter's arm. 'You're going to drive yourself crazy if you keep thinking about all the things she doesn't have. Neal isn't here to see her grow up and you'll never get over that but look at you - you didn't have a dad or a mom and yet here you are, more beautiful and smart and funny than I could ever have imagined. She learned how to walk didn't she? Because of you. You taught her that and you'll teach her how to cook and braid her hair. Henry will teach her how to ride a bike-'

The corners of Emma's mouth turned up at the thought of a gangly Henry teaching a five-year-old Lily how to ride without training wheels. Of course, he would need to address his own inability to stay upright on two wheels first.

'I know, not the best example,' Mary Margaret went on, 'but the point I'm trying to make is that there is only a hole if you know what to miss. Yes, she'll know what you tell her about her father but she'll know a lot more about what she gets from you.' She gave a sigh, frustrated that her words weren't explaining her thoughts clearly enough. 'I guess what I'm really trying to say is don't let her create a Neal-shaped hole that she won't know how to fill.'

Emma considered these words for a moment. Once again, her long-lost mother had succeeded in talking her down from an emotional precipice. Quite where Mary Margaret had learnt how to soothe the anxieties of a daughter the same age as herself, Emma had no idea but it didn't matter. She gave the woman's hand a grateful squeeze and wiped the moisture from around her eyes for the last time.

'Okay,' she breathed, 'it must be about time for the cake. I can't wait to see the look on Lily's face when she sees what shape it is,' she added with a smile.

'That's my girl,' Mary Margaret grinned as they made their way downstairs to rejoin the party.