"It's going to take time. Take a break, and come eat."

She felt a hand rest on her shoulder, and she rose her own to meet it, covering the other woman's fingers with her own. But she continued to stare into the mirror -- a small, round thing she held in her lap. There was a crack in towards the bottom, and the paint on the frame was beginning to chip, weakened by the stress of being used as a channel. Soon it would shatter, and she would have to find another.

But it was worth it.

There in the center, just above the crack, was an image of her son.

He'd grown, just a little. Not enough to be obvious, but then again, she was his mother.

She noticed these things.

"I want to stay here, thank you," Regina replied. The hand on her shoulder stiffened, and she tore her gaze away from the glass and turned towards Snow. Her eyes were narrowed with concern. Regina rolled her own, turning back to her mirror. "Really, I'm fine."

"At least let me stay with you. I want to know what's going on, too. Emma and Henry are my family too, after all."

Before Regina could object Snow had settled herself down beside her on the chaise, leaning over her shoulder.

"Fine," She conceded, shifting so that the other woman could see too. "But you're not going through with me."

"I love you."

What the hell?!

Emma's eyes shot open, and she spent the next few minutes frozen in place. There was no mistaking that voice, not after the experience she'd had in the coffee shop earlier that day.

The last person — the only person — to say that to her had been Henry's father.

Or, at least, that's what she'd thought.

I miss you.

She tensed again, sitting straight up as a chill ran through her spine. The voice hadn't come from beside her this time, hadn't been whispered in her ear. No, this time, it had been in her head.

Am I going crazy?

She pressed a palm to her head, letting her eyes flutter closed. She'd faked a headache as an excuse to go to bed early, and now a real one was actually appearing. Karma, she supposed.

"I am. I'm going crazy."

Emma splashed some water on her face. She watched it drip off her chin in the mirror and sighed as she studied her face. Her skin was pallid, and dark circles had begun to form beneath her eyes. It was half past in the morning, and she hadn't gotten much sleep. She'd tried to relax again, but it'd proven impossible, and she ended up spending the rest of the night tossing and turning, trying to ignore the mounting pressure behind her eyes.

Eventually she made her way to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, hoping that the caffeine would help. She curled up on the couch and as soon as she thought she could get ahold of somebody, she called her office. She told them she had the flu. More lies, but at least this one was somewhat close to the truth. She did feel like crap.

Henry finally woke around six, and she didn't have the energy to make him a proper breakfast.

"Today's a toast kind of morning, kid," She called into the kitchen without turning. "I'm not feeling so hot today."

"Are you okay?" His voice was laced with concern. It cracked on the last word, but Emma was pretty sure that had more to do with puberty.

"Yeah, kid, I'm fine. Just the flu." She turned around in time to see his nose wrinkle, and he took a step back.

"The stomach kind or the coughing kind?"

She rolled her eyes. "The coughing kind." Her stomach clenched a bit at yet another lie, but at least the heaviness of her voice and the dark bags underneath her eyes would help to sell it.

He relaxed. "Good. Do you need anything?"

Emma shook her head, pushing herself off the couch and standing up. "No, I'll be okay. Just get ready for school." He shrugged and did as she said, turning to pop a piece of bread into the toaster. Reluctantly, Emma shuffled into her bedroom. There was no reason not to, really. Best case scenario her mind would be put at ease. Worst case...nothing would happen, right?

Frowning, she pulled the jewelry box from beneath her bed. She slid the photos from their envelope, and shuffled through them until she found what she was looking for.

"Henry, I have a question for you," She called as she made her way back into the kitchen. There was an unusual hesitation to her voice — usually there was nothing that she was afraid to share with her son. This, however, sent apprehension curling around her heart. She traced the edges of the photo with her fingers before turning to face her son. "Do you remember this woman at all?"

She handed the picture to her son. It was the brunette; the picture she'd found with the hot chocolate. It was the only photo that Henry might not immediately link back to them — that was, the only photo of the woman that didn't include one of the two of them. Henry's eyes brightened and his lips cracked in a smile. Emma's heart thudded in her chest as he replied.

"Of course, mom, that's —" His voice dropped off, and his lips fell into a frown, his brow wrinkling as he studied the photograph. "That's…" He trailed off. "I don't know. I don't think I know her," he concluded, though confusion laced his voice.

"Are you sure?" Emma prompted, trying not to seem too eager. "You sounded pretty enthusiastic there for a moment."

Henry gave a cavalier shrug, though his brow was still furrowed. "I thought she was somebody I recognized, I guess. But I don't think I actually know her. She looks familiar, but...I can't place her." He tossed the photo back on the table and pushed it towards his mother. "She must look like somebody I know. A teacher, maybe. Why, who is she?"

Emma frowned, picking the photograph up off the table again. "Just somebody I'm trying to place. I found this in our old photo album," She added, a stab of guilt striking her at how easily she was lying to her son. They normally shared everything, but this was one thing she was going to keep to herself.

"Huh, weird." Henry slid off his barstool, shoving the last of his toast into his mouth and speaking around the mass. "Well, I should go before I miss the bus. I love you, mom."

He gave her a quick, one-armed hug, and Emma pulled him into her instead, trapping him in a bear hug. "Mom," He complained, but he didn't move, and Emma knew he was humoring her. He was rapidly gaining on her in height, and he could have easily wriggled out of her grasp if he wanted to. Instead he gave her a quick squeeze back. "Alright, now I really do have to go," He said, and pulled away from her. He grabbed his book bag off the chair and glanced back at her. "Everything's okay, right?" He asked, and the look of genuine concern on his face tore a hole in Emma's heart.

"Yeah, kid. Everything's fine." She forced a smile onto her face, guilt once again wreathing in her chest as she lied to him. But, she told herself, it wasn't like this was something she could share with him. No need to worry him. No need to tell him, hey, your mom's having hallucinations! "I just love you, that's all." She paused for a moment, considering, and then asked him, "Have you ever met anyone named Ruby?"

He shrugged, pulling his bag back up over his shoulder as it began to slide. "There's a Ruby in my grade, but I've never really talked to her." His brow furrowed again, and Emma's heart clenched as she noticed just how grown up he looked. "Why? Are you sure everything's okay? You're acting kind of weird."

Emma shook her head, offering what she thought was a convincing smile. "I'm really fine." She declined to answer the first question. "Just a headache. A cold. Flu, maybe. I'm going to stay home from work today. But I'll be fine. Go to school."

With that she sent him out the door. She peered out the window, watching for him to leave the apartment building as she had always done. She'd never tell him, for fear that he'd watch for her and try and get her to stop, but she wanted to make sure he made it downstairs safely, despite the fact that he was growing up.

Oh, Regina, look how motherly she's gotten!

The voice sounded behind Emma and she jumped, spinning around to find the source. It had been barely audible, followed by a panicked hush!

But her apartment was empty, as she knew it would be.

Regina.

That was her name, she knew it. Her name. The woman who she was so drawn to. But that voice -- that was a new one.

Her heart jumping, Emma turned back to the window just in time to see Henry exit the building and hop on the bus, safe and sound as always. Once he'd gotten on the bus safely she returned to the couch, pulling her mug of coffee to her chest with shaking hands and noting that she should probably switch to cocoa before she gave herself a heart attack.

Emma flipped through Netflix and eventually settled on some feel good Disney movie. She sank into the couch cushions, pulling up a plush throw blanket around herself. Once again, the voices had come from the world around her rather than her own thoughts, and it was comforting to bury herself in the fabric, as if the blanket might offer her some protection.

Halfway through, she picked the remote up again and backed out to the menu.

For some reason, she felt like watching Snow White instead.