For months now, she and Robin had been trading letters.
Like clockwork, the third week of the month, his letter would arrive. Usually on a Wednesday.
By Saturday, her reply was in the post and she waited with eager anticipation for the next.
For the most part, the letters were filled with their daily routines—their comings and goings, stories of their children, the random thoughts and musing that popped into their heads. They wrote about shared memories, filling page after page, rehashing the same stories they each looked back on fondly, and they wrote about how they missed each other, how they longed for one another.
It was funny, in a way, the way their relationship allowed for this sort of happy limbo they found themselves in—keeping one another close and also at an arm's length, never truly progressing—and for as much as they said, there was so much that could go unsaid, so much written between the lines, left for the other's interpretation. She wasn't sure if it was intentional—though on some level it had to be, at least by this point—they never wrote about their future, always stopping short of mentioning anything beyond the present. After all, what future could they really have with him on one continent and her on another? Say nothing of her marriage, as ill-suited and doomed as it was…
But, on that particularly warm Wednesday in July, Regina finds herself perched on the front stoop of Mal's flat—waiting and hoping for his, and feeling like the sort of giggly teenager who didn't have a care in the world, the sort of girl she and Mal would have made fun of when they were teens.
Her heart skips a beat as she sees the postman round the corner and when he spots her, he offers a little wave. She fidgets with her fingers as she waits for him to make his way down the street, and then finally he's standing before her.
"Do you have something for me?" she asks, grinning expectantly.
"Indeed, I do, ma'am."
He lifts the letter from his bag, handing it to her with a few other things, and before he's even to the next flat, she's back inside. She drops the rest of the mail on a table and slips her fingers underneath the envelope's flap, pulling the letter out as she flops back into an armchair and kicks her legs over the arm of the chair.
She reads about a recent trip he and Roland took to Canada to visit Marco and Eugenia—a trip that was purely for pleasure, not for work. He tells her about the nice weather they enjoyed and how he taught Roland to fish in a little stream that ran through the property, and he tells her that despite the heat, Roland insisted that they make "Regina's cocoa."
Her heart flutters and her stomach lurches as he describes taking Roland up to Niagara to look at the falls. The two hiked the trails, going higher and higher in the Carolinian Forest until they reached a point where they could look across at the mighty falls—and the way he describes them makes it seem like it was the most beautifully enchanting place on Earth.
Afterward, he took Roland on a tour of Fort Niagara and now Roland has a small obsession with King George's War—and she can't help but laugh as he describes the drive home and how Roland kept rattling off facts about it as if he hadn't been with him on the tour.
He ends the letter explaining that on the Fourth of July he and John took Roland to the playground by the school. She smiles as he describes Roland running around with sparklers, trying to spell out his name before it extinguished. He tells her that as he sat there on the swings, side-by-side with John, he couldn't help but think of her and how they'd sat on those very swings one cold December evening, slowly rocking and talking until the sky turned from gray to black.
He'd walked her home that night, stopping just shy of kissing her, but nonetheless making her heart pound wildly as if he had.
Enclosed with the letter is a little envelope that reads From Roland (who still has quite the crush on you).
Inside is a folded paper and by the looks of it, it's a drawing—perhaps of fireworks from the Fourth of July or something from his Canadian adventure. But instead she finds a sweet drawing of Robin and Roland with her and Henry. They're all holding hands and there's a heart between her and Robin.
Her immediate reaction is to smile—the drawing is absolutely precious.
The picture, as sweet as it is, sends a jolt though her, leaving her unsettled. At first, she doesn't understand her own reaction, not understanding the guilt that begins to churn at her core, sending tears to her eyes. But the longer she looks at it, she begins to understand that what's in the image will likely never be reality.
And as slow as it comes to her, it still hits her like a ton of bricks and it seems silly that she's only now coming to it when it's so obvious. She and Robin and their boys will never be a family—and to have thought otherwise was foolish—after all, she's still married, and Henry still has years of schooling ahead of him. Robin has his life and she had hers, and as much as they pretended, they're lives were going in different directions.
"Why do you look so down in the dumps?"
Startled, she jumps, the letter and drawing falling from her lap. "Oh, I just…" Her voice trails off as she hurriedly picks up the papers, smoothing them out as she looks up at Mal. "It's nothing."
Mal's brow arches. "It's far too hot outside for these games. Just tell me." With a half of a nod, Regina unfolds the letter, holding out the little drawing that was enclosed. "Mm, yes, whimsical drawings made by small children are such a mood killer."
"It's not the drawing… well, not exactly." Mal hands it back to her and she looks down at it, her finger tracing Robin's crayon-drawn face. "It's… it's a picture of a family, Mal."
Mal's eyes narrow, still not following. "So, you're upset that your boyfriend's kid likes you?"
"No—"
"Then you're upset because your boyfriend's kid still hasn't learned to color in the lines?"
Regina clicks her tongue, rolling her eyes. "Of course not. It's… a very sweet drawing."
"Regina—"
"I'm stringing him along—I'm stringing both of them along."
For a moment, Mal just stares at her. "Incredible," she murmurs. "It's absolutely incredible what you can convince yourself of."
Regina sighs, taking back the drawing and carefully folding it back up as tears well in her eyes. "Never mind."
"Okay, fine," Mal coos, her features softening as she sits down on the arm of the chair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you more than you already are. I just… don't see how you went from A to Z in a matter of minutes simply because Robin's little boy drew you a cute picture?"
Regina nods, tucking the picture back into the envelope it came in. She won't deny that her feelings took her by surprise or that she's not entirely sure why the drawing had such an effect on her. "It just… hit me," she murmurs, shrugging her shoulder as she looks over at Mal. "I just looked at the drawing and it… it just put everything into perspective, I guess. It made me realize that I can't give Robin what he needs. I can't be the girlfriend he wants, much less the wife."
For a moment, Mal's quiet, mulling Regina's words and likely trying to soften whatever snippy response first came to mind. "And how do you know what Robin wants, Regina?"
"I think I know him better than you."
"That's fair," Mal says, her arms folding. "But I know you. And you have a self-destructive streak. You can't help yourself and sometimes you can't be trusted with your own self."
Regina bristles, hating that she can't argue that point, hating that Mal's right.
"And how do you know that you're not exactly what he needs at this exact moment in his life?" Mal continues. "You've said it once or twice yourself—Robin wasn't and isn't ready for anything more. He's focused on raising a son and—"
"What if that's just what I told myself?"
Mal blinks and her jaw tightens. Regina can see that she's holding her tongue.
Early on, she'd been reluctant to strike up any sort of relationship and maybe this was the reason.
It'd been different when they were in the same city, in the same state, in the same country; but still, looking back, even that hadn't been fair. Not when she had so little to offer beyond stolen moments here and there. When she left, it was supposed to be final—as much as she hated that—and though it hurt to say goodbye, maybe it was for the best.
After all, Robin Locksley was an honorable man, and though their affair might suggest otherwise, he wasn't the sort of person who would be disloyal. He'd never betray her and never willingly hurt her, even if that meant hurting himself. Especially if he didn't yet see that that was what he was doing.
"So, do you want to end this?" She hears Mal ask. Do you want to tell him that you think you've been horribly unfair to him and—"
"No."
Her response is quick and immediate; she says it without thinking.
"Then maybe you just need to… I don't know… take a deep breath, go for a walk and clear your head." Standing up, Mal grins. "I think the heat is just getting to you."
Regina musters a half-hearted little grin. "Maybe."
"Go for a walk, sit in the shade, think about how right I always am and—"
"You're so full of yourself."
Mal shrugs and rises up from the arm of the chair. "Maybe I am and maybe you should be, too."
"You're the only person I've ever known who thought being conceited was a positive trait."
"You say conceited, I say confident." Offering a wink, she straightens her skirt. "Now, I've got an appointment at two. Let's do dinner tonight—somewhere fancy that serves icy cocktails—and we'll hash it all out, yeah? It's our last night before Henry comes back from vacationing with what's-his-face, so we should do something fun and boozy anyway"
"Neal. Henry's best friend who he talks about endlessly is named Neal."
"That wasn't the part you were supposed to reply to."
Regina laughs, her eyes rolling. "Dinner and drinks tonight sound fantastic."
"Good. I'll see you later, then."
Regina nods again and watches her go, her fingers tracing the edge of the envelope as she thinks of Robin and Roland and that day at the school when Robin was late to pick him up. Just like his father, Roland was a charmer. His big brown eyes and his long lashes were enough to melt her heart, but his dimpled smile was what stole it. Robin had been so relieved to find her there with him—likely just to find that he wasn't alone and someone was looking out for him—and she recalls the reason Robin was late had something to do with work.
She claimed to understand what it was like to be a single parent, but truly, she didn't understand at all. She'd never lived it, not with Henry away at school and certainly not with a staff and money at her disposal to aid in her son's care. Her perception of what Robin's life was like was limited to the few glimpses he allowed her, and though she loved him, she was suddenly hit with the realization that her love could be a hindrance.
She found herself walking along a path in the park, Robin and Roland swimming through her thoughts, missing them and wishing she could be more for them. Her life, though, seemed to be a series of missteps—a series of steps she thought were right at the time, but in retrospect, proved to be just the opposite. Daniel had been proof of that, Henry had confirmed it. Perhaps if she and Robin met under different circumstances, had they come into each others' lives at a different time, when their children were older or she were more in control of her life, able to do more than simply wish that one day when she woke up, she'd be free.
Though she didn't want to admit it—and maybe neither did he—Robin wasn't looking for a girlfriend and he wasn't looking for a pen-pal as Mal so often teased. He was looking for a wife—or at least, at some point, he would be. He needed someone who could be physically present, someone who he could spend a life with, someone who could help him raise his son.
Or at least, he should be.
With time, she was certain he'd see it, too.
And when he did, she'd inevitably be heartbroken.
As she rounds the corner onto the path that would take her back to the street that leads to Mal's flat, she's all but convinced herself of what she needs to do, but by the time she sits down at her desk with her stationary out in front of her, she finds it difficult to find the right words.
Closing her eyes, she draws in a breath, wondering if she was being selfish, wondering if it'd only end up hurting more the longer she let this go on. But regardless of whether or not those things were true, she wasn't ready to cut him loose, not entirely, and there was a little voice at the back of her head—a voice that had an uncanny resemblance to Mal's—that told her she could be wrong. She tried in vain to ignore it—trying to be brave and selfless—but the voice only got stronger and more demanding. So when she finally put her pen to paper, instead of telling him she couldn't go on this way and that it wasn't fair to him, she compromised.
She grimaces as she reads her words back to herself—her words seeming much less dire than her feelings actually were—and instead of pointing out that they could never be more than they currently were, she instead framed her concerns around the worry that he was missing out on opportunities that might present themselves, that his loyalty to her was holding him back. After all, neither of them knew what life had in store...
Her words felt like a sucker punch and her hands shook as she sealed the envelope and placed the postage on it, but as much as they hurt, they lift a weight from her shoulders.
Continuing their relationship—or whatever it was between them—would be up to him.
The ball was in his court now.