Regina stands in the window watching as her sons disappear into the woods, craning her neck to see Roland's horse's tail swish just once more before they vanish.

For weeks now, she's been delaying this, delaying letting the boys go off alone on their horses. Robin's reminded her again and again that the orchard isn't far off and that they'll be back at the house long before the sun sets, and Mal has assured her they've ridden the trail enough to know the way without getting lost. They've both reminded her that Henry's a skilled rider now and that Roland's getting better and more confident every day, and though she knows all those things to be true, there's something about watching them go off on their own that doesn't sit well with her.

They're growing up and it's all happening too fast.

Soon, there will be a time when they don't need her, and not long after that, a time when they set off on their own and don't come back.

Swallowing hard, she pushes away those thoughts and reminds herself that her sons are merely riding their horses to the orchard to climb trees and eat apples. They'll be home before dusk. They'll be home in time for dinner, and they'll still ask for a story before bed. They're still little boys who need her, even if they're growing up.

A laugh from down the hall interrupts her thoughts, and she's glad for it. Turning, she looks in the direction of the sound, smiling faintly.

Winnie–Winifred–is Mrs. Potter's two-and-a-half year old granddaughter and their houseguest for the next two days while her parents prepare for her new sibling. It'd come up a few days before, when Chip brought her for a visit with her grandmother. At some point over a cup of tea, Chip confessed to his mother that neither he nor Anna were quite sure what they'd do with their girl when the time came. And from there, it'd been decided–Winnie would stay at the Lodge…

She must be awake from her nap, Regina thinks to herself as she makes her way down the hall to the girl's room.

They didn't have a proper nursery at the house, so they'd hastily fashioned one.

They'd moved in a child-sized bed that sat abandoned in a dusty old room and washed the linens that fit it. They pushed it up against a wall and shoved a short bookcase up against the other side to keep her from rolling out of the bed–and though it looked like a terrible contraption, Winnie enjoyed it and wasted no time placing her doll and bonnet on the shelves.

Regina peeks into the room, fully expecting to see the toddler sitting up in her bed playing with her doll, but what she finds is so much more endearing.

Winnie has been up from her nap for some time, and Robin is with her. They're both sitting on the floor with one of the nicest porcelain tea sets they own sitting between them, and Winnie is serving them 'tea'."

"Extra honey in mines," she tells him.

Regina's heart aches as she watches Robin lift the cup, pretending to smell the tea. "I can't wait to try it," he tells her.

The little girl beams, lifting an empty plate. "Biscuits," she says.

"Oh, how did you know?" he asks, pressing his hand to his chest. "These are my favorites." He pretends to take one, then looks to Winnie's doll. "You must try one." He looks to Toulouse, Roland's orange cat that sits opposite the doll, looking interested as the plate is passed around. "You, too. You'll love them."

Winnie holds the plate out to her doll, then grins and pulls it back and offers it to Toulouse who sniffs the plate in confusion. "For you," she says, nodding as if she's in conversation with the cat.

"They're so good," Robin says, reaching to the plate. "I think I'll have another."

"Yes, please," the little girl says, looking quite pleased that her guests are enjoying her tea and biscuits.

Regina takes a step back, drawing in a breath as soon as she's out of earshot. Her eyes are teary and her chest is tight, and she's not quite sure why that is. Perhaps it's about Henry and Roland growing up, perhaps it's seeing Robin looking so happy and content having a tea party with Winnie–but whatever it is, it awakens something in her, something that was never entirely asleep.

She takes another breath and pushes away those thoughts.

She's been thinking them a lot lately, despite trying not to. When Henry decided he doesn't need her for his baths, when Roland started to sit beside her as they read instead of climbing into her lap, when they visited the village and the boys ran ahead rather than holding onto her hands, when Anna told her that she was pregnant with Winnie, when she saw Robin hold Chip and Anna's little girl for the first time…

Those feelings have been cropping up more and more, and she's not quite sure what to do with them.

So, she pushes them back and heads down the hall to her room.

But she can't quite focus, and her thoughts travel with her.

She's long known that Robin wants more children. They haven't talked about it in years, now–not since the very beginning–and he's likely accepted that there will be no more children in their lives.

Every now and then, she can tell that he thinks of it–thinks it, but never says it.

He's happy–they're happy–with what they have.

And yet, here she is thinking about what it might be like to have another child.

She didn't enjoy being pregnant the first time around; but she can't deny her circumstances are quite different now. She's not a scared teenager anymore. She's not alone, and she'd have no reason to hide it. And now, she knows what to expect.

The pregnancy would be temporary.

What would follow would change their lives–and she can't help but think, now, in their particular moment, that their lives would be changed for the better.

She envisions holding the child for the first time, what it'd be like to feel its little fingers wrap around hers, what it'd be like to go through all those wonderful, incredible firsts again–laughs and smiles, steps and words–and to see the child's personality take shape. She wonders if the baby would look more like her or like Robin, if she'd see Henry and Roland in their younger sibling, and whether it'd be a boy or a girl. She thinks about cuddling her baby after a bath and singing it to sleep, she thinks about holding its hands as it toddles around the house.

And she thinks about what it'd be like to experience all of that with Robin by her side. There was no doubt that he'd dote on their child, just as he did with the children they already had.

When they first married, his interest in Henry was immediate.

A week or so after their wedding, when she was still so unsure, Robin asked to take Henry on a walk. It was just the two of them–Roland stayed behind with the nanny–and she stood in the windows, watching as her new husband walked the grounds with her son. He held his hand and when it seemed he had something important to discuss, he got down, crouching, so that he and Henry were eye-to-eye. When Henry returned that day, she asked what Robin had said to him. Henry smiled and shrugged and said it was a secret. He didn't seem upset; instead, he seemed more content and comforted than he had in previous days.

A few months later, she stood in the same windows, watching as Robin lifted Henry onto his shoulders. Henry and Roland were playing some sort of game and Henry's shoe caught on a branch. Her heart leapt into her throat as Roland stopped, watching as Henry tumbled forward; then, seemingly out of nowhere, there was Robin, lifting Henry up and tickling his sides before he even thought to cry.

He was a natural father and he loved their children.

He took an active interest in being a father.

As the boys grew older, Robin's relationship with them shifted. Instead of games of tag on the lawn, he took them on rides in the woods, they played hide-and-seek, and he taught them how to shoot a bow and arrow. Their conversations over dinner were less often about mythical dragons and more about the things they were learning–and though she was glad that her sons were growing into thoughtful young men, she missed the innocence of their younger years.

And how short those younger years had been.

The door opens and she spins around, blinking back the tears she didn't even realize had welled up in her eyes as Robin enters.

"You–" His voice halts and his head tips. "Are you crying?"

"No," she murmurs, pushing her thumbs beneath her eyes to rid herself of her tears. "I'm just… being stupid."

Robin's eyes narrow. "Anything you want to talk about?"

She holds her breath, wondering if it's finally time to say it, finally time to admit what she's been thinking about for the last several months. But once she admits it, it'll be out there and she won't be able to take it back.

"I saw a bit of the tea party you and Winnie were having," she says instead.

His smile is immediate. "She makes a lovely cup of tea."

Regina nods. "You seemed to enjoy it."

"They're so much fun at that age," Robin muses. "So full of imagination."

Regina nods in agreement as her words catch in her throat.

"Roland liked forts," Robin says, chuckling softly. "Nothing beat making a big fort."

"For Henry it was dragons–always dragons."

"That doesn't surprise me a bit."

"No," she grins–remembering the puppet shows Daniel used to put on for him and the toy dragons Robin made for him.

"You seem sad, though."

"I'm not. I was just… thinking."

"And what you were thinking about made you sad?"

Biting down on her lip, she shrugs. "I don't know, honestly." Taking a breath, she turns to the bed and sits down on the edge, folding her hands in her lap as she fumbles with her fingers. "It's just lately… I've been thinking and…" She sighs and looks up at him, watching as he looks at her with concerned eyes. "It's nothing."

"It's something," he counters. "And that something's upset you."

"I'm not upset. I'm just conflicted."

"Over what?"

She grins at his concern, wondering if maybe saying the words will make her feel better. She hesitates again and looks away, not wanting to see hope fill his eyes only to be dashed by her inability to decide what she wants. "I… I've been thinking that… that maybe we should consider having a baby."

Her eyes shift to him, watching as his eyes widen and a goofy grin spreads over his lips–and in spite of herself, she can't help but smile. "You want–"

"I don't know," she cuts in, not letting him finish the question. "Maybe."

"Maybe–"

"Yes–"

Robin draws in a breath and slowly releases it as he pushes his hand into his hair. He's trying not to get ahead of himself, trying not to get too excited. "What changed your mind?"

"I… I don't know," she tells him. "A hundred little things."

He nods. "And what about–"

"All the reasons I didn't want to have another child?"

"I mean, nothing's really changed in that regard."

"No," she murmurs, "That's true. They're just… all more distant now."

"Out of sight and out of mind."

"Yes," she agrees, nodding. "And other factors are weighing a little more heavily."

He draws in another breath. "Such as?"

"Such as the fact that I can't stop thinking about what it'd be like to have another child, to go through all those wonderful firsts again, and to experience all those things with you."

He nods, grinning as he shifts on his feet. "That sounds… like you're not so conflicted."

Nodding, she bites down on her lip. It does sound that way. "Perhaps I'm less conflicted than I realized."

She lets her eyes meet his and for a moment, she just stares at him, watching as he tries to contain his excitement–and then, all of the sudden, in a burst, she laughs out. She feels lighter than she did before, her thoughts weighing far less heavily and though only a handful of minutes have gone by, it's hard to remember why she was conflicted at all.

"I want us to have a baby," she tells him, her voice decisive yet light. "That is, if you also want that."

"I do," he's quick to say. "You know that I do."

She laughs again as she stands, her head spinning with the turn around of her own feelings–and before either of them can say anymore, Robin is in front of her and reaching for her. He lifts her up and spins her around, laughing with her as they enjoy the moment.

They'll talk about the rest later, she decides. For now, they'll just enjoy the moment.

Robin sets her down, taking her face in his hands and drawing her in, offering a sweet kiss that leaves her even dizzier than before.

There's no turning back now, she realizes.

And what a freeing realization that is.