Henry was awfully quiet the whole ride back, staring aimlessly out the window, as he held onto his mother's hand. It was a good thing they lived in a small town, for Regina hardly needed her other hand as she drove. She stole fleeting glances at him, and the look on his face troubled her. She had managed to calm him down that morning, and was glad when she saw the life creep back into his eyes. He was starting to look like her energetic little boy once more, the excitement, the serenity, and the happiness for being back with her-which was still surprising to her-but now he looked like the broken little boy who was sobbing in her arms that morning.

Once she reached her house, she switched off the engine, and turned around in her seat to look at him, her hand still holding his. She saw his eyes travel to the white building, the corners of his eyes wrinkling a bit as he stared at it as if seeing it for the first time, before they finally found her worried ones.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Regina inquired worriedly.

"Did you really stand in front of Grandma, and tell Cora that the only to kill Grandma was to go through you?" he asked, his voice was a bit hollow, it wasn't doubtful, but she could tell that there was something else behind it.

"Yes, I did," she said simply.

"It takes time to forgive, and you don't just go from barely tolerating someone, to putting yourself in front of them and protect them," he said, and saw her nod in understanding.

"You want to know how I can go from trying so hard to kill her to stopping my mother from doing exactly that?" she voiced the question that was left hanging in the air.

She sighed heavily, when he nodded, and turned back to look ahead, "I don't think I ever wanted Snow to die, deep down I never wanted to kill her, I just wanted her to feel sorry for what she did. I wanted an apology out of her, a sincere one. To see remorse, or even an admission of guilt," she explained, still avoiding his curious gaze, "that day, before my mother attacked, she apologized for killing my mother, she said she did not take it lightly. I told her that my mother had killed her mother, so it was a bit more complicated than that. So I guess, for the first time in a very long time, I finally decided to look at the whole picture. How it all started, and the sequence of events," she finished.

"Then how come you won't let me own up to my mistakes?" he asked, and her head whipped around to him.

"What?" she breathed incredulously.

"How come you're taking all the blame for what I did, and won't let me apologize?" he elaborated, and she saw the tears glistening in his eyes once more.

"Because it wasn't your fault, I didn't handle you finding out about the curse right, and made you feel unloved, or downright crazy. You're the child, I'm the adult, I should've handled it all better," she soothed, as she reached over and cupped his cheek.

"Except I started pulling away before I even knew about the curse," he reminded her, and she looked confusingly at him.

"Baby, what are you talking about?" she asked.

"The first time I said I hate you, the first time I said you weren't my real mother, all the other things I said…" he hiccupped, "all of that was before I found out about the curse. The first time I said you weren't my real mother, was after you told me I was adopted," he sobbed.

Regina wanted to hold him, to just comfort him, but the damned setting of the car was not letting her. She unbuckled her seatbelt, and leaned forward as best as she could, her hand still cupping his cheek, while the other one started rubbing his arm comfortingly, "baby, I knew that wasn't real. Many adopted children have that reaction when they learn the truth, you were hurt, it's understandable," she soothed, but it seemed that her stubborn streak had passed on to him, and he refused to let her take the blame.

"No, I saw it in your eyes that you wanted to object to what I said, before you remembered that I was right. You thought I started pulling away because of you, you don't even remember that I pulled away long before I found out about the curse."

"Because it wasn't until then that I saw real anger, and resentment in your eyes," she explained softly, her voice catching a bit as she remembered the look her son used to give her, "the day I told you you were adopted, I didn't see resentment, I didn't see a need to be away from me; all I saw was hurt. Hurt and a need to understand why you weren't loved by the woman who gave birth to you," she added lovingly, "that's why I don't remember it, because I knew it wasn't real," she finished, as her own tears now cascaded down her cheeks.

"That's just it, Mom," he cried, "I made you believe that I hated you for real, when I never did. Yes I was angry, but only because I was so mad that you lied to me. I never hated you, Mom," he pleaded, "none of the things I said was real," he sobbed.

"I know baby, I know," she tried to calm him, but he still shook his head, "I won't lie to you, at some point I did believe that you hate me, that you never wanted me in your life again, but then little things would happen that gave me hope," she stated, and he looked at her skeptically.

"Like what?"

"Like how tight your arms wrapped around me after Emma pulled you out of the mines," she reminded him, "and the way you were looking at me on Hook's ship," she added.

"Then how come you didn't think I still needed you to be my mom when Pan was pretending to be me?" he shot back.

"Because the way he acted was what raised the red flag in Emma's head, and frankly, a part of me felt something was wrong too, but I wanted to believe in the upside for once."

"But I would've done the same thing," he deadpanned, and she cocked her head to the side in confusion, "I was planning on going back to the house with you when we got here, I missed you, and when you tucked me in on the ship, I realized how bad I missed how it was between us," he confessed, and she smiled.

"You have no idea how much this means to me," she whispered tearfully.

"I love you, Mom, I really do," he pressed, and she smiled assuringly at him.

"I know baby, I've known since the first time you said it to me."

She smiled happily, when she saw the ghost of a smile starting to creep onto his lips, "how old was I?" he asked.

"Three."

His smile fell instantly, and the small ray of happiness disappeared once more from his eyes, "it took me three years!" he said incredulously.

"Well, not exactly. You used to say it back all the time, but you were three the first time you said it on your own accord," she explained.

"You never told me about that," he said softly.

Storybrooke- 9 Years Ago.

It was a cold winter's night in Storybrooke, Maine, and all the residents were more than happy to close their businesses early, and run home to the warm glow of their fires. It hadn't even struck ten o'clock, when most of the residents had decided to call it a night, and escape to their warm and cozy beds.

The young brunette mayor was no different, she too was safely tucked under her heavy comforter, as she finally got some much deserved rest. She was glad that she had no work in the morning, for it was the weekend. As it turned out, being a single mother to an energetic three year old boy, while trying to run a town was not an easy task to accomplish. She had barely sat down all day, for her son had refused to let her.

It was closing in on midnight, when she felt a small hand tap her arm persistently. She lazily opened her eyes, her groggy eyes refusing to focus.

"Mommy," a quivering, tiny voice reached her ears, and her eyes flew open. She knew that voice, it was her son's voice, and it did not sound good.

She found him standing next to the bed, his chubby cheeks slightly flushed, matching the red flannel onesie he wore, "Mommy," he called again, when he saw her eyes open.

"Henry," she said groggily, "what's the matter honey?" she inquired worriedly, her hands finding his small frame and moving it closer to the bed, so she can help him climb into bed with her.

"My tummy hurts," he pouted, his small lips trembling slightly.

"Oh, baby," she cooed, as she got up onto her elbows, and tried to pick him up. As soon as he settled into her lap, and before he could snuggle into her like he normally does when he does not feel well, a fit of coughing plagued his tiny form. Regina rubbed his back soothingly as he coughed, her other hand reaching for the drawer of her nightstand where she kept the thermometer. But before she could open it, Henry made a gurgling noise, and she barely had time to get the garbage can, before he started to throw up.

She picked him, and the can up, and walked to the bathroom. Once inside, she knelt next to the toilet, and held his head over the seat, where he continued to hurl everything he had eaten that day.

"Mommy," he whimpered tearfully between hurls, his body now shaking slightly with sobs, as a thin layer of sweat covered his fully flushed face.

"It's okay baby," she cooed, one hand rubbing his stomach, while the other ran through his hair.

After about twenty minutes, he finally stopped hurling, but was still crying. Regina didn't think much of the crying, since she had read somewhere that kids sometimes cry when they get sick. So she just pressed her mouth into his hair, and murmured kisses and shushing sounds. She grabbed a wet towel, and cleaned his mouth, before she walked back to her bed.

"Baby, why don't you wait here till I go get some sprite from the fridge?" she asked the infant, who had his face buried in her neck.

Her response came in the form of vigorous shakes of his small head, his fists balling up around her silk top, and his face burrowing even deeper into her neck.

She sighed sadly, the state her baby was in tugged at her heart, she hated it when he got sick. And so, she silently descended the stairs, and walked to her kitchen. She opened the fridge, and was glad when she found half a bottle of Sprite. She took it out, retrieved a plastic sippy cup from a nearby cabinet, and then emptied the bottle into it, before she made her way back up the stairs.

Once they settled into bed once more, she gave Henry the cup, who promptly shook his head, "no," he objected.

"It's okay, baby, it will make your tummy feel better," she soothed, smiling reassuringly at him when his big inquisitive green eyes looked up at her. The amount of trust in them baffled her, even after three years of having him, she was still baffled by the unconditional trust he has for her.

She allowed him to take a small sip, before she took it away and placed it on the night stand. Henry immediately balled up against her body, and she gladly welcomed him into her arms. She burrowed under the covers once more, with the clingy three year old in her arms, and lay on her side, allowing Henry to curl up against her even further.

She rubbed his back comfortingly, as she continued to murmur kisses and soothing words into his hair. He had his cheek resting against her chest, so she was glad when she noted that he was slightly warm, and that he did not develop a full on fever.

"Mommy," he called.

"Yes, baby," she replied, pulling back slightly to look at him, when she felt him raise his head from her chest.

"I'm s'rry" his voice was small, and it tugged at her heart seeing him so exhausted.

"Baby, you have nothing to be sorry for," she assured him softly.

"You'w not mad?" he wondered, and she shook her head.

"No, baby. You did nothing wrong, you just got sick," she explained gently.

She watched his small hand reach up to her hair, and push it back slightly from her face, before it slid down to rest over her cheek. She let him do whatever he felt like, for she had promised him the day she brought him home, that she will give him the world if he asked for it.

"I love you, Mommy," he whispered, and she froze.

She couldn't believe her ears, he had said it back to her a million times before, but never on his own accord. And it wasn't just what he said, it was also the love she saw in his eyes; the unconditional adoration only a child can give.

She could feel the tears rise to her eyes, and she smiled adoringly at the only joy she had in life, the one person who managed to pull her heart back from the darkness. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, "I love you too baby," she cooed.

First off, I would like to apologize for the month long wait, but life kept getting in the way. I know that it is short, but the other half of the chapter is still not up to the standards I want it to be, so I decided to give you this part, while I work on the other, and try to upload it tomorrow. I have not read it for grammar and spelling, and it is 3 am here, so excuse any mistakes.

Thanks to all who read, followed and of course, reviewed, and I am glad that many of you agree that Emma has no right to act like the primary parent in Henry's life.

You know what helps me write, so keep'em coming.