Henry

He was her son.

She was shaking as she reached out to him, pushing back his dark brown hair – a trait from his father – and stared down, imaging she was looking at his honey eyes instead of his steady eyelids. Tears slipped from her ducts and down her pale face, down across her chin and landing down her top, or leaving stains on her red jacket.

She wanted to whisper, my baby, she wanted to cry, to scream – she could hear Regina practically dying behind her – but all Emma did was lean down so she could see every curve, every crevice, every freckle on his washed out face, murmur shakily, "I love you, Henry," and press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

She felt the heat radiate out – she felt the shift. She felt him move. She felt him breathe.

She felt him say, "I love you, too."


someone is going to have to tell me what happened in the second season cause we dont have it here! argghh! anyway, review.
no white horse for me