"I told you once you didn't look like her, but now … Now I can see it."
But I'm not, she thinks as she slowly climbs the stairs. I'm not. I didn't become like her.
"If you have to use magic to keep your son, you don't really have him."
She sinks down on Henry's bed. It's still warm from when he sat there, just minutes ago, with her.
"You ruined lives. You sent away Mary Margaret and Emma."
But that was an accident. I didn't mean to.
"The way you treated me wasn't an accident."
Her son's still visible, heading down their street with … his grandfather. His grandfather, who thinks it's appropriate to walk around a small town in Maine with a sword. Regina guesses she'd be a fool to hold out any hope for teeth brushing, or vegetables, or appropriate bed times.
Maybe she should have made Henry stay with her. She would have been better. He would have seen that.
"So I'm a prisoner because you love me. That's not fair."
She starts to laugh, but it sounds so bitter and so sad that she cuts herself off immediately. Fair? Life's not fair. Nothing about her life, at least, has ever been fair.
"I don't want to be you."
Well, she thinks, smoothing a wrinkle out of his duvet, that makes two of us.