A/N: Thanks for all the favorites and follows. This chapter is the last of the preamble, it finally feels like its moving along. I hope those of you reading enjoy! Reviews are welcomed.

I have never liked hospitals, but then I don't suppose many people actually enjoy them. It's the waiting that really gets to me. Waiting for news on a loved one, waiting for your test results to come back, waiting for the nurse to turn up with your meds. It gives me too much time to think.

When Henry was 4 I brought him to the ER because his temperature was 102, and it just wasn't budging. We had to wait an eternity for the test results to come back. An ear infection, antibiotics and rest, but during the time between tests and confirmation he'd had every fatal illness I could think of.

I waited for long hours as a teenager outside my father's room whilst the doctors talked to my parents in hushed voices. I knew that they had nothing good to say, if it was good I wouldn't have been sent out of the room. That's why I will only let Henry visit for an hour or two in the evenings now, I can't stomach the idea of him gaining an intimate knowledge of the linoleum tile floor. There are 96 squares in my room.

"Regina?" The nurse breaks my reverie as she knocks on the open door. My smile feels tight, not least because my lips are chapped. "I need to change your drip." She nods. I nod back, it's an everyday occurrence now. "No visitors today?" The nurse asks.

"Not yet." I know that Henry will come by this evening, chaperoned by David if I'm lucky, Mary Margaret if I'm not. It's possible my mother might turn up at some point, but that's unlikely.

"You want me to grab the DVD's from the staff lounge?" She asks conspiratorially as she unclips the bag. Her name is Victoria. I didn't like her when I was first admitted, she was way too cheerful. It didn't take long for me to snap at her, when she snapped back I realised she was a keeper.

"No. I've got some letters to write." I shrug and sit a little higher against the pillows.

"To Emma again?" She asks. There's no judgement there. Although I suppose she sees this kind of thing all the time. She once told me about a guy who recorded video messages to everyone who'd ever wronged him, telling them how he didn't forgive them and he hoped they were unhappy with their lives.

"To Henry." I tell her.

"Well, I'm on until 7 if you need anything." She finishes hanging the new bag and leaves me to write.

It's certainly the hardest thing I've ever done. Writing letters to my son, not the boy he is now, but the man he will become. The one I will never get to meet. I'd cry if I could, but I'm not producing enough tears to do that effectively.

I want him to be able to have a piece of me with him when he does the important things in life. So I've written one letter already for when he's trying to decide if he should go to college, and trying to decide which college. I'm part way through the one for the first time he brings a girlfriend or boyfriend home. I had to put it away yesterday because it was just too hard. I was there for all his firsts, and now I won't get to be there for any of them. This letter is for when he turns 18 and can vote, and hopefully when he'll go off to college. I try to recall myself at 18, fending for myself, learning to cook. Having Emma explain the rules of beer pong. Staying up way too late and having to get up way too early. I wouldn't change a minute of it.

It's exhausting, recalling these times. Emotionally draining trying to find the words I want to say to Henry. They have to be just right; they are all he's going to have of me.

I must have fallen to sleep, because the next thing I know it's 5:30 and Henry will be arriving soon. There's this little ritual I have, reaching for the make-up bag on the stand next to the bed. My reflection in the compact mirror is not what it once was, but I can make the best of a bad situation. I can't let Henry see me like this.

He arrives ten minutes after my lipstick has been applied. He babbles quickly about how he got an A on his Math homework, and did I know that Hercules wasn't just a Disney story he was a Greek myth too! He has a spelling test, and will I help him?

"Tomorrow." I promise, my eyes are so heavy.

"Come on Henry, we'll let your Mom get some rest." David says putting a hand on his shoulder. He means well I know. But I can't stand that pitying smile. I'm not mad at him though, I'm mad at myself. This time, these few short hours with Henry are precious, and I can't summon the energy to stay awake. Henry kisses my cheek and says goodnight, my eyes already shutting as they leave the room.

It's quiet when I wake up. The lights in the hallway dimmed. 10:45 the clock says. I blink my eyes open, trying to focus on the person in the chair. It's not easy, the drugs keep me drowsy for longer than I'd like. It wouldn't be the first time I've hallucinated somebody either. But they switched up the pain relief when I told the nurses about that. Finally I can focus, and my heart stops for a second.

"Miss Swan." My voice is scratchy; I could really use some water. "You came."

She doesn't say a word, she just shrugs slightly. I wonder how long she's been sitting there. It's then that I realise she's holding my hand. Relief washes over me. "I knew you would." I smile.