"You don't know who I am?" Emma asked, her throat dry and her mind completely flabbergasted. Henry regarded her skeptically.
"Should I?" he asked.
Emma tried to think quickly. Clearly something was off. She looked down at herself to see if for some reason she appeared different, but she was exactly herself. Before she could even think of what to say, Henry asked her another question.
"How do you know my name?"
Again, Emma was at a loss. What was becoming increasingly, and painfully, clear to her was that her son had no memory of her. It was as if she had been completely erased from his life. She swallowed hard, unsure of have to proceed. She didn't want to scare him off or hurt him. She saw his red and puffy eyes, raw from crying, and realized he was in a very emotionally vulnerable state. She didn't want to add to that stress by trying to explain who she was, especially without fully understanding what was going on.
"I… I've just heard other people talk about you," she tried blindly, thinking quickly. "You're the boy who… lives in the palace, right? With Regina?"
"Yeah," Henry said, his voice still thick with skepticism, but he deigned to take a step closer. "Who are you?" he asked again, his tone hesitant, though not accusatory.
"I… uh… my name is Emma," she said, struggling to keep her sorrow and confusion from her face as she reintroduced herself to her own son. "I'm… new here."
She couldn't think of anything else to say that would be safe from his confusion, and she breathed a bit easier when he shrugged, accepting her vague explanation without concern or question.
"Well, I'm sorry if I bothered you, Emma," he sniffed in a small voice. Emma put her confusion aside and stepped forward in concern as she noticed the tear streaks on her son's cheeks.
"Why were you crying?" she asked gently, though she stopped herself from going to embrace him, realizing that would be inappropriate given the circumstances. Henry looked down at the forest floor.
"I don't know," he said sheepishly. He seemed extremely dejected. He sat himself back down on the edge of the pool, his knees curled up to him so that his chin rested on top of them.
"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want," Emma said, a bit disappointed. She sat next to him as well, not close enough to touch, though it was killing her not to have him in her arms, but close enough that she hoped some comfort would leak to him. "We can talk about something else."
"No, it's not that," Henry said in a stuffy voice. "I just… I literally don't know. Sometimes I get really sad, and I don't know why, but I can't help it. It's kind of like something is missing, but I can't put my finger on what."
Emma swallowed hard as she watched her son express his loneliness. She instinctively put her arm comfortingly around him.
"It's ok to cry," she soothed.
"My mom doesn't like it," he sniffed. "She says if I don't know why I'm sad then I shouldn't be sad."
Emma's tensed, her face hardening as an anger pulsed through her. She did not know what was going on but she had no doubt that Regina had something to do with it, and she was furious that she was making her son feel guilty for displaying his emotions. That's often how her foster parents had made her feel, and it was not healthy for a child not to cry.
"Is she unkind to you, Henry?" she could not help herself from asking. If that woman had torn her boy away just to abuse him, there would be more than hell to pay.
"She's fine, it's just sometimes I can tell I make her angry for some reason and I don't know why. It's like I've done something and I've forgotten it, but she hasn't."
Emma's brow furrowed as she tried to piece everything together. Henry couldn't remember who she was, and he was talking about missing something that isn't there and forgetting things that other people seemed to remember. It seemed that he felt it was just himself being confused and angsty, but she thought there must be more to it. Somehow, parts of his memory were missing, but how could that be?
"Anyway, I like to come here when I feel that way," Henry continued. "When I feel lonely or sad for no reason. I like this place. For some reason, it feels very homey to me. Very familiar."
Emma thought about what Snow had said. How she had used to come and sit by the pool when she was sad or lonely or pensive. How she had fled here when her mother had died, and again her father. Something was telling her that while Henry's consciousness couldn't seem to remember her, to remember any of his family from Storybrooke, that his subconscious did. Was there something in him that was in fact sensing his grandmother's attachment to this very same pool from so many years ago.
"Did you used to come here a lot before," she asked, trying to get more information about who this boy thought he was and what he did remember. "When you were a kid?"
"I'm still a kid," he countered.
"Really?" Emma asked lightly, looking him over. "You look more like you're about to be a teenager to me."
A smile crept onto Henry's face. It melted her heart. She nudged him softly with her shoulder and smiled back at him. He turned back to look at the water, and some confusion slid into his face as he crinkled his brow.
"I guess I always came here," he said, although there was uncertainty in his voice. "Even when I was younger. I must have. Although, I don't really remember the first time…"
He trailed off. Emma watched him intently. This reminded her of the reactions she used to get from Mary Margaret or other citizens of Storybrooke when she asked them about their pasts. A vague amnesia that caught them slightly off guard. But before she could press further, she heard a rustling from behind her. She and Henry turned simultaneously, following the sound.
"I got a few squirrels, but no rabbits," Snow was tallying, looking down at the game she carried in her right hand, while her bow was in her left as she walked towards them. She looked up and stopped suddenly as she saw Emma's company. Emma quickly stood from where she was squatted. Snow's jaw dropped. "Is that…?"
"Henry, this is my friend, Mary Margaret," Emma introduced pointedly, raising her eyebrows and her voice, signaling to Snow that not all was right. Snow halted and tilted her head confused. Emma continued. "Mary Margaret, this is my new friend Henry. We just met," she emphasized.
Snow blinked, her mouth hanging open, completely bewildered. She looked from her daughter to her grandson. Henry looked back at her vaguely and waved half a wave. Snow swallowed her shock and pulled on her most convincing smile.
"It's nice to meet you Henry," she said, her voice quivering a bit.
"Nice to meet you, too," Henry offered. "I should be getting back though. My mom will get worried. She doesn't like me wandering off after dark, because of the ogres." He turned to Emma and hesitated, as if he didn't want to leave right away. "Maybe I'll see you again sometime, Emma?" he asked in an adorably tentative voice.
"Sure, kid," she said, smiling at him. "It's a plan."
Henry smiled. Emma fought the urge to reach out and pat his head, to pull him into her arms and hold him tightly. She sufficed to wave as he bounded off back in the direction of the castle. Snow drew up beside Emma.
"What…?" she began softly.
"Someone's tampered with his memory," Emma said, her voice hard, trying to keep emotion from it. "He doesn't remember anything." She turned and locked eyes with her mother. "He doesn't remember me."
Then, Emma could not stop them. The tears rose into her eyes faster than she could stuff them back down, and they spilled over and slid down her cheeks. Her face scrunched in an attempt to hold it all back, to not feel any of the extreme emotions she had just experienced in the last ten minutes – the relief and the joy and the disappointment and the anger and the grief. Snow reached for her daughter and Emma buried her face in her mother's embrace, succumbing to uncontrollable sobs.
For a moment, Snow was at a loss for what to say as her daughter completely broke down into her shoulder. She just held her tighter and stroked her hair, cooing reassurances she wasn't sure even she believed.
"We'll find a way to fix it," she promised.
A short chapter, but I promise that in the next chapter we get some answers. But just because Emma and Snow find out what happened to Henry's memory doesn't mean they are any closer to figuring out what to do about it.