Watching
His grandmother did something wrong.
Henry had always thought that the worst thing Snow White could ever do was be a little snappish in the morning before she got her coffee. The way his grandfather looked at her, it was like she was the most perfect being the world had ever produced. They were happy together, and Henry had never seen that before. His idea of adult relationships was how Regina had always been—manipulative, deceitful, codependent.
He hadn't known what real love was—the love of a husband and wife—until his grandparents. They were as sickening as teenagers, and he thought it was beautiful, just like a fairy tale should be. But then Mary Margaret did something so awful, so out of character, that Henry had never even imagined she was capable of it.
That's when he started watching his grandfather in earnest. Before, he had seen things offhand—kisses, clasped hands, smiles at each other's jokes—but he'd never seen his grandparents in that kind of crisis, the kind that shakes people to the core.
In those first days, Henry hid a lot. He snuck into the house when no one was looking, or he perched on the stairs when everyone was busy. He wanted to see; he had to see. How would a prince respond when his lady had done something so heinous she hardly even knew herself any more? Would he punish her with his anger?
Henry got the surprise of his life. His wide eyes took in every careful, detailed act as the prince, who never cooked, made meal after meal for his wife with his own hands. He stared, rapt, as David tried over and over again to engage her, even when she refused to eat or speak. He felt his grandfather's heartbreak as the older man's tears finally overflowed, late into the night, when his wife was finally asleep.
The boy thought he understood forgiveness and love. After all, he had tried to accept Regina again, and he had never been unkind to his mother or the others who had failed to believe him in the beginning. He now realized he was wrong.
Forgiveness was the eyes of his grandfather as he smoothed the hair from Mary Margaret's damp forehead. Love was the way he cradled her while she slept, even though she pushed him away when she was awake. True forgiveness and love, he realized, were utterly selfless.
Henry was hiding on the stairs the day his grandmother finally told his grandfather the truth about her fears and the pain her heart contained. As David's arms embraced her and she found rest on his chest, the little boy wept. He did not know it then, but he had learned something about becoming a man that he had never known before.
