Regina looked over at Henry, smiling as he leaned against the counter as he read over the notes his classmates had written to him—and she can't help but smile as an odd sense of relief hits her. It wasn't long ago that he'd been so worried about starting school—fearful that he'd have to sit alone at lunch and not have anyone to play with at recess, scared that the other kids would tease him and not want to work in groups with him, worried that once again, he'd find himself alone in the crowd. She sets the last of the dishes into the dishwasher and bends to grab the soap, watching as Henry smile as his fingers touch the edge overly glittered card as he closes it and stares at the big red heart in the center and the silver bubble letters spelling out 'Get Well Soon, Henry!' on the front.

"So, what do you say we tackle some of that homework?" She asks, kicking the dishwasher door closed and spinning the dial. "You've got quite a bit of it in that folder."

"Do I have to?" Henry asks, looking up at her and pouting out his bottom lip. His hazel eyes are wide and hopeful, and he bats his eyelashes in a way that he's quickly learned is the first step in getting her to give in and let him have his way. "Today's the first day that I feel better," he reasons. "And it's Friday, so that means I have the whole weekend to do it."

Tossing the dishtowel down onto the counter, she crosses her arms and tries not to grin. "And you have an entire week's worth of work to make up for this weekend."

"Technically," Henry begins as a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "It's only four days." She rolls her eyes but nonetheless feels a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth. "And I'm only in school for six hours, so…two days is…" His voice trails off and he chews at his bottom lip as he struggles through the multiplication and she can't stop her smile when his eyes widen and he smiles triumphantly as he silently reaches his answer. "I definitely have more than enough time…starting tomorrow."

Regina laughs a little and shakes her head, stifling the urge to just give in. "Okay," she says, taking a short breath as she reaches out and runs her fingers through the front of his hair, pushing it off of his forehead. "How about we pick just one thing to do tonight and then when that one thing is done, we'll cuddle up on the couch with some blankets and watch a movie before bed?" Again, Henry chews at his bottom for a moment as he considers, his own eyes narrowing to mirror her expression—and her breath catches because for the first time, she sees her own mannerisms in him—and she feels a smile tug onto her lips. "What do you think?"

"Can we make popcorn, too?"

"Oh," she murmurs, "I don't think that's a good idea. I think it might be a little harsh on your stomach."

"What about popsicles? Can we make popsicles instead?" He grins. "You did promise to teach me how to make them when I was better."

She sighs, "I did, didn't I?" Henry nods and she feels a small pang of guilt. "They're easy to make, but they take awhile to freeze. I don't think they'd be done in time."

"Oh, okay," Henry says, shrugging his shoulders with a little sigh. "Never mind then."

"Do you think you could settle for the popsicles I made just before dinner? Those should be ready by the time we watch the movie." She wagers, grinning as his smile returns and he offers her a vigorous nod in reply. "So, do we have a deal then?" She asks, "A little homework then a movie and popsicles."

"We have a deal," he tells her as he reaches for his folder, immediately crinkling his nose at a math assignment that's tucked into the front pocket.

"How about we hold off on the math until tomorrow," she says, leaning against the counter and turning the folder towards herself, deciding that something difficult would be better served after a full night's sleep. She laughs a little as she brushes some glitter off of the pocket and begins thumbing through the pages—skipping more math and then skipping over a short story and a plot diagram, and then skipping over some writing prompts, knowing that Henry will enjoy those might be a nice reward after working on math the next day. "What about science?" She murmurs, as she pulls a stapled packet from the folder. "What do you think?"

Henry takes the packet and his eyes slowly scan it. "We started this last week, I think," he tells her. "We learned about all the different parts of a cell and…now, I guess we have to make one."

"That could be fun…"

"Yeah," he says with a little sigh. "I could use that bag of pom-poms that we got at the craft store…" Regina's brow furrows and Henry giggles a bit. "The colorful cotton ball thingies," he tells her.

"Oh…right…" She says with a little laugh. "You have all that foam, too, from when we were trying to figure out what to make your Captain America shield from…"

"Oh yeah," he nods. "And I have beads and glitter glue and…" He nods decisively. "I'll go get my craft box." He starts to slide off of his stool, but she reaches for him and presses a kiss against the top of his head, laughing and he squirms. "Do I need anything else?" He asks, when he's finally free. "I can't see the list…"

"Oh, um…" She scans the list and nods. "Grab some regular glue—not the glittery one—and you'll need a good-sized shoe box." His nose crinkles as he considers this and she laughs. "Take one out of my closet," she says with a little laugh. "Just…try to put the shoes back in my closet neatly, okay?"

"Okay," Henry agrees as he runs toward the stairs, clattering up them and making her laugh again. She closes the folder and pushes it aside, then reaches for the card caked in glitter, remembering when Robin handed it to Henry earlier that evening—and warm grin begins to tug onto her lips…

The door bell rang and Henry looked up at her as she shrugged her shoulders and suggested that he answer it. His brow had furrowed with curiosity and she laughed a little, knowing that Robin and Roland would be stopping over just before dinner with Henry's homework. She watched as Henry's eyes widened in excitement when he opened the door and saw Robin standing there with Roland on his shoulders—and Robin announced to him that he had a very special delivery. Roland giggled and held up a blue folder with Henry's name written on it in black marker, telling him with a bit too much excitement that they'd brought his school work. Nonetheless, Henry invited them in, practically bouncing as he did—he hadn't seen them since Halloween since he'd been sleeping off a fever the last time they'd been over in the middle of the night.

Once inside, Robin twisted Roland off of his shoulders and extended the card to Henry and he'd ran his little fingers over the glittered surface as Robin had smiled apologetically at Regina as pieces of loose glitter cascaded down onto the floor in the foyer.

Henry and Roland went into the living room to better examine the card as Roland chattered on about an all-school assembly Henry had been lucky enough to miss.

"You didn't have to do this," Regina murmured, pushing herself away from the frame of the door and toward the foyer. "I could have… gone up to the school and picked it up."

"With a sick kid?" Robin asked, arching his eyebrow. "I don't think so."

"Well, my secretary…"

"Regina, I was there anyway picking up Roland," he interjected with a small grin. "It was no trouble at all. Besides, it gives me an excuse to see you…" Her eyes widened a little as Robin's cheeks flushed and he grimaced. "I just… I meant that I've gotten used to seeing you and Henry a few times a week and… I just…"

"Missed a friend," Regina supplied as her heart fluttered a little. "I get it."

A thud coming upstairs brings her out of the memory and she looks curiously toward the stairs, taking a breath as she starts toward them. "Henry?" He doesn't answer and her heartbeat quickens. "Henry, are you okay?" She calls out as she reaches the stairs—and when he doesn't reply, her heart drops and she runs up the stairs, once more calling his name and receiving no reply.

For a moment, she doesn't understand. He's standing in the center of her bedroom holding a couple of sheets of paper in his small hands. His craft box is open on the floor, the contents spilled out on the carpet.

"Henry, what's wrong…" she murmurs slowly, suddenly noticing the shoe box at his feet—the box she kept tucked away on her shelf, the one with this name on it. "Oh, Henry…" she says again, as her mouth goes try and her heart begins to pound, watching the way he stares at the papers in his hands. It's a look she's seen before—a mixture of hurt and confusion, of disbelief and sadness—and it's a look she wishes more than anything she hadn't caused. Her chest tightens and she can't find her voice—though, she's not sure what she could say to him because there isn't anything she can say that could undo her mistake or change the way that she knows he feels.

His hands are shaking as she steps into the room, her heart pounding louder and louder as she takes a few tentative steps toward him. It feels like an eternity before she reaches him, and she drops down onto her knees so that she's at eye level with him. She reaches for his hand, but he pulls away and tears fill her eyes as she notices the tears welling in his. His fingers hand tremble as he holds the papers and he's staring at them so intently, she's not even sure he knows that she's there.

"Henry," she calls softly, as she reaches for the papers and attempts to pull them away. Her fingers touch to them and again he doesn't look at her, not acknowledging her presence in any way. "Henry," she says again, gently pulling at the papers—and this time, he makes a move, his fingers clenching around the papers as his face crumbles. Still, he doesn't look at her. "Henry, can you please just… look at me?"

Slowly, his eyes turn up to meet hers and as soon as they do, tears spill from them, streaming down his cheeks as his jaw begins to tremble. For a moment, he doesn't say anything, he just stares at her, looking at her as if he's looking through her. "It was… you," he says finally in a barely audible voice. "You were the one. You were the person who almost adopted me. H-how? How was that possible?" He asks, as he turns the photograph of her holding him when he was just a couple of months old around so that she can see it. "This is me and you and… you gave me back. You gave me away."

"Henry…"

"You didn't want me," he says, cutting her off as he looks down the picture. "You didn't want me," he says again, this time more definitively as if it's the plain truth. There's no question in his words, just a statement—and the words cut deep. "You… you didn't want me," he says again, pulling away from her as his face crumbles.

"It wasn't that I didn't want you, Henry."

"You almost adopted me," he says, his voice rising as his eyes widen with realization as he stares at her, "Just like they said." He shakes his head, "And on Halloween, you told me they were wrong, but… but they weren't. Everything they told me was… it was true."

"No, Henry. It's not like they said."Her voice is desperate and again, she reaches out to him. "Henry, it's not at all like what they said."

"Why didn't you want me?" he asks, recoiling as she her fingers touch to his hand, wanting nothing more than to hold him and comfort him and make him understand that she's always loved him—that despite the terrible mistake she made, she never stopped loving him—and giving him up was never about home, it was about her and giving him up was her greatest regret, in a lifetime that was full of regrets.

"Henry, please, let me exp…"

"No," he says again, taking a step back. "I don't want to hear anymore lies."

"I wouldn't lie to you, Henry."

"Then why didn't you tell me?" He asks. "You said I didn't do anything wrong…"

"You didn't, Henry. You didn't do anything wrong."

"What did I do to make you not want me?" He asks, his face crumbling as he looks away from her, looking down at the picture once again. "I had to have done something. Otherwise you wouldn't have given me away. You wouldn't have sent me back."

"I wanted you Henry. I always wanted you."

"If that were true, you wouldn't have given me back." He shakes his head and when he looks back up at her, she sees a look that's so familiar to her—a look she's seen countless times when she looks in the mirror—and it breaks her heart to see that sort of self-loathing in his eyes. "I wasn't good enough and you knew that."

"No," she's quick to say. "You were… perfect," she tells him, her voice cracking as her breath catches in her throat. "You were this perfect little boy who I loved more than anything." Closing her eyes, she takes a breath, forcing her voice out. "But when I looked at you, I couldn't help but think that you deserved more, that you deserved better than what I could give you." She opens her eyes and tears immediately spill from them and Henry's face is unchanged. "I thought that by giving you up, I was doing what was best for you. I thought you deserved a family and…"

"Yeah," he scoffs. "Look how that turned out."

"I'm so sorry, Henry. I… I didn't know. I didn't know how things were going to turn out for you." She leans back on her ankles, sitting on the back of her legs as she takes a breath. "I was wrong, Henry. I was wrong and…"

"Is that why you came to New York?" He asks, momentarily letting his eyes meet hers. "Is that why you… you were so nice to me and you bought me things and took me places and… and did you do all of that because you felt guilty?"

"No…"

Henry nods, "Oh…"

She watches him for a moment and she wishes that she could tell what he was thinking—wishing more than anything he would let her comfort him, that he would believe her when she told him that she loved him—and she wishes that she could undo her mistakes, that she could have kept him and loved him and avoided this very moment.

"Henry, I love you. I've always loved you," she says, her voice full of sincere conviction. "There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't think of you and…"

He shakes his head, "I don't believe you."

"Henry, please…" She leans forward and tries to reach for him, but he withdraws sharply, practically wincing as her fingertips graze his hand. He sucks in a breath as his face contorts and looks at her like she's a complete stranger as the papers fall from his hand and tears stream down his cheeks. "Let me explain. Just… let me try?"

"No," he cuts in. "There's nothing to explain." He shrugs his shoulders. "I wasn't good enough and now… now you just… feel sorry for me." He takes a step back. "And that's not the same as love."

"I do love you, Henry," she says in a small voice, her heart clenching and arching as she struggles to breathe. "No matter what you think right now, I do love you."

"If that's what you think," he murmurs, as he takes another step back as his jaw tightens and his eyes fall away from hers. "You don't know what love is."

His words sting and though she tries, she can't manage to reply. Her breath catches, aching and expanding in her chest and she feels like she's been kicked in the stomach and all she can do is watch him go, and flinch when his bedroom door slams shut—shutting her out and closing himself off to her.

On Sunday night, she cracks open his door, peeking in and seeing that he's put himself to bed. She takes a breath and comes into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching him sleep for a few minutes. She can't help but notice that Prince Caspian hasn't been touched and she feels a mix of emotion surge through her. It seems odd, that this is what forces tears into her eyes, but it's more than just the story—there's a sense of relief that he doesn't want to finish it without her and a sort of hope that maybe he'll want to continue it with her in the not-so-distant future, but also the fear that he's given up something he loves, that his life has again been altered and something that made him feel safe and secure has once again been taken from him.

Swallowing hard, she reaches out and tentatively brushes her fingers through his hair. He doesn't move and her breath catches, relishing in the small bit of contact and small bit of normalcy. She takes a long breath and slowly exhales it, as she lies down beside him—close enough that she can feel him breathing, but not quite close enough to hold him, not wanting to wake him and not wanting him to push her away.

She lays with him for awhile, feeling herself growing tired, her eyelids drooping and her breath growing shallow; and though she wants nothing more than to close her eyes and cuddle him close, she knows he wouldn't want that, so she pulls away and retreats back to her own bedroom—and finally allows a release of emotion she's kept pent up for days.

For the majority of the weekend, he's barely left his room. He's all but refused t talk to her, answering in one word statements, if he answers at all. Still, she checked on him on a near-hourly basis—bringing him a morning snack and a comic book that came in the mail, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and milk for lunch, and a bowl of stuffed pepper soup and a roll for dinner. He told her that he didn't want it, but she left it on his desk and when she returned—to gather laundry or return a game he'd left in the living room—she couldn't help but notice that he'd, at the very least, picked at the food and spine on the comic book had been cracked. Somehow, there was something comforting in that though it was the smallest of victories and ones she couldn't relish in. Still, she was glad that he never asked her to leave, that sometimes, she could feel his eyes on her and though he wouldn't admit it, he still needed her and perhaps even wanted to need her—and then she remembers that's it's not really a choice.

But it wears on her and by the time, she returns to her room, she can't contain it anymore, letting it all spill out and then the next thing she knows, it's Monday morning—and her alarm never went off.

She wakes with a start, quickly changing her close and rushing downstairs to find Henry sitting at the counter, dragging his spoon through a bowl of Fruit Loops. She smiles at him and he looks away with a short sigh as he reaches for his backpack.

"I should go," he says, reaching for the blue folder—something that disappeared from the counter at some point on Saturday. "I have some questions for Ms. Blanchard."

"Oh," she murmurs, watching as he slides down from his stool. "I could…"

"No, that's okay," Henry says in a disinterested voice, still not looking at her.

"Henry," she says, gently catching his arm as he tries to pass her on his way to the front door and finally he looks up at her. "Let me drive you. It's cold outside."

He shrugs his shoulders and pulls away slowly. "I'll wear my coat."

"Henry…"

"It's not far," he says. "I can walk."

"But, Henry…"

"See you later."

She barely nods as she watches him go—her heart heavy as her eyes fill with tears. Taking a breath she tucks her hair behind her ears and cleans up the kitchen—emptying his left over cereal into the garbage disposal and putting away the box and milk, reminding herself again and again not to cry—it won't do any good. And then the little voice at the back of her head reminds her that this is her fault.

When she gets to her office, she brushes past her secretary, not wanting to talk or answer questions. She locks her door and sits down at her desk, turning her chair toward her computer. She looks out the window and sighs—she can see the play ground and she knows in just more than forty five minutes, Henry and his classmates will be going out to for a play break. Clicking into her email, she takes a breath and emails Mary Margaret Blanchard—humbling herself as she tells her vaguely that Henry's had a rough few days and asks for her to send a couple of updates so that she knows he's okay. She gets a reply almost immediately, her jaw tightening as a sense of gratitude overwhelms her.

The first update comes—Henry had a snack of sliced apples and did well during Reader's Theatre; her second update comes shortly after, informing her that Henry and his friends played kickball—something she saw at a distance from her office window—and the third update reports that Henry spent some time playing a math game while his classmates took a test, something he'll be taking in two days. Finally, she reports that he seemed a little down at the end of the day—assuming that his energy was still low after nearly a week of the flu—and he enjoyed some independent reading of The Westing Game and some raisins for an afternoon snack before doing to tutoring once the bell rang.

She sits back in her chair and sighs at the realization that she hasn't gotten any work done—quarterly reports still sit untouched on her desk as do the zoning permits and vendor license renewal forms. And she can't bring herself to care—all she can manage to do is watch the clock and wait for Henry.

When tutoring is over, Robin looks up, as he gather left over pencils and discarded pieces of scrap paper, to see Henry lingering at the back of the library. His coat is on and his backpack sits over his shoulders as he browses the fiction section. He watches him curiously, watching the way he hovers as if he has nowhere else to be and all the time in the world. He was quiet at tutoring and it's been a few days since he's heard from Regina—something that is a bit out of the norm—and as he watches Henry linger, he can't help but feel that he's avoiding going home and that's something's happened.

"Hey," Robin says, coming up to him and crouching down. "Need to check out a book?"

"No, just… looking," Henry says with a sigh.

"You seem like you might be avoiding something," Robin says as he looks over at him.

"I don't want to go home," Henry says with a sigh as he plucks Chasing Vermeer from the shelf and flips it over. "Not yet anyway."

"Did you let your mom know that you're staying a bit later?"

Henry shrugs and Robin watches as he swallows a lump in his throat. "No…"

"Maybe you should," he says, pulling out his phone and extending it to him. "She'll be worried if you don't."

"No, she won't," Henry says looking over at him, his hazel eyes filling with tears. "She doesn't want me."

"Henry," Robin says, reaching out and rubbing his hand over the boy's arm. "You know that's not true."

"It is," Henry says as he looks back at the book. "She gave me back. She had me and she didn't want me anymore so she gave me back." He swallows again and sniffles, rubbing his hand over the back of his nose, trying desperately not to cry. "The only reason she has me now is because she feels sorry for me."

Robin takes a breath and flips open his phone, keeping an eye on Henry as he sends a quick text to Regina—Don't worry. Henry's fine. He's with me and we're having a little chat. I'll bring him home soon. Don't worry.—and then flips his phone shut and reaches for Henry's hand. "C'mon, buddy, let's go…" Henry takes his hand, letting him lead him to one of the bean bags in the Reading Corner. "Sit," Robin says, pointing to the bean bag and grinning as Henry does it without question. Robin sits down across from him, folding his legs beneath himself. "Okay, start at the beginning and tell me what happened."

Henry nods and launches into a story—starting at the actual beginning, telling Robin about how his birthmother gave him up for adoption and how when he was just a few months old, he was almost adopted—but something happened and the woman gave him back and after that, he bounced around from foster family to foster family until he ended up with the people he eventually ran away from.

"And the woman who almost adopted you was….Regina?" He asks, thinking back to Halloween when Regina told him about Henry's almost-adoption and how his foster family used it to remind him that they could easily give him back if they wanted to—and suddenly, her demeanor that night makes so much more sense to him.

Henry nods. "Yeah," he says in a small voice. "But she gave me back."

"I'm sure that was difficult for her."

Henry shrugs his shoulders, "She didn't want me."

Slowly Robin reaches out and lifts his chin. "She wanted you, Henry. Sometimes… life just gets complicated and we can't always do the things we want or have the things we want and sometimes, we think we don't deserve to have certain things." He shakes his head. "But I can assure you that your mother always wanted you."

"That's what she told me."

"Maybe it's true then."

"But… how could she?" Henry asks as tears well in his eyes. "How could she just… give me away?"

"Parenting is tough," Robin says with a little laugh, looking back over his shoulder at Roland who is sitting at one of the tables coloring. "Sometimes parents have to make really hard decisions and do what they think is best for their kids, even if it hurts."

"But it wasn't what was best," Henry says as he looks down. "It was the worst."

"She knows that now, but back then, I don't think she did," he reasons. "She couldn't have."

"It could have been so perfect."

A grin tugs at Robin's lips. "If she'd kept you?" Henry nods and sighs, and Robin's grin deepens. "It still can be, Henry." Henry looks up and Robin nudges him. "You two have a second chance to be a family, which is pretty miraculous, don't you think?" Henry's brow furrows as he considers it. "I mean, what are the chances of Regina going to New York and finding you again? In a city of millions of people, she found you."

"That night that I met her, she took me to a diner and bought me dinner," Henry says, sniffling again as he bats his hands over his eyes. "She asked me if I believed in fate." Robin grins—that sounds just like her. "She said she thought it was fate that led her to me that night."

"Perhaps it was." Henry blinks a couple of times as Robin reaches for his hand, giving it a light squeeze. "You mother loves you so, so much, Henry. You mean everything to her. But… she's not perfect. She's human and she makes mistakes, but she also learns from them." He squeezes his hand again and this time offers him a smile. "Let her make it up to you. Let her show you what she's learned."

"But… but what if…" Henry begins, closing his eyes as he takes a long breath. "What if she changes her mind again? What if I do something that makes her mad or that she doesn't like and she decides to give me back?"

"Henry, I don't think that's going to happen."

"But you don't know…"

"I do," Robin cuts in. "Because you're her son and she loves you." He shakes his head. "It's not something that's conditional, Henry."

Finally Henry's eyes open and tears spill down his cheeks. "I don't want to lose her again," he admits in barely audible voice. "I… I just… I can't."

"And you won't," Robin says in a firm voice as Henry's jaw starts to tremble. "Can I… ask you something?" Henry nods. "Have you ever met your birthmother?"

"No," Henry says, shaking his head. "I have dreams about her sometimes, but I've never met her."

"Do you have any bad feelings toward her?"

"No," Henry says as his brow furrows. "My social worker couldn't tell me much about her, only that she wasn't ready to be a…" His eyes widen a little—and a smile tugs onto Robin's lips as the realization settles in Henry's eyes. "Oh."

Robin tugs him up from the bean bag chair and grins. "Regina might not have been ready to be a mom eight years ago, but she's ready now," he says giving Henry's hand a little squeeze. "So, why don't you let her? It is, after all, what you both want."

Regina opens the door before they even reach the porch, breathing out a long sigh of relief as Henry allows her to hug him. She holds him tightly against her legs, her hand slipping behind his backpack, smiling gratefully at Robin, who stands there with Roland, watching and smiling at the exchange. And for just a split second, everything feels normal.

But then Henry pulls back, looking back at Robin before looking to Regina. "I… I'm kind of tired. Can I go upstairs?"

"Y-yeah, of course," she murmurs as he pulls away from her and suddenly, she feels so empty.

"Hey, Roland," Robin says, crouching down. "Henry's kind of having a bad day." He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a comic book. "I think it might cheer him up if you showed him your new Spiderman comic."

"I think your dad's right—Henry would love to see it," Regina adds with a little smile. "He said he was tired, so maybe you two could read a little bit together?"

"Okay," Roland says with an easy grin as he takes the comic and heads up the stairs.

They both stand in the foyer, listening as Roland bounds down the hallway and knocks gently on Henry's door. A moment later the door opens and Henry invites him in and the door closes, and then Robin turns to Regina.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"What was I supposed to say?" She asks incredulously. "Hey, just a heads up, I gave me son away once?"

"No," Robin says gently. "I just mean… it must have been a really difficult weekend for you and… I'd imagine a little support would have been nice."

"It was a difficult weekend," she says with a sigh. "He… wouldn't talk to me or even look at me…"

"He's hurting."

"I know," she says. "Because of me."

Robin reaches out and touches his hand to her arm, gently rubbing in a way that's oddly soothing to her. She looks down at his fingers against the thin fabric of her shirt and then back to him, finding that his eyes are soft and sincere and he's looking at her in a way that makes her feel just a little less alone and a little less guilty.

"Can I, uh… get you some coffee or something?"

"You don't have to, but…"

"It's already made," she tells him. "I… needed to do something as I waited for you to bring Henry home." She crosses her arms over her chest as his hand falls away from her arm, and she offers him a sheepish grin. "There's also a batch of cookies in the over, if you want to wait a bit."

"Well, I'll never say no to fresh coffee and warm, homemade cookies."

Rolling her eyes, she smiles a little as they walk into the kitchen and he sits down on one of the stools. She can feel him watching as she pours two cups and she takes a long breath before turning to face. "Thank you," she says as she slides one toward him, then cradles the other in her hands. "For… making sure Henry was okay and… not looking at me like I'm the world's worst parent."

"You don't have to thank me for either of those things—and you are not a bad parent."

"Did you miss the part where I gave my son away?"

"Regina," he says with a sigh as she looks pointedly back at him. "That was a long time ago."

"It doesn't change it."

"No," he says calmly. "But… parenting is hard and we all make mistakes."

She sighs and takes a set at the counter adjacent to him. "Some of us just make bigger ones." She takes another sip of the coffee and from the corner of her eye, she watches his eyes narrow—not in a judgmental way, but as if he's weighing options. She looks over at him and he holds her gaze, and for an all too brief moment, she feels a flicker of something. "What?" She asks. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because I'm about to tell you something that I've never told anyone else," he replies as he takes a sip of his coffee and her eyebrows arch in curiosity. "Do you think I'm a good father?"

"Yes," she says without hesitation.

"Would your opinion change if you knew that when my son was only hours old, I left him in a hospital and didn't come back for him for four days? That I didn't know if I'd come back at all?" Her brow furrows and she tips her head, and he smiles gently as he nods. "Roland was… unplanned," he begins as his smile fades. "Marian and I hadn't even talked about children. We just weren't there yet and then all of the sudden, he was he here and…and Marian was gone."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she murmurs, reaching out without thinking and covering his hand with hers. "I didn't realize that's how Marian died."

"My son's birthday is… the hardest day in my year," he says as he looks back at her. "I lost my wife that day and I…" He sighs and shakes his head. "I had no idea what I was supposed to do next. I didn't know a thing about babies and, truthfully, I didn't think it was a fair trade."

"That must have been awful," she murmurs, feeling a pang of guilt as she wonders how much of his story is actually and how much of it was created by her curse. "I can't even imagine."

He nods. "It was awful and I just… walked away," he says, and she watches as he momentarily loses himself in the memory. "I didn't hold him or even see him, I just walked away."

"You were grieving."

"I was," he agrees. "And then four days later, I went back and…I still had no idea what to do with a child. He didn't feel like he was mine, but he had Marian's eyes and when I looked at him, I saw a little bit of her." He shakes his head and sighs. "It took months for me to feel like he was mine."

"Robin, considering the circumstances…"

"Exactly," he says, turning his hand over in hers. "Given the circumstances, it was understandable. Given the circumstances, I don't sound like a jerk who left his kid; I sound like a man who was consumed by his grief and didn't know how to handle it." A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Now, I can't imagine my world without him and quite frankly, I wouldn't want to—and it's not because he reminds me of Marian, it's because he makes my life better." She glances down at their hands and it occurs to her to pull away, but she feels no inclination to do so, somehow comforted by the warm, subtle touch. "But if Roland ever heard that story, I'm pretty certain that there's only one part of it he'd hear."

"Just that he wasn't wanted."

Robin nods, "It doesn't make it true."

"No, it doesn't."

"Give Henry a little time," Robin says giving her hand a little squeeze. "He'll see that there's more to the story eventually." He grins a little, once more squeezing her hand before withdrawing it and she finds that she's sorry that he's let go. "In fact, I think he already has."

"You do?"

Robin nods, "I do."

Her room is dark and she sits up with a start, her heart pounding as beads of sweat cluster on her forehead. She sits up and pushes her hand through her hair, telling herself over and over that it was just a dream. Taking a breath she lays back, still panting as she hears the soft echo of her mother's voice, reminding her again and again that love is weakness.

She lets out a shallow breath and closes her eyes, but as soon as she does, it's like she's right back in the nightmare. So, she sits up again and throws her legs over the side of the bed, feeling blindly for her robe. She pulls it on and stands up and when she opens the door, Henry's standing there with his fist clench about to knock.

"Henry…"

"I… I… heard you," he says, looking up at her with wide eyes. "It sounded like you were crying."

"Oh, no," she murmurs back. "I was just… I had a nightmare." She shrugs her shoulders dismissively and tries to act like she isn't still rattled. "I'm fine now."

"Oh…" He shifts awkwardly as he wrings his hands together, still looking up at her with wide eyes. "Do you… want some milk and honey? You said you used to like that when you had nightmare when you were a little girl."

A tentative grin tugs at the corner of her mouth—truthfully, she was going to go downstairs and grab a glass of water—but with Henry standing there, looking up expectantly, she finds herself nodding. "Yeah, that would be nice." Henry reaches out and takes her hand, leading her down the stairs and into the kitchen. She flicks on the light and smiles as he leans up onto his toes and reaches for the milk. "Can I… help?"

"No, I can do it," he murmurs, looking back at her. "I… want to."

She nods and sits down on one of the stools, keeping a close eye on his movements. She watches as he drags a stool over the stove and reaches for a sauce pan, filling it with milk as he gets out the honey. A smile edges onto her lips as she watches out precise and careful he is with everything, and then watches as he slowly and cautiously pours the milk into mugs. He gets down off of the stool and takes slow and deliberate steps as he carries the mugs over to where she sits at the counter. She takes her and thanks him, watching as he climbs up to sit adjacent to her.

"What was your nightmare about?" He asks quietly as he looks up at her from over the rim of his mug. "Or do you not want to talk about it?"

"Oh, no, I just… don't actually remember much of it. I only remember the way it made me feel."

"Some of my nightmares are like that, too," he says as he sucks in a deep breath. "Was it… about me? Because I was… mean to you?"

"No," she says quickly. "It wasn't about your or because of anything you did or said."

"Good…"

"It was just… the same nightmare I've always had."

He nods and takes a sip of the milk and she does the same, watching as he closes his eyes and takes another breath. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can."

"Why didn't you keep me?"

"I just thought that… you could do so much better than me. I didn't think that I was good enough to be your mom." Her breath catches in her throat and she shakes her head. "I thought that by giving you up, I was giving you a better chance at happiness." She watches as he looks back down into his mug, listening intently and actually hearing her words. "I wanted you to have a real family that…"

"But we are a family," he says, looking up at her. "We always could have been."

"Yeah," she agrees with a little nod. "I know that now."

"Robin said that you probably just weren't ready to be a mom."

"I… don't think I knew how," she tells him gently. "I knew that I loved you and I wanted you, but I didn't think I knew how to be a parent to you and I just figured that someone else would know better than I did." She smiles sadly, thinking of the sweet, chubby-cheeked baby he'd been. "And I never thought that what happened to you would happen because I couldn't have imagined anyone not loving you." Taking a breath she looks back at him, her smile deepening, still seeing sweet baby in him now. "I convinced myself that… that keeping you was somehow selfish and that you deserved better than what I could give you." She takes a short breath, holding back the urge to reach out to him. "It was never about me not loving you."

He's quiet for a few minutes, and she watches as his brow creases and his eyes narrow. She can practically the wheels turning in his head as he considers, mulling it over and trying to decide what he thinks and feels about it. She watches and she waits, trying not to be impatient or to rush him, wanting nothing more than to reach out to him—to hug him and hold him and apologize again and again until he believes her—and then, just when she thinks she can't stand it any longer, he looks back at her and a small hint of a smile tugs onto his lips.

"Can you… do something for me?"

"Anything."

"Can you promise never to do that again?" He swallows hard and his chin begins to tremble. "Because I really need my mom and I don't care if that's selfish." Tears well in his eyes as he takes a shaky breath, "And… I'm sorry about what I said the other day." He looks back at her and his voice catches in his throat as tears spill down his cheeks. "I didn't mean it when I said you didn't know how to love. You do and you're really good at it and…" Again his breath catches and his face crumbles. "And I just want you to be my mom again and I want things to go back to how they were and I…"

"Oh Henry," she breathes out as she slides from her stool and reaches for him. She can feel tears welling in her eyes as she pulls him against her. Her heart aches as she holds him close to her, rocking him gently as she lets him cry. Bending her head, she presses a kiss into his hair. "I promise, Henry. I promise you, I will never stop being your mom."

"Mom?" Henry asks, pulling back only slightly. Reaching out, Regina wipes the tears from his cheeks. "I know it's late, but do you think we could read a little bit of Prince Caspian?" He offers her a sheepish grin. "I tried reading a little bit by myself and… and it wasn't the same without you and I really want to know what happens next."

"I would love to, Henry" she replies, laughing a little, as a smile stretches onto her lips and sense of relief washes over her and she feels the tiniest of inklings telling her that if he can forgive her for this, he can forgive her for anything and that no matter what happens, they will be okay.