In the waiting room, Emma's hands and legs were shaking, and the sweat on her palms was nearly enough to distract her from staring at the clock. She'd arrived for her appointment early, preferring to wait for her appointment rather than be late for it. When the young doctor stepped into the doorway and said her name, Emma looked at her with wide, frightened eyes.

"Miss Swan?" the woman said sweetly, smiling at the blonde as she sat shaking in the chair.

Emma stood up slowly, looking terrified, and nodded her head, offering a nervous, "Hi," in response.

Once they were in the doctor's office, Emma looked around. It was different than Regina's. There was less art on the walls. Fewer plants. Fewer windows. Bright, lovely colors, but few trinkets to look at or handle. There were no children's toys in the corner.

"How are you, Miss Swan?" the doctor asked, continuing her soft, kind smile.

"Emma," the blonde told her. "Call me Emma."

"Alright. My name is Danielle Cohen. How are you, Emma?"

"Well, I'm kinda shitty. Otherwise I wouldn't be here, right?"

Slightly taken aback by this, the therapist leaned back in her chair and looked across the coffee table into Emma's deep green eyes.

"You can be doing well in your life and still go to therapy."

"But that's not why I'm here, is it? People don't come to therapy because everything in their lives is hunky-dory."

"Some people come to therapy to maintain a sense of mental wellness, Emma. Not everyone comes to me with problems."

A little nervously, Emma asked, "But you do get lots of people with problems, right?"

"Of course I do, dear. Everyone has some problems they need to face. Even people who are, as you said, 'hunky-dory' in their lives."

Emma hesitated, biting her lip, and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands.

"I don't want to be here," she confessed.

"I know. I don't think anyone wants to be in therapy. But, ideally, it helps, and in the end, most people feel better by the time they stop coming. Then again, some people feel better, and that's why they don't stop coming."

"I don't want to be this person who needs to be pitied and taken care of."

"Is that how you feel about yourself? That you need to be pitied and taken care of?"

"No! I just meant... I don't want to be that. I don't want to need help, and I obviously do."

"There's nothing wrong with needing help. Everyone does, at some point in their lives."

"I guess I just thought I was past that point. I thought I could handle things myself."

"And you feel now that you can't?"

"I've been told that I can't. My stress is no longer... just mine. It's beginning to affect those around me that I care about."

"Like who?"

Emma hesitated.

"My best friend and my girlfriend."

"Is there anyone else?"

The patient breathed a sigh of relief when the woman didn't flinch at the mention of her girlfriend. Not homophobic. That's a win, at least, Emma was thinking.

Finally answering, the girl said, "No. Honestly, there's no one else I really give a shit about. Those two are the only ones in my life who love or care about me."

"Your parents?"

"That's a long story that I don't feel like sharing. The only people around me other than Regina and Belle are my foster parents and siblings, and none of them care about me. My foster parents are in it for the money. They're pretty chill, though. They don't get in the way. They let Belle move in with me when her parents kicked her out for being gay, which was great. But they let their kids just..." Emma trailed off and looked out the window, then slowly continued, "They let their kids do whatever they want."

"To you?"

"What?" the blonde asked, turning to face the therapist again.

"They let their kids do whatever they want to you?"

Emma's mouth hung open as she stared at the young woman.

"I..."

"You have some bruises on you. Do you play sports?"

"No..."

"Do you work out?"

"No..."

"Do you get in a lot of fights?"

"Not really anymore..."

"Is it safe to assume your girlfriend isn't the one hitting you?"

"OF COURSE SHE'S NOT HITTING ME!" the blonde shouted, leaping out of her seat. "Are you crazy?! Regina would never-"

"Emma, relax. I never said she would. I merely asked to clarify. Now, given what you've told me, and given what I think you were subconsciously trying to say, it seems to me that it's possible that your foster brothers and sisters have been physically assaulting you."

"Listen, that's..." Emma started, sitting back down in the chair. "I'm not... I'm not here to talk about that."

"Okay. We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to. I'm simply trying to gain a better understanding of what your life is like right now."

"It doesn't matter anyway. Since Belle moved in, it's really just been verbal harassment, which I can handle no problem. Not that I can't handle them hitting me! I just... I..."

"Emma... You can say whatever you want to here, and it doesn't leave this room."

"Unless you feel that I am a danger to myself or to others."

"That's correct. You seem to know the drill pretty well. Have you seen a therapist before?"

"I have."

"And what was that like?"

"I don't... I don't want to talk about that, okay?"

"Alright. That's fine. What would you like to talk about?"

"Honestly? Nothing. But I didn't come here to say nothing."

"What did you come here to say?"

"I don't know. All I know is that Regina and Belle both want me here, believe in this process, and think it's important for me to go through it and work out my... um... problems."

"What do you think your problems are?" the therapist asked gently.

Sighing, Emma relaxed into the chair, leaned her head back, and shut her eyes.

"I think I'm angry. And stressed. And I think that I take those emotions out on the people I care about. And I want to stop doing that."

"Okay. We can work on that. I have an idea of why you would be stressed, but can you tell me why you're angry?"

"I..." The blonde lifted her head and opened her eyes, then finished, "I hate myself."

"That's a pretty intense emotion to feel. What about yourself do you hate?"

"Everything. I hate everything about myself. I hate that I'm weak. I hate that I self-harm. I hate that I'm... not... enough. I wasn't enough for my parents to keep me. I wasn't enough for my other foster parents to protect me or take care of me. I'm not strong enough to suck up my shitty feelings and treat my girlfriend the way she should be treated."

"I think you know that when a parent leaves their child, it's not the child's fault."

"Maybe. But it doesn't feel that way. It feels like I'm the fuck-up. And what about Regina? Why do I have to take everything out on her?"

"You don't have to, Emma. We can work on that. First, I think we need to talk about where all this stems from. Do you have any ideas?"

Before speaking, Emma went dead silent and stared at the beautiful young woman in front of her, who was clearly listening intently. Her voice was calm and unthreatening, and it reminded her a lot of the way Regina had spoken to her when they'd first met. It relaxed her enough to speak.

"I was sexually abused when I was younger. I think that has a lot to do with it."

After offering a slow nod of understanding, the woman told her softly, "There is no way in the world that what happened to you could have been your fault. I hope you understand that."

"I think I'm going to need help with that..."

"I'm happy to assist, if you'll allow me to. I would love to see you again next week. Or sooner, if you'd like."

"Do you... Are you..." Emma stammered, her tongue tying in knots of its own accord. "Would you be free this Thursday afternoon?"

"I could do four o'clock, if that works for you."

"Actually, four is perfect," the patient agreed with a smile. "Thank you so much, Doctor Cohen."

"You can call me Danielle, if you'd like. I'm not much for the title, really."

By the time Emma left the office, they were both smiling.