Sorry, guys. I hope you will agree that this was worth the wait. When I began writing this chapter, I had no idea it would turn out like this. I can confidently say that it is my favorite, so far. I hope that you love reading it as much as me. I am excited to read your reactions. This is a transitional chapter. I promise that the next one will be more exciting!
She cannot find solace, not even in sleep. Every breath she takes is a sorrowful reminder that as long as she lives, she and Regina will never be together. And, she is left with the, all consuming, all too painful question that has haunted her, her entire life; that she accepts she may never be able to answer: Why wasn't I enough?
Since everything reminds her of love lost, she decides that the only solution is to withdraw from society. Her only regret is not being there for her son. She justifies her decision, reasoning that Henry is better off with a mother who is living, rather than one who is already dead.
The live one has been calling the apartment almost every day for the past three weeks, because Emma conveniently let her phone battery die and hasn't bothered to recharge it. Consequently, Mary-Margaret has had to deal with her concerned grandson and his persistent brunette mother, alone. Living with her parents does have its perks.
She is snapped out of her dream, or day dream, she can no longer differentiate between sleep and awake, by a quiet knock on the door. "Emma?"
It must be evening. Mary-Margaret habitually makes a trip upstairs every night, around dinner time, and attempts to coax the young woman out of hiding with the promise of food.
As scripted, the younger woman mumbles "I'm not hungry," into her pillow.
Unexpectedly, the Charming matriarch comes bearing unsettling news, rather than an offering of food. "Henry's downstairs. He's really upset."
It had been nearly three weeks since she had seen her son, and probably almost as long, she honestly can't remember, since she had bathed.
Rising to a seated position, she moves slower these days, the younger woman responds, "Henry's here? I can't let him see me like this." The light from the hallway that is now flooding the darkened room, she decides, is way too bright for human comfort. Attempting to shield her eyes from being blinded, the young woman implores, "Mom, can't you just handle it?"
"I am not his mother, Emma. You are the one he needs."
"He has a mother," the fatigued woman blankly retorts.
"He needs you. You've been moping around this apartment for weeks! And, I am sympathetic to you Emma, I really am. But, this has got to stop!" Mary-Margaret flips the light switch, immediately transforming the once darkened room. Unfortunately, the luminosity has an entirely undesirable effect on the disheveled woman.
Emma is instantly reduced to a crumpled heap on the floor in a failed attempt to seek shelter. Her senses are suddenly being bombarded. Not only is her mother's yelling making her head pound, but she is also pretty certain that she is blind.
Mary-Margaret is finally at her wit's end. "Whether you like it or not, you are a parent! You can't just check out of life whenever you feel like it!"
That one sunk in.
She never meant to yell at her child like that, especially when she knows that Emma is already hurting. Remorse, immediately, fills Mary-Margaret's eyes for having been so hard on her daughter. She quickly turns to leave, flipping the light switch to the off position once she reaches the door. Before she can make her escape, the tearful mother is stopped by a hoarse voice.
"Mom?" How is it possible that one word can restore a person's hope? Mary-Margaret swiftly wipes stray tears from her eyes before turning to look at her grieving child. The broken woman is uncertain how to make her request. She only hopes that her mother will be receptive without her having to actually voice her fear. "Can you…? I want to get cleaned up first…before he sees me."
Fighting the urge to let relieved tears flow freely, the young mother nods her head enthusiastically in grateful response. "I think that's a good decision. How much time do you think you'll need?"
"I'm not sure."
"Would fifteen minutes be enough?"
"I think so."
"Okay. We'll be back shortly."
"Thank you."
Her body feels dull and heavy; also, everything hurts. Who knew lying in bed all day, day after day would be so damn uncomfortable? After picking out a change of clothes, the young woman cautiously proceeds downstairs. Thankfully, the ladder posing as stairs has a sort of railing in case she loses her balance. She can barely stand, let alone coordinate her movements. Somehow she reaches bottom without falling, but she now has less than ten minutes to make herself decent before her son returns. The young woman is surprised that she even has the strength to shower.
Since everything hurts, she opts to don sweats instead of her trademark tank top and skinny jeans. Embarrassingly, she cannot tighten the drawstring tight enough for the pants to stay over her hips.
Luckily, she remembers that her mother kept spare safety pins next to her sewing table, and pinches out what looks like two inches, at least, from the side. I really should start eating again. Emma wonders how it's possible that she lost so much weight so quickly. She decides not to dwell on that enigma and anxiously awaits her son's return. Any minute now.
"Henry." The blonde woman timidly greets, her hair is still wet from the shower and her overall appearance is, disturbingly, not much better than when she was still lying in bed. Well, at least she smells better. She hopes.
Upon seeing his mother for the first time in almost three weeks, the teenager's eyes betray him and unwillingly fill with tears. Of course, he recognizes his mother. But, she is a distant cry from the radiant woman with light behind her eyes that Henry remembers. He takes a few short steps toward the emaciated woman and gently wraps his arms around her painfully thin frame. At first contact, Henry makes an extremely unsettling observation. He can feel his mother's bones through her thick sweatshirt. Unexpectedly to both mother and son, the teenager begins audibly sobbing.
It has been so long since Emma has been able to feel anything, especially apathy. Unsure of the appropriate reaction, the hug only makes her uncomfortable. I'm supposed to do something. I think I'm supposed to hug him back. He's probably expecting me to hug him back. I think he needs me to hug him back. She gives the hug a try, despite the fact that it is void of emotion. The only thing she can feel is her chest, just below the base of her neck, between her chin and her shoulder becoming damp from her son's tears.
Maybe it's the depression. She cannot tell. But, in this moment, she is unable to tap into the emotion that she is supposed to feel. She knows she should reassure her son, but she has forgotten how. Is it possible that she doesn't care? Of course not, this is her son. Luckily for her, Henry has always been able to break down her emotional barriers. Instinctively, she softens her tone to almost a whisper and urges her very upset son, "Kid, what's the matter?"
"Can I stay here?"
At that comment, the young mother involuntarily hugs her son tighter for reassurance. Where did that come from? "Of course, you can." Thankfully, her motherly nature is stronger than her instinct to withdraw. Straightening up to look at him now, Emma re-words her previous inquiry. "What happened?"
Avoiding his mother's questioning gaze, Henry shamefully admits, "I don't want to live there anymore."
"Come on, sit down," she urges, guiding her son the short distance to the dining table. Honestly, standing requires way too much energy. As much as she would rather return to the only place where she currently makes sense, under the covers of her bed and in her darkened room, Emma fights to stay in the moment. She inhales deeply. Why do I suck so much at breathing? "We're going to talk about this." That's how a normal parent would react, right? She repeats her previously asked question, to which she still does not have an answer. "What happened?"
Wiping away the remnants of tears, Henry continues, "He's moving in."
It's still a sore spot. But over the past few weeks, even though she is far from okay with the situation, Emma has come to accept that she and Regina will never be. Helplessness and hopelessness have been all consuming. Thankfully, her brain had completely shut down all ability to feel over a week ago. At least she isn't crying anymore. "Well, your mom is getting married," she numbly states.
"I don't want her to marry him!"
Anger, okay. This is an emotion she remembers. Anger is safe. She can feel anger. Even though she can identify the emotion, the young mother is, admittedly, taken aback by the sudden outburst. She suspects the worst. "Has he been mean to you?"
The teenager reacts by closing off and folding his arms across his chest. "No," he flatly responds.
The frustrated mother is now determined to get to the bottom of this. "Then what is it?" That came out way more hostile than expected. As crazy as it may sound, the surfacing aggression restores her slightly. She just didn't mean for it to be directed toward Henry.
Emma can see her conflicted son suppressing the urge to tell her the truth. Disregarding her usual tactics when it comes to interrogation, the drained woman encourages, "Henry, please talk to me."
It becomes evident to Henry that this conversation is requiring way more energy than his mother has within her. This gets a response. With fresh tears pooling in his eyes, Henry delivers an answer that his mother deeply wishes he hadn't; she wasn't ready for this. "I just want you and mom to be together," he genuinely confesses.
She has no words. She wasn't expecting to feel anything tonight, especially not this. Unwillingly, her eyes mimic her son's, filling with tears. The feelings return. Son-of-a-bitch! The feelings return.
The teenager watches, in horror, as his grieving mother progressively fractures and shatters completely. "Mom? I'm sorry, Mom I didn't mean to make you sad."
She covers her face with her hands, in a failed attempt to stifle the unexpected wailing.
Mary-Margaret, who had been watching the interaction between her daughter and her grandson, is by Emma's side in an instant. The frightened mother gently wraps her arms around her shaking child and begins to soothe the best way she knows how. "I know, honey. I know."
Emma grips her life preserver, her mother, and cries into the older woman's abdomen which is, conveniently at her face level.
Mary-Margaret naturally begins to rock her precious child and continues to pacify her with her words of understanding.
The remorseful teen, observing this exchange, rediscovers his voice. "I'm sorry Grandma."
Calmly, Mary-Margaret instructs, "Henry, can you get her a glass of water?"
"Mom," the distressed woman sobs.
"It's alright, honey. I'm right here." The young mother hugs her daughter tighter in a show of support, overcoming the fact that it hurts her soul to be aware of her child wasting away beneath her fingers. "Your family loves you." Thankfully, Mary-Margaret feels Emma nod her understanding against her abdomen. She adds, "I love you," further cementing what her daughter already knows to be fact.
Inhaling a shuddered breath, the young woman exhales, "I love you, too."
The anxious teen approaches and nervously offers a glass of tepid water to his exhausted mother.
The now calmer woman eagerly extends her hand to receive the offered glass.
Upon seeing that her daughter's hand is trembling violently and deducing that Emma is probably incapable of supporting the weight of the tumbler, a panicked Mary-Margaret reaches it first. "Let me help you." The brunette woman carefully guides the glass to her daughter's parched lips. Emma gratefully accepts her mother's help and takes a few frantic sips. "Easy, honey. You're going to make yourself sick," Mary-Margaret reminds. Understandingly, Emma wills herself to drink slower before downing the entirety.
Assuring her doting mother that it is safe to leave her side, even though she is not fully recovered, the somewhat renewed woman reaches for her son. Henry eagerly reaches back and is relieved that his mother's hands are no longer shaking. They are, however, cold and clammy, but Henry doesn't care. All that matters is that he has his mother back. In between sniffles, Emma voices the regret racing through her mind. "I'm sorry, Henry," she whispers.
"It's okay, Mom."
Not all feelings are horrible. "I love you," she reminds and offers a watery smile.
"I love you, too." The teenager bends down to his mother's level and gently wraps his arms around her petite frame.
She recognizes, over the past few weeks, this is what she needed the most. "I'm sorry I shut you out," she laments.
Henry hugs his mother tighter, but not too tight, out of fear of hurting her. "Mom, it's okay. I know why you did."
When Henry straightens up to meet his mother's eyes, Emma continues her poised confession, "I will always love your mother, Henry, even though we're not together. But, I'm not her True Love."
Becoming entirely too animated, Henry retorts, "But, you are! I believe that you are!"
Emma attempts to counter her son's excitement and bring him back to reality. "Henry, listen to me. Robin is your mother's happy ending…it wouldn't be right for me to come between them." Her words obviously have an all too devastating effect on her son. Despite the fact that the harmful conviction is already spoken, the young woman attempts to ease the blow. "Whatever happens, I hope you realize the depth of your mother's and my love for you. No one is more important to either of us. You are our son. That's the most significant bond we share." It becomes clear that her words are finally sinking in. Thankfully, Henry is once again meeting the emotionally exhausted woman's loving gaze. "You make us a family."
The teenager offers a sincere smile.
Emma makes a point to grasp her son's hand before continuing. "No matter what happens, we will always be a family."
Henry nods his understanding, but avoids his mother's gaze. He hopelessly wishes that this conversation had gone differently.
"I wish I could fix this Henry. I wish I could make everything right. I'm sorry."
The deflated teen is left without words. He can only manage to nod his understanding, which is just barely detectable.
Inhaling a deep breath, a composed Emma suggests, "You need to call your mom."
"Please don't make me go back there."
"I won't. But, you need to let your mom know that you're here. She's probably worried sick."
Sorrowfully, Henry replies, "She doesn't even know I'm gone."
Calmly, the restored mother stands her ground, "You need to call her anyway. I won't feel right about you staying until you do."
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Across town, at the Mills household, Regina, Robin, and Roland are snuggled on the oversized couch, watching Toy Story for the third time that week. Roland has been obsessed with the film since Regina first introduced it to him, five days ago.
The brunette woman smiles to herself when she recalls that the movie, she knows by heart, has about twenty-five minutes remaining; she intentionally coordinated the timing of the movie with dinner. Regina concludes that the lasagna will be done baking before the movie's end, but this way the dish has time to cool slightly before everyone sits down to eat. Though the prep is quite extensive, especially since the brunette woman prides herself on making her own sauce, from her own tomatoes, grown in her own garden, Regina does enjoy the fact that it is not necessary for her to remain in the kitchen while the lasagna is baking. This allows her time to spend with the people who will soon be her family.
Admittedly, she has grown incredibly fond of having a little one again. It has been years since Henry was small enough to sit in her lap. As far as she knows, her teenage son is upstairs, in his room, dutifully working on his homework. Normally tonight would have been his night with Emma, but given the blonde woman's emotional state, Henry has been spending every night for the past three weeks with his brunette mother.
Even though it had been almost a month since she had heard from or seen Emma Swan, Regina still kept her phone close-by nearly every minute of every day in hopes that the blonde woman's familiar, smiling face might appear on her screen. At the first ring, her stomach responds by somersaulting involuntarily. Sadly, she has to urge the content little boy, nestled in her lap, back onto the couch next to his father in order to reach the ringing device. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I have to get this." The unsuspecting brunette retrieves her phone from its position on the coffee table.
Upon first glance at the screen, her face twists in confusion before she answers. "Henry?"
This announcement takes Robin by surprise. He sends Regina a questioning look to which the brunette woman only shakes her head in frustrated response.
"Mom," is all the shameful teen can manage without some prompting.
Completely baffled as to why her son didn't just come downstairs, the perplexed mother inquires, "Henry, why are you calling me?"
The annoyance in his mother's tone suddenly panics the already nervous teen. The only thing he can manage is an apology. "I'm sorry, Mom."
Instantly, the alarmed queen appears in her son's recently vacated room. Upon discovering that Henry is nowhere to be found, Regina is sent into further panic. She nervously fumbles with the phone in her hand. I hung up on him! Henry! No, no, no! Henry! She is beside herself.
Sensing her son's distress, Emma decides to step up and be the parent Henry needs. "Kid, give me the phone." Before she has a chance to dial the most recent number, a familiar face appears on the screen. Emma inhales a deep breath, preparing to speak with the woman she has been avoiding for nearly a month. She exhales, "Regina."
The queen's eyes widen. Having suddenly become weak in the knees, Regina shakily guides herself to sit on the twin bed and practically misses. She wasn't expecting this. The last time she spoke with Emma was when she broke off their affair and, thus, the woman's heart. Just hearing her voice again, sends a multitude of emotions racing through the unraveled queen. Emma. Emma, please forgive me. I miss you so much. I need you in my life. Despite her best efforts to appear unruffled, the older woman begins to audibly weep.
Okay, so admittedly, the blonde woman considers herself apathetic. However, Regina has always had the ability to weasel her way into Emma's heart. She hates hearing the woman she loves cry. Damnit! Emma retreats to the only near-by room with a door, the bathroom. She would rather not have her well-meaning family listening in on, what she anticipates will be, a sensitive conversation. Closing the door behind her, the younger woman numbly assures, "Regina, he's fine."
Evidently calmed by the younger woman's words, the queen acknowledges, "Emma."
How is it that by just saying her name, this woman has the ability to affect her so strongly? Fact is, even though Emma Swan is not ready to admit it to herself yet, Regina will always hold her stoic, the younger woman continues to explain, "This is all just more than he can handle right now. He asked if he could stay with me for a little while."
Struggling to speak, the older woman voices her worst fear. "He hates me."
Honestly, her family is exhausting. Though she tried to remain impassive, the younger woman subconsciously softens. Why can't I quit you? In this moment, Emma understands that Regina is her addiction. Disregarding her own feelings, the blonde woman takes it upon herself to reassure her son's mother. "He doesn't hate you. The kid adores you."
A grateful Regina smiles, she is obviously encouraged by the words of her former lover. Literally, anyone could have spoken these words to her, but they hold more meaning when delivered by Emma Swan.
The younger woman continues, "He's just not comfortable with the new living arrangement."
"He told you?" The queen doesn't know why this bothers her so much, but it does.
Emma latches onto her favorite emotion. The only one, she believes, that can save her from this hopeless situation. "Yeah. And, frankly, it's none of my business so I'm not going to discuss this with you!"
Emma, this isn't you. "Okay." Please come back to me. "How are you?"
She absolutely refuses to let this woman back into her life again; she has been burned too many times. "Regina, I can't. I can't pretend that everything's alright between us, because it's not."
"I'm sorry," the deflated queen replies.
She will not be affected. "I'm not doing this with you. I'm not! I just wanted to let you know that our son is safe and he's staying with me."
Acknowledging that her actions, the decision she made, has permanently ruined her relationship with the younger woman, Regina admits defeat. "Thank you…for letting me know."
"I'll have him call you tomorrow," a resigned Emma offers.
"Emma?" No. I can't do this to her anymore. I won't be the cause of any more pain.
Please, don't… "Yes?"
"Thank you."
"Goodnight, Regina."
"Goodnight, Emma."
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Well, at least she managed to keep it together until she hung up. Now the queen is left alone and in the silence, which she has come to fear. For in silence, she is forced to face her deepest regret. Tonight, she accepts that because of her actions her family will never be the same. Her words come back to haunt her.
"Is this a good idea?"
"I don't care."
"Please tell me nothing will change between us."
"Nothing will change between us."
I promised her nothing would change. How could I do that to her? I didn't mean for this to happen.
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It had been almost twenty minutes since Regina had disappeared from the living room. Robin had removed the lasagna from the oven several minutes ago, when the timer went off, and Regina was still not back.
He doesn't even make it halfway up the stairs, after deciding to go looking for his fiancé, before hearing Regina's hushed sobs. He quietly approaches Henry's room, not wishing to disturb the brunette woman or her son. The first thing he notices is Regina sitting, doubled over, on Henry's bed with her face buried in her hands. Secondly, he observes that she is alone. Adding up the evidence, Robin is able to deduce the cause for Regina's current state. He takes a step just inside the doorway, before expressing his concern. "Are you alright?"
"No," the queen openly admits, without meeting her fiancé's eyes.
Robin cautiously enters the room and approaches the emotional woman. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Establishing eye-contact, the distraught queen shakes her head. "No."
At that, Robin situates himself on the bed next to his devastated fiancé and wraps his arms around her in a calming embrace, which Regina welcomes. In this moment, she is beyond grateful for the kindness this man shows her constantly. A kindness, of which, she still does not believe herself to be worthy. She never thought she would get used to this feeling, but she willingly melts in his devoted embrace and allows herself be consoled.
7777777
Shaking slightly from such an emotional conversation, Emma exits the bathroom and makes a conscious effort to re-establish herself in the present moment. Thankfully, her son comes to the rescue.
"I'm sorry, Mom." Henry falls into his mother's atrophied arms and rests in her, still familiar, embrace.
You are my reason for living. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Not a thing." As she holds the young man, who will always be her precious little boy, she desperately wishes that she could give to Henry the same relief he continuously provides her.
"Is she mad at me?"
"No. She's not mad at you." Recognizing that she and Regina will always have this common bond, Emma voices a shared fear. "She's just afraid that she's going to lose you."
Breaking the hug and meeting blue eyes, Henry attempts to gain his mother's sympathy. "I just don't want to live there anymore. It doesn't feel like my home."
Without missing a beat, the young woman confirms, "You always have a home with me. Always."
"I love you, Mom."
"I love you too."
"Have you eaten?" Mary-Margaret chimes in.
"Not yet. I'm starving," the enthusiastic teenager responds.
"Your grandfather should be home shortly and then we can all sit down to dinner together. I made vegetable beef soup."
"It smells amazing," the serene teenager responds.
"Okay, kid. Why don't you take your stuff upstairs and get settled in. I'll call you when we're ready to eat," the blonde woman instructs.
Nodding his understanding, Henry promptly shoulders his backpack, grabs his duffle, and proceeds upstairs to unpack.
Once her grandson is out of earshot, Mary-Margaret addresses her daughter. "Welcome back."
"Thanks, Mom." Admittedly, Emma cannot remember the last time she smiled. She only knows that she missed it.
"Are you okay?"
"I think I know how I can be." Emma's eyes settle on the gigantic pot of simmering broth.
"Are you hungry?!"
She responds truthfully. "I'm not sure. But, maybe if I eat something, my body will remember what food is."
"Would you like to try some soup?"
"I thought we were waiting for Dad."
"Don't worry about your father, he'll be home shortly. I'm not letting you go one minute longer without sustenance." Without delay, the brunette woman retrieves a medium sized bowl from the cabinet and contentedly ladles into it nearly two cups of soup. "The vegetables will be good for you…and, the meat. You need protein."
The younger woman is suddenly self-aware. "I know. I look awful."
Mary-Margaret halts her actions to give her daughter her undivided attention. She lightly covers her daughter's hand, resting on the counter, with her own. "Hey. You're doing great, Emma. I am so proud you."
Fighting the urge to burst into tears, at the moving comment, Emma nods her head in positive reception. "Thanks, Mom. Really…thank you." Mary-Margaret smiles warmly at her daughter before returning to the task at hand.
Emma takes a moment to appreciate the welcomed food in front of her. "This does smell amazing." Surprisingly, her mouth begins to water from the aroma alone. She thought that the desire for food had left her entirely. Surprisingly, it hadn't. Even though she is still extremely weak, the younger woman somehow manages to, without the aid of her mother, guide the first spoonful to her mouth. Consequently, she dribbles a little bit onto her sweatshirt in the process. Is it possible for a person to forget how to feed oneself? What reaches her tongue is instantly the best thing she has ever tasted. Did vegetables always taste this amazing? Were lima beans always this fragrant? Did I always enjoy carrots this much? How is it possible that this is real? She savors the combination of flavors of the mixed vegetables, the delicate broth, and the tender bits of beef that seem to melt in her mouth. In this moment, Emma acknowledges that she has never before, nor will she ever again, experience a meal that is more wonderful.
Mary-Margaret is filled with bliss just watching her daughter as she becomes nourished by the soup. She can see Emma's strength gradually returning with each spoonful. Unfortunately, her mind drifts to a time in Emma's life, when she was absent. She morbidly wonders how often her child was without food and hungry. With tears welling in her eyes, the young mother asks, "Would you like some bread with that?"
The sudden display of emotion is mildly unsettling. I have no idea how I should answer. I don't want to upset her. "Umm…sure." Without a word, Mary-Margaret quickly locates the loaf of bread and brings it back to the table. Without prompting, Emma voices the thought racing through her mind, which she hopes is what her mother needs to hear. "This is really good." But, if she is being honest with herself, this meal means more to her than she can possibly communicate. The magnitude of the soup goes beyond the incredible flavor. With each colorful spoonful of lima beans, peas, potato, carrots, and kernels of corn, the younger woman feels restored, alive, and most importantly, loved. Her eyes betray her.
"What's wrong?"
Unexpectedly, the younger begins to cry again. "I just didn't realize how much I missed your cooking."
Heart exploding with gratitude, Mary-Margaret embraces her daughter, kisses her, and announces, "Tomorrow morning, I'm making you pancakes!" This comment earns her a welcomed giggle from her emotional daughter, to the older woman's relief. She adds, "Or, anything you would like."
It feels so good to smile again.