Belle was feeling all sorts of wild, conflicting feelings. She'd never felt less human nor more like an untamed animal than she did on this…

…really crazy day.

Rumple's hard work had paid off. Though it was feverishly palpable he loved Chrissy as if he were her biological father, he was breaking his own heart to honor Belle's wishes.

Belle was a maelstrom of hormones. Weeping into her tea, clad in her fancy yellow ball gown, feeling fat as a brick house. Chrissy was maybe growing on her a bit, but that wasn't the reason her hormones were skyrocketing out of her hips.

Every evening, the girl snuggled on Rumple's lap under a blanket as he read her a bedtime story. When he wasn't out being an ogre-slaying hero, he was home, either kissing his wife's hands and showing her love…

…or he was out back, playing wild games with Chrissy, who was as fragile as a pogo stick morphed with a baseball bat. The two of them obviously enjoyed spending time together, never once viewing it as a chore or duty.

Belle didn't feel like the girl's mother. She'd made a couple of feeble efforts. Now, wiping her slick cheeks with the heels of her hands, she recalled Chrissy's reaction to her attempts. Which was to eye Belle warily, young eyes scorching with mistrust.

Only five years old, but her instincts were good. She sensed that Belle tolerated her. She didn't want false kindness. Always tense when Belle was in a five-foot radius. Belle let the lass out to play and amuse herself so both of them could be comfortable. One only knew what mischief Chrissy got into without adult supervision, but Belle knew she hadn't had much adult supervision before moving in with them anyway.

A few days after moving in with them, Chrissy had begged Rumple to ask Belle to do her a favor. A big one. He'd tried to prompt Chrissy to ask her herself, but Chrissy sat on her hands and refused. Looking at him with eyes that shone of hope.

Calmly, he'd asked Belle to divide the skirts she'd sewn for the girl and make them pants.

Belle had been appalled and disgusted hearing this. "How will you ever find a husband?" she'd clucked. "No, this is out of question."

Rumple had stared at Belle like he didn't know her. "She's five."

"And," Belle had uttered savagely, "that isn't too young to learn how to behave proper. Five year olds in trousers become twenty year olds in trousers." She'd frowned hard as she raised her soup spoon to her lips. "Didn't you say she'd only been wearing her brothers' hand-me-downs before," she preened with her eyes closed, "I came along and sewed her her own clothes?" She opened her eyes and batted the lashes flirtatiously at him.

"Yes, and it's not that she doesn't appreciate them…it's that you made the clothes a tad too fancy to run and climb trees in. She's a simple girl." Belle had to admit some of the fake jewels could have been left off, but she'd only admit that to herself.

Belle had stubbornly refused to budge, but she'd decided to throw a meatless bone when Rumple asked if she thought it was her "good breeding" that made him fall in love with her. And Belle had felt her eyebrow droop to the top of her eyelid as she'd massaged a crease in her forehead. She'd known he would've married her even if she ran around in trousers instead of her beloved ball gown. "Fine," she'd spat. "I'll make her one pair of trousers."

Remembering that, she felt so guilty it was as if worms were wriggling down her back…wait, had Chrissy brought some actual worms in the house? Belle reached her cold fingers to touch where the main one was "wriggling" but only felt her flesh. Nope. It definitely was guilt.

She didn't love Chrissy, though given lots of time, maybe she could love her. She liked her a tiny bit. Sometimes caught herself smiling at the comforting familiarity of the child's adorable face. But Belle loved her husband. With a raw, howling ardor. This was the reason for her chagrin. Because she did love him, even if she wasn't always behaving as if she did. He was her heart and soul.

She was born a princess, used to bossing servants around, getting her own way, and ignoring advice. True, her father had tried to force her to marry Gaston. And in some ways, she was completely powerless against her sexist father. Powerless in ways that made her cry.

But she hadn't been powerless from running away. She hadn't been powerless from starting her own adventure—as a poor lass with an honorable husband with scarcely a dime to his name. The home they had, he'd built with his own hands. They had chickens, some cows and bulls, and several sheep and goats. Born a princess she was, but she hadn't been scared to butcher the first bull to make a meal for her husband…

…but since that first messed-up attempt, she'd gone to the butcher, who'd taken the liberty to teach her. And she was…embarrassed every time she thought about how naïve she used to be.

But she'd learned.

People in various countries seemed to believe the royals were freer than the common folk, but Belle, who'd had a taste of both worlds, felt freer in the common folk than she had as a princess. Always stuffed into a dress with a maid—or ten—to make sure she wasn't breathing funny. Since she'd deserted her crown, she had no one breathing down her neck. She'd had plenty of liberating alone time.

It didn't mean her emotions were always okay. Sometimes, she felt unhappy for no reason. It was part of being human, she knew. But she liked her freedom.

She knew her father would welcome her back in a heartbeat and shove her on Gaston's lap ASAP. Her royal life was waiting for her, the minute she decided to return.

The fun part was she'd never be tempted.

Gaston had never married, and her father had spread word that he wanted his lovely daughter back. Gaston was waiting on her and refused to take any "lesser" bride. Belle was just grateful nobody she met had figured out she was the runaway Princess Angela—or they simply did not care. Because no one was pestering her to return.

There wasn't a reward, or for sure, someone would be stuffing any woman who resembled her in a sack and dragging her to the palace. Her father knew she ran away and knew she would again unless she came home willingly. Therefore, he wasn't stupid enough to offer a ransom that'd bring her home for twelve hours. Or she'd have to be locked in a prison cell, which she knew he was loath to do. He was more the man who used guilt to force someone "in their place" than a cage. It was why he was an excellent ruler but a terrible hunter.

The one thing Belle had to admit was thanks to her mother and the book Her Handsome Hero, Belle had idealized this life in a way like she'd had a wake-up call. It wasn't a bad life at all, but it was definitely a real life. It was indisputable that she'd relished the hands-on duties of learning to sew, cook, and take care of livestock. She didn't resent her duties, even if she had a lot more now than she'd had as a princess. All the embarrassing learning she'd had to adjust to, for she'd never been allowed to wash her own clothing before she ran away. Much less, get her own glass of wine. Her mother had tried to coax her father to let her "at least learn to sew, for pity's sake", but he'd insisted it could be deadly if Belle's little fingers had tripped on the needle and pricked her own finger.

"How do you expect her to learn if she never hurts herself?" her mother had wondered, fists on hips and frowning judgmentally at her husband.

"I want her life to be like a cruise," he'd insisted. "Perfectly glitch-free and lovely, not so much as a pricked finger to bleed into her gown."

Belle wondered what part of "a cruise" a forced wedding to a man she didn't love counted as. Maybe it was under the impression she was supposed to fall in love with a guy just because he would provide for her. Or that he wanted her for his bride.

But the reality of it was Belle had seen Rumple and decided to marry him, basically fallen in love with the Ogre Slayer at first sight. He hadn't pursued her—she'd pursued him. And he hadn't believed he was lovable. A virgin he'd been, he laughed at her first attempt to provoke him to kiss her. Both of them sitting in front of a fair's campfire, drinking wine. He'd bumped her shoulder with his and said, "Come on. Girls don't like guys like me. I'm helluva dull." Smirking sheepishly at himself, he'd mused, "And come on. Look at this ugly face! Next to the pirates of the land—Captain Blackbeard, I hear, cannot get the women to quit flirting with him if half his face is underwater and the other half is burrowed in sand—I am not a looker. You're the first woman who wanted me, and as I'm forty-seven years," he'd eyed her skeptically, "I'm going to have to believe you, a woman in her late twenties, only wants me because she thinks she can't have me. There's got to be an unreal reason."

But he was wrong, and slowly over the years, he'd grown to trust her love wasn't a mirage. He'd grown to see what she couldn't open her eyes in the morning without knowing. It had taken about seven years for her to convince him to marry her and another three before they'd conceived a baby.

People in town talked about her like she was pitiful when they thought she was out of earshot, but they were wrong. She heard them, and it didn't bother her. She felt sure they wouldn't be talking that way about her if they were happy enough with their own lives. She wasn't always happy—that was true. But she knew she was with the man she loved, and that made her never dream of being anywhere else no matter what anyone whispered about her. And she knew these people could worry about social order all they wanted—if they were pitying her for living in a crooked house and being a social misfit, they probably were only trying to make themselves feel better for being stuck in their own situation.

All these thoughts rampaged through Belle's mind until she couldn't bear to think anymore. She got up from the table and started to sterilize the dishes when the door burst open.

"H-have you met them? The family who wants me?" Chrissy's jaw was trembling. One of her eyes brimmed with excitement. The other shifted around anxiously. She smiled one second, the next her lips drooped into a frown.

Rumple had told her this morning before he left that she had a new family. He would come home to see her leave. She hadn't seemed bugged in the least. After breakfast, she'd vanished again. Belle supposed the news had finally caught up with her. She'd been so conflicted, she'd come to what she viewed as her current worst enemy to ask for information.

Belle wanted to be good with kids. She remembered when she was Chrissy's age and one of the servant's daughters (a seven-year-old) had wanted to play dolls with Belle. Belle had lavished her attention and felt good about herself. The girl had been amazing when Belle had bad days—she'd wiped her tears away and got her to admit why she was upset. Belle could remember how the servant's daughter made her feel genuinely better like no one else could.

She wished she had that talent, especially considering she was about to be a mother. Her own mom had been almost that amazing. A truly good mother. Very compassionate and sweet, a sincerely good friend. But anyone could see that her parents weren't in love. Belle had never believed they were such. Neither of her parents pretended. It was a royal wedding, which both had seen as duty. But it was still choice enough for Belle's mother that Maurice usually had to consider her opinion because she'd made it plain they were partners or not married at all.

Belle didn't get much from her mother in ways of personality, considering she hadn't wanted a royal wedding and did want to marry a man she loved. But it would've been nice to get some of those mother skills—after all, she'd had such a lovely kinship with her mother that oftentimes she felt more like a best friend than a mother. Which was why Belle glowed with love at the memory of her.

Her death had devastated Belle in ways her father's imminent death certainly wouldn't because…she didn't love her father. He wasn't loving to her—he was more like a principal ready to scold her for coming to class late than a bona fide father.

Aloud, she tried to assure Chrissy in her stilted manner. "No. I haven't met them. From what Rumple told me last night, he hasn't either. They live in the Evil Queen's realm…not in Thomas' poor country like we do." She made a gesture to pet the top of Chrissy's head then thought better of it. Knowing it'd feel artificial to the child instead of comforting. "He sent word around that he had a child in need of being adopted. Of course, he's been to many a land on that white steed of his to fight ogres. That steed has magic to run wherever Rumple is needed…much faster than a thoroughbred. I think it's a sort of portal it opens…well, anyway." She smoothed out her ball gown skirt. "We'll meet your parents tonight. I guess it won't be a whole family until you join." She smiled wanly.

The child stared into Belle's blue eyes. Confusion creased her brow. "Why have you been crying? Are you upset?"

Deftly, Belle snatched a tea towel up. "Upset? No, I'm fine. I'm really happy for you," but Chrissy's words had ignited Belle's jaw to bounce, and she could feel the tears brewing, threating to pound from her eyeballs.

"Do you…love me?" Chrissy asked, trying to place an understanding of an adult's conflicting emotions.

Belle decided to be firmly honest. She took the child's hands in hers and admitted, "You bonded instantly with Rumple. He could easily already be your father, but I think you know that. I think you wish he were your father…I did not have that same effortless love with you, but the truth is…" She started sniffling, thinking only of how much emptier the house would be without Chrissy's footsteps filling them. In a rasp, she murmured, "You're growing on me. But no…I don't love you." She hiccupped. "Yet."

Chrissy's mind was jumping like a trampoline. "What if I don't like them?"

Belle turned her back on Chrissy to get started on the dishes. "Ah. You don't have to worry about that." Scrubbing, she informed the little girl, "Rumple has already stated the choice is yours. You are not leaving unless you are happy with your new parents. And I agree."

"Really?" Chrissy asked tentatively, poking her nose under Belle's arm. She reached for the soap and started washing her hands so she could help Belle—even though she usually got upset whenever Belle asked her to wash her filthy hands for supper. They had dried mud on them right now. "You do?"

"I know you think I'm heartless, kid, but I want you to find parents you love as much as your father does." Belle stuffed her hands over her mouth as her eyes widened out of her sockets. She'd been distracted, thinking about the dishes, and had spoken without using her brain. She couldn't believe she'd subconsciously called Rumple Chrissy's father.

Chrissy didn't notice anything odd. She was preparing some hot water to sterilize the dishes with. "That's awful nice of you. My own parents wouldn't pay me such a courtesy…but you didn't seem to like it when Rumple brought me here."

"Yes, well, partially pregnancy hormones, partially unexpected change. I felt it was an intrusion on my and Rumple's happy home. But you're better than a drunk cousin who gropes my ass or something…oh, my lanta, I'm going to be a terrible mother." Belle's stomach felt so heavy she found she had to lie down on the semi-wet kitchen floor on her side. She started crying outright, tears streaming down her face, which she kept shielded by her hand so Chrissy wouldn't see should she happen to look.

Dryly, Chrissy stated while working on the dishes, "I'm not going to say you'll be a mother brimming with warmth…but to say you'll be a terrible mother, I feel, is stretching it. You're hardly a welcoming campfire for me, but you'll probably be a lot better with your own child."

Was a five-year-old actually giving Belle a pep talk?

"I don't know," Belle blubbered while trying to calm down. "The thing is…I'm standoffish when people need me to soften up, except with Rumple. What if I can't put the cactus in me away? What if the right thing to do…is give this baby up?"

"It's not," Chrissy called from over the dishes. "Don't you fret. I saw the baby's room. He or she will be loved. My parents didn't love me. They had enough rooms in our home that I could've had my own room. Instead, the extra room was a guest bedroom, and I had to sleep on a little blanket on the floor in the living room. It felt normal for me, I never once thought it odd…until I moved in here and got the guest bedroom."

Belle wiped her cheeks with her skirt. "Yeah. Okay. You've got a point there."

"This kid is already loved more than I was…" Chrissy stole a glance back at Belle. "Are you going into labor? You're making the same expressions as this fox I knew last year when she was giving birth."

"So much pain," whispered Belle, "but this baby isn't due for two weeks."

When she finished up the dishes, Chrissy came to stroke Belle's hand. "I guess this is pivotal. You having your baby the night I find a new home. It's meant to be, supposed to be." She sounded so mature. She couldn't possibly be only five years old. She had to be a thousands year old star implanted into a child's body. "I know it hurts," Chrissy soothed, "but you'll be fine."

Belle had never felt more ashamed of herself in her life. She knew she'd never comforted Chrissy, even in the moments she tried, and yet, Chrissy was effortlessly making Belle able to breathe easier, just by talking. Her words more than her tone soothed Belle, for Belle was the type who found language the most comforting of any human gift. But even so, Chrissy had never seemed more like an angel. Most of the time, Chrissy seemed more like a boy stuffed in a girl's body. Not that boys couldn't be angels, but in a dirty way. Now she was holy and gleaming. Belle hallucinated a bit on the pain and thought the child had sprung a pair of glowing white wings for a minute. She also thought the grubby green shirt and navy blue skirt had combined to make a royal blue angel gown.

"If your new home…gets too crazy…you're always welcome to spend a night or a month with us. Rumple would like that."

Chrissy smiled a bit stiffly, snuffing out the angel hallucination. "We shall see what happens."

At that moment, Belle sat up in a pool of her own perspiration, mainly forming at her forehead. Grunting, she heard some wolves howling in the distance. Her legs were stretched out before her but jutting up to form a triangle with the dirt floor. She felt a lot better in this position than she did lying on her side, but that may have been because she vomited to the side at that point.

Chrissy placed a damp washcloth against her forehead then stepped back. "I'll, erm…see if a neighbor might have something for dinner…"

"No need," a masculine voice breathed in the doorway, bringing hope and love to Belle's insides. A warm paper sack was placed on the table. The Ogre Slayer came to crouch in front of his wife and pressed his knuckles to her cheeks. "You're in early labor," he mused. "That's okay. We'll meet Chrissy's parents then bring your midwife to you." He turned toward the young girl leaning against the tabletop. "It's actually only because of you that I came home in the first place. I was very busy…and would've stayed a few days…if my priorities weren't ensuring your future family is decent." He put his arms around Chrissy's waist and swung her in the air. "If I weren't looking out for you and more concerned with your wellbeing than a few extra nasty ogres…I would've missed my baby's birth."

He didn't say it aloud, but both Belle and Chrissy could feel his silent thought. That it indeed felt like a whole family because he'd returned home to look out for one to discover the other gravely needed him.

Propping himself beside his wife, he took her hand. "What do I need to do to make you more comfortable?"

"Oh, Chrissy did a great job, getting this washcloth for me even though I…" Belle had to swallow a lump of tears, "didn't ask…" How could she be hard-hearted against the child after what she'd done? Chrissy didn't like Belle, but she'd shown Belle more kindness than Belle's father ever had. Which touched Belle in an embarrassing way. "I don't need anything, but I'd like you to stay close as much as you can. Because I love you. I want you near me. But I know Chrissy's new parents are coming for her…"

Rumple turned to the child. "Come, sit with me." She snuggled against his other side. Genuinely, he told her, "I'm going to miss you. A lot. So don't think I never think of you, kid. You are very special to me. Wanted here." Stroking the top of her young head, he whispered, "I'll never replace you in my heart, even if I have fifty kids." Smiling broadly, he added, "That is definitely not a phenomenon that shall occur, thank the Light." Glancing around at the parts of the hovel he could see, he remarked, "This place isn't big enough for that many children. And I'm not getting another place since I don't slay ogres for money."

Chrissy goofily remarked, "Oh, come on, you could always have fifty kids and deposit them in the Evil Queen's castle. I'm sure she has upwards of fifty thousand unused rooms."

"No, that's not true," Rumple joked. "The maids go in there and clean. They're only halfway unused. I'm sure she'll notice an import smuggled in."

Chrissy snorted. "Well, if I were staying, I'd bet you I could smuggle some plants in there and Queen Snow would never notice…maybe I'll do that another time, when I get bigger," she mused, "as I am moving to her country…"

She'd decided even if there was something off about her new parents, she'd go with them anyway. She didn't want to cause Belle any more stress while she was going into labor. But she knew she was going to miss Rumple and this home, no matter how nice her new parents were. Because for her, this place had felt like home the moment she'd set foot in it…in a way her biological parents' home never had. The only thing that hadn't felt like home was Belle.

Rumple leaned to the side and whispered something in Chrissy's ear. The child sprang up like a tree stem shooting from the ground. She rushed off and returned to hand Belle—whose eyes were closed—something hard.

Belle opened her eyes, fighting off a contraction, and saw the word Handsome greeting her. A broad smile brightened the room through her pain.

Her favorite book…not only because of the contents. Not only because she'd read the story fifteen times and was still surprised by beautiful sentences that had never spoken to her before—and the big events in the story still made her laugh and moved her to tears in a way other books didn't quite succeed in doing.

Aside from all that, it was also her favorite book because looking at it always reminded her of her mother and how much she had loved her.

Angela had been what her father had wanted to name her. Her mother had wanted to name her Belle. But he'd overruled his wife, the woman who bore the child. Which was part of why she'd been so set on becoming Belle and leaving Angela behind.

She hoped her mother would be proud of her. She knew she'd be disappointed in how she felt about Chrissy. But Belle had learned how to become a homemaker all by herself—and she thought she did a decent job even though she was raised to be a silly airhead without a thought in the world. Because that was her father's dream for her—to be insignificant and not matter but be a "pretty face".

Running the fingers of her hand not entwined in Rumple's along the hard cover of the book sent jolts of excitement up and down Belle's spine.

Then she felt remorse engulf her. "Chrissy," she choked out, "I'm sorry I d-didn't make you more shorts. I wish I could burn all your skirts and give you shorts instead." She swung her neck and shut her eyes tight. "I realize now, Rumple was behaving like my mother. I have more of my father in me than I'd like. I hated how he treated me, though I never hated him." She chuckled mirthlessly. "I felt nothing for him. Neither love nor hate. But I wish I could say I'm nothing like him. Yet, I realize now some of his actions seized hold of me. It wasn't right of me to try to tell you what to wear or that you need to be a 'proper lady' to secure a husband in the future. I was being controlling. And I'm very sorry." Tears leaked out of the cracks in her eyelids. "I wish you weren't being adopted tonight. I'd like to try to start over, to be sincerely kinder to you. To put my hormones and pride aside. I guess deep down, I feared," she could only confess this with her eyes shut tight, "if Rumple let you into his heart, he wouldn't be able to love our child. But that's silly, isn't it? I was so worried our child wouldn't be loved that I couldn't see you had been the child who grew up without love…you needed and were owed someone to care about you. Oh, Chrissy, I really screwed up, didn't I?"

She was blubbering so much that the child couldn't make out much of what Belle was saying, but Rumple heard every word. And he listened with empathy, understanding, and compassion.

"We can't always help our feelings," he told her calmly. "Even the ugly ones."

Opening her eyes, they shared a look as she tried to smile but failed.

A knock broke through the moment. Chrissy galloped to the room she currently slept in. Rumple left his wife's side to answer the door, pulling it open to reveal a woman wearing a purple hat with a wide brim and gnawing her bottom lip so hard it was bloody. Her green eyes were wide and gentle. The purple hat had a white ribbon wrapped around the narrow middle and a white flower attached to the ribbon. She brought her left manicured hand up to her cheek. A wedding band sparkled on her ring finger.

Behind her, Rumple saw a dark red chariot with a chestnut horse attached.

"You're the Ogre Slayer…looking for a home for the child."

"Chrissy." When Rumple beckoned her in, she stepped back to let her husband—a shorter man with a short brown hat over black hair in a buzz cut and brown eyes so dark they appeared black—go ahead of her. He had a boyish grin and walked with a rowdy, playful gait that Rumple could immediately see resembled Chrissy's own walk.

It made his heart pang a little bit to see this man had similar mannerisms to the child. In hindsight, he could pass as Chrissy's father. The Ogre Slayer's stomach knotted with the bitter infection of envy.

But he would do the right thing. He always did.

The petty, bitter thing was too childish for a man like Rumple. Though he almost wanted to daydream about ripping the man's tongue out and tangoing on it before returning the moist body part with a satisfied smile. He did not indulge this fantasy. The man had done nothing to harm him.

The thing was, Rumple's instincts were off. He was thwarted by his wife's labor pains and unable to fully focus on this stranger knowing his child was soon to emerge into the world. He also was aware Chrissy was about to leave him forever, and he was doing his best not to break down in tears over it—but he knew when she was gone and he had a moment to himself, her absence would fill his heart in such a way as a tornado. He would break down later. So focused he was on not losing it in front of her that he didn't notice the hairs on the back of his neck rising as the man pulled his small brown hat to his chest and hugged it with a bow without lowering his head to the floor.

This was a very subtle move that only a certain type of loyalists performed, and one couldn't be blinking or thinking elsewhere, or they'd miss it. It was a sign that the person in question would only be loyal to one.

He dropped his eyes to Belle and combed over her position. Chrissy had returned to the room but was hiding in a crease of the corner touching the hallway so she could observe but bolt if caught. "Wearing a fancy ball gown on the dirt floor, hmm?" he muttered. He didn't look particularly impressed. Rather, the corner of his lip curled up superciliously, as if he sensed something was wrong with Belle's mental health and it made him feel superior. He started talking to her like she was stupid and he was a saint. Slowly asking her "How are you?" then laughing into his sleeve. Patting Rumple on the shoulder, he murmured in his ear, "Well, she's not much of a looker, but I guess you married her for her face rather than her," he swirled his finger by his head, "brain." When she didn't answer and ignored him, he started screaming at her, "Are…you…deaf?"

Belle's face was red with restrained fury. "I don't care what you do with this beast," she seethed through gritted teeth. (Chrissy's future father looked shocked that she could speak so softly he couldn't hear her.) "But please get him out of my sight. He's obnoxious."

Chrissy knew then and there she did not want to go with them. However, she knew the man could be worse. So though her heart was pounding like a jackrabbit watching the scene unfold, she told herself to remember Belle was about to give birth. Chrissy needed to get while the getting was good.

And if she didn't go with this lewd, ignorant, ableist man, she told her pounding heart, she'd go off on her own after Belle and Rumple went to sleep.

Yeah, other kids grew up without parents. Why couldn't she? She was a tough gal. She could be raised by wolves…

…but not ogres.

Rumple rounded on the man, meshing their noses. "If she were deaf," he seethed, "that doesn't make her stupid. But you yourself are displaying marvelous lack of intelligence. So what's your excuse for being an ape?"

Still clutching his brown bowler hat, the man lifted his fist to connect with the Ogre Slayer's nose, but his wife gripped his wrist and stopped him.

"Pipe down. Don't go around insulting this man's wife." She was breathing hard. Her hat had slid off her head and down her back in her struggle, leaving her curly red hair sliding out of its neat ponytail. "Do you know how long I've yearned for a child? If you deny me this, I will divorce you." A subtle wink was exchanged, one which Rumple failed to notice.

As dense as the man was, he got her message loud and clear. Plunking his bowler hat back on his head, his fingers made a motion of collecting money before he smiled crookedly at Chrissy. In a friendly, welcoming, and decidedly not creepy manner, he informed her, "You're going to love living with us, Chrissy. We've got a ton of acreage, horses," he stretched out his hand, "so many you will have to pick a favorite. You can run, jump, and swim. We've got a nice swimming pool, and a pond with a dolphin in it. But in winter, the pool and pond both freeze over, so you can skate. It is nearly winter." He rubbed the side of his face. "So it'll be a while before you can swim. But I bet you'll love our dolphin. We had a giant squid, but the Evil Queen made us remove it." He made a disgusted face that didn't quite reach his eyes, shining with mirth at addressing his queen.

The conversation continued. Rumple dealt the warm sandwiches while talking. He was trying to make sure he felt comfortable with these strangers taking Chrissy. After a few minutes, the wife commented, "Please forgive my husband for being a sheer knucklehead." Kneeling by Belle with her gentle green eyes glazing over, she murmured, "He's too dense to figure out you're giving birth. He thinks you're just fat and lazy. I'm really sorry." She shot an almost hateful glare at her husband's back.

"What?" He snorted into the tomato juice Rumple had offered him. "She's not?"

Icily, his wife remarked, "You've witnessed three women having labor pains, and you told all of them they needed to 'get up' because they were 'lazy'. You think you're so wise and above women intelligence, and yet," she heaved a snarl, "it's a good thing I cannot have kids. You never would have seen them after treating your wife the same way. I would've deserted you."

Neither Rumple nor Belle knew she was playing a part. The woman had given birth several times, and her husband had killed the baby by accident in its first day of life. Neither of them were dumb enough to advertise that—they knew it was best to pretend her body wouldn't host a child. No person in their right mind would hand a child to the likes of such a man, if they knew the truth. Unless they endorsed child abuse.

There was some more chitchat before Rumple pulled Chrissy aside and looked her square in the eye. By this time, everyone had finished eating dinner, even the husband, who had eaten in an exaggerated and dramatic way. As if he were lonely and starved for attention. "You've got the say in this. Do you want to go off with them?"

Chrissy didn't particularly love them. The wife's kindness seemed stilted and plastic. Belle was twenty times warmer—and that was saying a lot. She felt artificial, but Chrissy hoped that meant she was really hoping for a child, really wanting to be a mother, to a point where her potential child didn't find her caring at all.

Appearances weren't always true. Maybe it'd take time and she'd fit right in. Chrissy could see some of her own wildness in the father's gestures—he'd even performed some movements Chrissy herself performed in the same situation. Like he tended to touch the tip of his nose before taking the first taste of anything. Just like she did.

Certainly, he was no saint, but what human was? Humans could only be perfect in their heads. Those who seemed perfect surface-wise were extreme snobs or hypocrites.

Not that Chrissy had too much experience in her young life. But she didn't feel she had the right to judge.

At the heart of it, she also wanted to leave before Belle had the baby. Partly to reduce Belle's stress but also—deep down she had to admit—because she didn't think she could handle the hurt she'd feel if she saw in Rumple's eyes he loved his biological child more than her.

The psychological damage she could potentially suffer was unbearable to think about.

So she smiled sweetly at him. Very untomboyishly (in a manner that would have made him alert she was faking if he weren't so distracted), she asserted, "I feel a bond with them, actually. I can't wait to get home! Yes, they're the family I've been searching my whole life for." A cynical person would have thought, Five years is not that long, but Rumple never would have judged her by her age. He was listening to the percent. Therefore, no cynicism greeted his mind like Bambi greeting Thumper. Putting her little hands on his massive ones, she said, "I definitely want to go with them."

She tried to walk back to the living room without embracing him. She was trying to be tough and force herself to shed the love she had for him as if it were a jacket that no longer fit. But all of a sudden, she started crying and flung her arms around his neck.

"Goodbye," she whispered through her sobs. Leaving was going to break her young heart, but staying might destroy it so it could never heal again. "I wish I weren't crying right now…but I don't know how to stop."

And he held her close in the way a father should. Full of love and hope for her future.

Chrissy settled on her skirt in the dark red chariot. There was a woman sitting in the middle, clad in a faded gray cloak with a hood.

In a deliriously happy tone, the woman asserted, "You got her! You got the kid!"

Her hood slipped off in her excitement, and Chrissy saw it was the Evil Queen—Snow White.

Chrissy fainted.