Chapter Thirteen

Interlude: Storybrooke, July to Mid-September, 2011

Henry Mills was the only boy he knew who had birthdays. He was the only boy he knew who turned a whole year older every year. He was the only boy he knew who got promoted to a new grade every year. And he was the only boy he knew who found anything weird about the whole situation.

When he told his mother what was on his mind, she told him that he was just imagining things.

"But…"

"Henry, I'm preparing for a council meeting. Don't you have homework to do?"

"I wish that stayed the same every day," Henry muttered. "I'd just do it once and make a bunch of photocopies." He wondered about that, too. The seasons changed. The homework assignments did, too. He wasn't the only person who wore different clothes every day. But every morning, on his walk to school, rain, snow or shine, he'd see Marco the handyman nailing the Five-and-Dime's sign up again. He'd see Mr. Gold walking to the shop at exactly the same time. Forty-two seconds later (he'd timed it), Ruby would be complaining to Granny about being on the early shift. Ten seconds after she flounced into the diner, Archie would approach with Pongo…

Every day was the same.

"Small towns are like that," his mother said, but Henry knew that couldn't be it.

He wondered why he was the only person in town who seemed to think anything was wrong. Maybe, he thought, his mother—his real one—had also felt that way. "Did my mother ever live here?" he'd asked once. "Did you meet her?"

"Henry!" his mother exclaimed. "I'm your mother. I may not have given birth to you, but you are no less my son for that." She sucked in her breath. "And no," she went on. "I never met the woman who gave you up. She wanted a closed adoption."

"What does that mean?" Henry asked.

His mother took a breath. "It means she didn't want to see you or hear from you. She didn't want to raise you."

"She didn't want me," Henry whispered, feeling tears burning in his eyes.

"But I did," his mother told him, pulling him into a hug. "I did."

Henry hugged her back, reassured for now. His questions, however, didn't go away. Neither did his discomfort.

As the summer wore on and his tenth birthday drew nearer, Henry found himself thinking more and more about the mother who hadn't wanted him. "Do you think she had a lot of other kids already and couldn't afford one more?" he asked his mother. "Or maybe she was a secret agent and she was afraid that her enemies would hurt me to get to her?"

His mother sighed. Not for the first time, she cursed the articles she'd read that recommended letting an adopted child know that he'd been adopted as early as possible. Yes, a number of other townspeople had volunteered the same advice unasked, including Mrs. Lucas and, rather surprisingly, Gold. She'd listened to the experts, both bona fide and armchair, trusting that they knew what was best. Now, however, she was thinking that if she had disregarded them, she and Henry would both be happier now. "You know, Henry," she said, "I'm getting worried about you. Your mother, whoever she was, had her reasons. I don't know what they were, but I don't think it matters. Do you know what being adopted means?"

Henry nodded. "Yeah, it means I didn't come out of you," he said at once.

"It means that I wanted you."

"I know," Henry said. "But I still want to find out about her."

"Unfortunately," his mother said, "I can't help you there. Actually," she continued, "I think that getting you some… help… might be a good idea."

"Yeah?" Henry brightened at once. "So we can hire a detective? Take out an ad in the paper? Start a website?"

His mother shook her head. "No," she replied. "That's not the kind of help I meant. I believe you're thinking about this whole… thing… a bit too much. It's becoming an obsession and it's not healthy for you to dwell on it quite this much. I've spoken with Dr. Hopper and he agrees with me that a few sessions with him might prove beneficial. Do you know what that means?"

Henry shrugged.

"It means that he's going to help you get some perspective. You're seeing him tomorrow evening at seven." She saw the shock on her son's face and decided to stave off any protest with a carrot. "And we'll go out to Granny's for supper before you do. In fact," she went on, "we can do that every Thursday evening from now on. I'll make sure I leave the office at five and it'll be our time. We don't really do enough together these days," she added a bit wistfully. "What do you say?"

Henry frowned. "And I can order anything I want? Or does it have to be good for me?"

"Any main course you want," his mother said. "And if you finish it, any dessert."

"Even if I want a hotdog combo?" Henry promptly named the most unhealthy item he could think of.

"I suppose one hotdog combo a week won't hurt," his mother agreed, a bit less enthusiastically. "But only once a week. If we go out more often than that, I'll expect you to make better choices. So?"

Henry smiled. "It's a deal."

And for a few glorious minutes, Regina felt like she had her son back.

Ms Blanchard was young and pretty, with a kind of wide-eyed enthusiasm that Henry warmed to. At least he did for the first twenty minutes of his first day of fifth grade. For those twenty minutes, he'd thought that it was going to be a fun year. Okay, so the math sounded like it was going to be a little harder. When Ms Blanchard passed out the two novels they were going to be studying this year, he couldn't help smiling. He'd read Dear Mr. Henshaw on his own last year, so he already knew the storyline. And as for The Cricket in Times Square, he was curious. He'd never seen or heard a cricket in Storybrooke.

"Now, this year, I hope to make history come alive for each of you. If you don't know who you are or where you came from, it can feel as though there's a big hole in your life, like there's something missing you can't quite describe…"

Henry found himself nodding. That was exactly how he'd been feeling lately.

"…So your first assignment will be to create a family tree. I want you to record, not only the names of your ancestors, but some fact about each one. If you don't know anything about them, then find an event that happened or an object that was invented during their life. Include yourself and any siblings you might have, your parents and any siblings they might have, and your grandparents and any siblings they might have. You can go back even farther, if you're able. It's due one week from today. Are there any questions?"

Henry sagged a bit in his chair. This was going to be the worst year ever!

"Your grandfather's name was Henry Mills, too," his mother told him that evening. "You're named after him. And your…" Uncharacteristically, she hesitated. "Your grandmother's name was Cora."

Henry shook his head. "I need my real grandparents' names."

"We've been over this before," his mother said, sounding annoyed. "In every way that matters, I am your real mother. I may not have given birth to you, but I have cared for you since you were three weeks old. I have changed your diapers," Henry flinched at that, "soothed your fevers, and endured your tantrums. True, I didn't birth to you, but I am still your real mother. And since Henry and Cora were my parents, that makes them your real grandparents."

"It's not the same," Henry protested, glumly.

"I can have a word with Ms Blanchard," his mother said. "Explain your circumstances and tell her that this is how you'll be completing the assignment. If she gives you a hard time about this, you tell me."

Henry lowered his eyes. "I don't think she will," he admitted. "But I'm going to be the only kid who'll…" He took another breath. "You don't know anything about my re—" Something about the look on his mother's face made him amend, "my birth mother?"

"Nothing."

Henry sighed. "How did you get me? If I was born here, then you'd know who gave me up. So I know I wasn't. But how did I get here? How did you…?"

"I've told you the story a hundred times already," his mother said with some surprise.

"No," Henry replied. "You've told me that you wanted a little boy and so you got me, but you've never told me how."

Ten years earlier…

Regina looked up from the council brief she was reading in surprise. "What can I do for you, Gold?" she asked. In all the years that the town had been here, she couldn't recall him ever calling on her at the office before.

Gold smiled. "Just following up on your visit to the shop the other day. At the time, you seemed… less than satisfied with the service I'd provided and I wanted to verify whether you were still, uh, dissatisfied?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Since when do you care whether your customers are satisfied, Gold?"

Gold smiled. "Well," he said with a chuckle, "you are the mayor. As such, it's prudent for me to remain in your good graces."

Still somewhat suspicious, she gave the shopkeeper a polite smile. "There was a bit of an adjustment, but I do believe that things are looking up."

"So our business is concluded?"

Regina nodded. "It would appear so." She frowned. "Or was there something else I'm overlooking? You did receive the final transfer payment, didn't you?"

"I did," Gold nodded. "No, our business is concluded, but I would like to ask a favor of you, please."

Regina blinked. A fog seemed to veil her mind and, as if from a distance, she heard her voice respond, "Go ahead."

"Never conceal from him that he is your adopted son. If he's old enough to ask about it, he's old enough to hear the answer. And at some point, should he further inquire as to how the adoption came about, please let him know that…"

"…Mr. Gold arranged it," his mother replied slowly. "Most adoption agencies had waiting lists that were years long, but he knew how badly I wanted you. How badly I wanted a child," she corrected herself. "Of course, I didn't know then that it would be you. In any case, he was able to find a lawyer willing to speed things up for me."

"How?"

His mother's tone was apologetic. "To be honest, Henry, I never asked, but he found him. A few months later, I got a call to drive to Boston to get you. You came home with me that same day."

His mother was smiling and Henry smiled back and tried to act as if everything was fine now, but it wasn't. He still didn't have all the answers he wanted. But he did have a better idea of how to get them.

Even if he was more than a little nervous about it.

Two weeks later, the bell over the front door of Mr. Gold's shop jangled and he looked up as said door creaked open. He frowned. And then he looked down as a small figure stepped hesitantly past the map carousel and into view. "It's Henry, isn't it?" he asked in some surprise. Children generally did not cross his threshold unattended, and even then only with the utmost trepidation. And the boy did look nervous, hugging a large brown hardcover volume with no dustjacket to his chest as though it was some talisman for courage.

A handy thing to have, if such actually existed, he thought. Aloud, he said, "What can I do for you today?"

The boy seemed poised to flee out the door. Then, very hesitantly, he took another step forward. Almost in a whisper, he asked, "Did you find me for my mother?"

"Find you?" Gold repeated.

"When she wanted to adopt me," Henry said, still looking down. "Did you get me here?"

Gold picked up a knickknack from behind the counter and began polishing it. "When the adoption agency advised her that they had a child for her," he said slowly, "and yes, that was you, it was she who drove to Boston to fetch you and bring you back. However, I did have dealings with the agency in question. It was quite some time ago and..." He frowned. "That's odd."

"What is?" Henry asked, seeming to forget his nervousness.

"I don't recall the details at all," Gold replied, looking puzzled. "I know your mother came to me, asking my help in bypassing the waiting time…"

"Waiting time?" Henry prompted, when Gold's voice trailed off, hoping to jog the conversation along

"There are often more prospective parents looking to adopt an infant than there are infants available for adoption," Gold said. Then he saw the set of Henry's jaw. "Ah," he smiled. "So you knew that part already. Forgive me. As I was saying, had your mother been willing to consider an older child, it might have taken far less time. As it was a baby she wanted, she came to me. I'm," he shrugged, "usually good at facilitating things like that."

"Oh," Henry said in a small voice.

It struck Gold that the boy wasn't entirely satisfied with his answer. "Was there… anything else?" he asked.

Henry hesitated. Then, clutching the book before him more tightly, he asked at a rush. "Did you ever meet my mother?"

Gold smiled. "Well, she is the mayor, isn't she?"

"Not her," Henry replied, almost at once. "My real one."

"Henry," Gold sighed, "there's more to family than blood. To be wanted is a fine thing," he added, his voice wistful.

Henry waited, but the proprietor was silent again. "Mr. Gold?"

Gold blinked. And then, his eyebrows lifted and he walked over to his cash drawer. "You know, Henry," he said slowly, "I believe I may have something to show you."

"Yeah?" A glimmer of hope appeared in the boy's eyes.

"I seem to have been keeping this with me for the longest time," he said. "I'm not at all certain when it came into my possession. I'd been meaning to open it myself, but somehow it's never seemed very important to me. However," he pulled a white legal-size envelope out of the drawer, "I suspect it may be of import to you."

Henry reached for it. "Thanks," he said sounding as though he wasn't certain whether he'd just been handed a gemstone or a pebble. He read the legend on the front aloud. "To be given to Henry Mills. When he asks about her."

"The handwriting is mine," Gold confirmed. "Though for the life of me, I don't recall what's inside it. Perhaps, the answer to your question. Perhaps not. But I suspect," he continued, "that it's something meant to be read privately."

Later, after Henry had thanked him again and left, Gold found himself wondering why he'd said that. If he'd written the letter, then he really ought to remember its contents. At the very least, he should have asked Henry to open the envelope in his presence. And yet, somehow, it hadn't seemed important enough to make that request. Well, tomorrow, he'd have to be sure to ask Henry about it.

The next morning, like every morning, Mr. Gold awoke at 6:30 sharp, brushed his teeth, gargled, shaved, showered, and dressed. At 7:15, he en route to his shop, reaching it at 7:21. He unlocked the door, gave the counters a quick dust and polish, and prepared for his day. He unlocked his safe, counted off a number of bills and coins, and opened the register to stock it properly. He frowned. Something appeared to be missing. Something that had been there since… well, it seemed as though it had been there forever. Not money, for he locked that away safely at the close of business. And nothing else had any business being inside it. And yet…

He shook his head. Perhaps his memory was playing tricks on him. If it wasn't, then no doubt he'd recall what he was missing in time. He began setting the bills and coins in the proper compartments in advance of any customers who might arrive.

His mother's name was Emma Swan. Alone in his house, upstairs in his bedroom with the door closed, Henry read the letter over and over, trying to read between the lines. She'd been abandoned as a baby and never had a real family. She'd got pregnant at seventeen and didn't think she knew how to be a mother.

I know I'm taking a chance with this, she wrote. After all, I was supposed to be adopted, but I ended up in the System when I was three after all. I have to hope that things worked out better for you, that you ended up with a good family who loves you, or in a really great foster home, but I hope it's with a family. All I know is, wherever you are, you've got a better chance without me than you do with me. I haven't always made the best choices. I hope for both our sakes that this is a good one. It's not that I don't want you. It's that I want you to be happy and I don't think you will be with the life I could give you. As I write this, I have no home, no job, and I'm trying to finish high school through correspondence. You deserve better than that. And if I can't give it to you, I'm hoping someone else will. And even if I might never know who you are or anything about you besides your birthday (it's August 15th, 2001, in case nobody told you), I do love you. And I hope you're having a great life.

Henry wiped at his eyes furiously. His mother would never have put him up for adoption if she'd known that he was going to be raised by the Evil Queen! He opened the book again and sought out the drawing of the woman he'd lately thought of as his mother. Oh, her clothes were different, her hair was longer, and she looked a lot scarier, but that was his mother. No. Not his mother. Not really. Regina.

Henry's eyes widened. He flipped to the back of the book and the picture of Snow White and Prince Charming bending over an infant who was swaddled in a blanket. There was a name on the blanket. Emma.

His heart, already beating faster than usual, began to pound. His mother… was Ms Blanchard's daughter! And she had to come to Storybrooke to break the Dark Curse! But if she didn't know about it…

"I have to tell her," Henry whispered. "But first, I have to find her. Sh-she could be anywhere." He took a breath. It was true. She could be anywhere… but he had to start somewhere. He swiveled his chair back around to face his computer and slid the mouse around to banish the screen-saver. He opened a Google session and typed in the search box: find birth mother…