— Stay with me, my love, — she whispered.
— Oh, how truly lovely.
Snow White shuddered at the sound of the voice. She’d heard it her whole life; she’d heard it grow colder and colder over the years. She’d heard hope and happiness seep out of it day by day. She’d heard it at the wedding.
Snow looked up at the Queen, who was looking disdainfully at one of her own knights.
— The child? — she said. — Give her to me.
— Gone, — the knight said gruffly. — Disappeared.
— Disappeared to where? — the Queen demanded.
— She’s safe, — said Snow. — And that means you’ll lose, eventually. You will always lose. It’s because of what you are. Good will always win.
— Spare me, — said the Queen. — Good does not always win. In fact, good almost always loses, my pretty young thing. You’re brainwashed by this ridiculous world, do you know that? No, of course you don’t. Try a week in a different realm. Try having a monster for a parent. That’ll teach you to grow up fast.
She was looking at the doorway. The green-and-purple mist Snow White had seen from the window had finally reached them here in the castle — it billowed in around them as though the room were flooding with pure hatred. The mist, somehow, was the curse. The Queen smiled, opened her arms. Snow White, eyes wide, held on to Charming as the castle began to tremble. She felt dizzy, but then realized that the room itself was spinning… cracking open. Strange objects showed themselves in the cracks in the sky, a wild wind howled through the room. Snow White heard what she thought was screaming.
— Where… — she said. — Where are we going? — she yelled.
— To that other world, my dear, — laughed the Queen, eyes insane, arms now up over her head. — A place where the only happy ending is my own.
For the second time in twenty-four hours, Emma watched Regina run from the doorstep of her home, relieved to see her son. She gathered him up at the door of the car and hugged him for a long moment. Henry abided it, but did not hug back. Again Emma was reminded that whatever thorny edge Regina had about her, she did care for Henry.
After a moment, he disengaged from his mother’s embrace and ran into the house.
Regina watched him go, and Emma saw the slamming door seem to cause Regina a moment of physical pain.
Regina turned back to Emma.
— Thank you.
— My pleasure.
— He seems to have taken quite a shine to you.
— You know something crazy? — Emma said. — Yesterday was my birthday, and when I blew out the candle, my wish was that I wouldn’t have to spend my birthday alone. And right when I blew it out, he showed up.
She hadn’t really considered the coincidence.
Regina watched her coolly.
— I hope there’s no misunderstanding here.
— What do you mean?
— This is not an invitation back into his life. You made your choice. Ten years ago. It’s hard enough to be a single mother. It’s even harder to compete with a stranger filling his head with stories about Twinkies and fun times and whatever comes into her head.
— I don’t…
— And in the last decade while you’ve been doing God knows what, I’ve been here, changing every diaper, nursing every sickness, doing the difficult work. You may have given birth to him but he’s my son.
Emma couldn’t compete with that and she didn’t want to even try.
— I wasn’t…
— No, you don’t get to talk, — Regina said, her voice becoming angrier. She took a step forward. — You don’t get to do anything. Do you remember what a closed adoption is? Do you remember that that’s what you asked for? You?
You have no legal right to Henry. You’re going to be held to that. I suggest that you get into your car and leave this town forever. Immediately. If you don’t, I will destroy you if it’s the last thing I do.
Emma was stunned. She stared back at Regina, who’d worked herself up into a rage with the speech. And again Emma had that same feeling: The more Regina wanted her out, the more she wanted to stay.
Her heart pounding, Emma nearly turned to go. But she thought of one more thing she wanted to ask.
— Do you love him? — she said.
Regina looked surprised, then angry.
— Of course I love him, — she spat.
And she turned and went back inside.
Emma was not sure what came over her as she drove down Main Street. She decided not to think too much about it She had a bad habit of doing that. Instead, when she saw the sign for Granny’s B&B, a sudden certainty overcame her: She knew she couldn’t leave Henry. Not again.
She stopped the car.
Inside the B&B, Emma came upon a silver-haired woman in the midst of a heated argument with a young, black-haired girl.
— It’s my house, and they’re my rules. You cannot stay out all night.
— I should have moved to Boston, — the girl said dismissively.
— I’m so sorry that my heart attack prevented you from sleeping your way along the Eastern Seaboard! — yelled the woman, and just as she did, Emma cleared her throat, and she spun. She gave Emma a sweet smile. Emma asked for a room. The girl stared at her impassively.
— Of course, of course! — said the older woman, going to the counter. — We have a lovely room available.
— Great, — said Emma.
— And what’s your name, dear? — the woman asked, writing in a ledger.
— Emma, — she said. — Emma Swan.
— Emma, — came a man’s voice. — What a lovely, lovely name.
Emma turned to see a strange, silken-haired, suited man standing behind her.
He held a cane and watched her curiously, then strolled up to the register, eyeing the old woman.
— Thanks, — said Emma.
— Everything is in order, — said the woman, and Emma could see that she was visibly intimidated by the man, whoever he was. — It’s all here.
She held an envelope toward him.
— Yes, of course it is, — said the man, taking it. — I trust you completely.
Emma saw the bulge of cash peeking out of the top of the envelope.
The man smiled again at Emma.
— Lovely to meet you, Ms. Swan. Perhaps we’ll be seeing one another.
He nodded and strolled out of the room.
— Who was that guy? — Emma asked, once he was gone.
— That was Mr. Gold, — said the girl conspiratorially. — He owns this place.
— The В and B?
— No, — said the old woman. — The whole town.
Emma raised her eyebrows.
— Huh, — she said.
— Here’s a key for you. — She handed Emma a large metal key, almost comical in its artful flourishes. Nothing in this town was normal, it turned out. — How long will you be staying?
— Just a week, — Emma said, looking at the key. — Just one week. — That was what she needed to make sure Henry was okay. She had to. What else made any kind of sense? She had to know about her son. She had to stay near him now that she’d found him. What else could a person do?
— A week! — cried the woman. — So wonderful. Welcome to Storybrooke.
Emma took the key.
Outside, the second hand on the clock tower began to move.
CHAPTER 2
THE THING YOU LOVE MOST
Emma woke that first morning and briefly wondered what the hell she was doing in this damned town.