Chapter Text
Sometime in the middle of the night, Emma stirred. The room was dark, lit only by the faint silver glow of the moon sneaking through the curtains. She blinked against the haze of sleep and realized she wasn’t alone.
Regina was still there, lying beside her on top of the blankets, her dark hair falling loosely around her face as she slept. Her breathing was calm and steady, her hand resting only inches away from Emma’s. For a moment Emma thought she might be dreaming, but then she felt a small shift against her other side.
Henry.
Her son was curled up tightly against her, his head tucked into her shoulder, his little hand resting protectively against her belly as if he could shield the baby from the world even in his sleep. Emma’s heart clenched at the sight. When had he come in? And why hadn’t she noticed?
She searched her memory, but all she could recall was being sick in the bathroom, Regina’s soothing touch as she held her hair back, the softness of the bed when she was tucked in. After that, it was all a blur. She must have drifted off before Henry had slipped into the room.
Emma’s eyes lingered on Regina. What was she still doing here? Most people would have left once Emma had fallen asleep, but Regina hadn’t. She had stayed. Stayed beside her.
The thought filled Emma with a strange warmth, one that settled in her chest and made her throat tighten. For so long it had just been her and Henry against the world, no one to lean on, no one to share the weight of the hard nights. Yet here was Regina—sharp-tongued, meticulous Regina—quietly keeping watch as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
Emma felt her own eyes grow heavy again, exhaustion pulling her back under. She let her cheek rest against Henry’s hair, the steady rhythm of his breathing grounding her. One last glance at Regina, so unexpectedly peaceful in sleep, and then Emma drifted off again—this time with the comforting sense that, for once, she wasn’t alone.
🦢♛
The first thing Emma registered when she woke was the soft weight of Henry still tucked against her side. His hair was messy, sticking up in every direction, and his lips were parted in that deep, unbothered sleep only kids seemed capable of. She smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead.
Then she turned her head—and found Regina watching her.
Regina was propped slightly on one elbow, her dark eyes softened by the morning light streaming through the thin curtains. For once, there was no guarded mask, no sharp edge to her expression—just quiet warmth.
“Morning,” Emma whispered, her voice still rough with sleep.
“Good morning,” Regina answered, her tone low so as not to wake Henry. “How are you feeling?”
Emma took a breath, gauging her stomach. “Better. Not perfect, but better.”
Regina gave a small nod, relief flickering across her face. “Good. You worried me last night.”
Emma blinked at that, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice. She didn’t know what to say, so she just gave a half-smile, letting her fingers trace absent patterns on the blanket.
Between them, Henry stirred, murmuring something incoherent before tightening his hold on Emma’s shirt and settling back down. Both women glanced at him, their eyes meeting over his head, and for a moment the room felt suspended in time—quiet, safe, almost like family.
“So… you’re still here,” Emma murmured, her voice raspy from sleep.
“Well…” Regina began, her mind drifted back to how the night had unfolded.
Emma had fallen asleep not long after Regina helped her settle. Regina hadn’t been sure if she should move, but before she could decide, the door had burst open.
Henry had rushed in eagerly, only to slow down when he saw his mom sleeping. He wasn’t surprised to find Regina lying beside Emma—it almost seemed natural to him.
“Zelena and Robin went home. It was getting late,” he whispered, before climbing onto the bed and snuggling himself between them. His gaze flicked up to Regina. “Was Mom sick again?”
Regina nodded gently, watching as Henry curled against his mother. Instinctively, Emma shifted in her sleep, wrapping an arm protectively around him.
Henry’s voice was soft but steady when he spoke again. “You know… my mom doesn’t really have friends. Like me. Her only friend is this girl who babysits me sometimes—Liz. She’s twenty-two. I think Mom likes her because she reminds her of herself when she was younger. They’re both orphans—though Mom doesn’t like that word.” He hesitated, then smiled faintly. “But with you… it’s different. I’m happy she found a real friend.”
Regina blinked, surprised by how observant he was for his age. She could see just how much Henry cared about Emma—and how much Emma cared about him. They were each other’s whole world.
“Well, your mom is very easy to like,” Regina said softly. Her lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “And so are you.”
Henry sighed, resting his head more firmly against Emma. “I’ll be sad when we have to leave in six days. But you’ll send us daily pictures of Snowflake, right? Mom says kittens grow up too fast.”
“Of course,” Regina promised. “But don’t worry—right now she’s still the tiny ball of fur we found in the snow.”
“You were with us today… did you leave her all alone?” Henry asked sleepily.
“Well, cats are more independent than dogs,” Regina reassured. “She has food, water, toys, and I installed cameras so I can check in on her. She’ll be fine.”
Henry nodded, already half-asleep, his eyelids drooping. Regina watched him for a moment, her chest tightening in a way she didn’t quite expect.
“Good night, Henry,” she whispered as he drifted off.
And before she knew it, lulled by the warmth of the bed and the quiet rhythm of Emma and Henry’s breathing, Regina closed her eyes too.
Emma blinked slowly, still trying to piece it all together. “So… you stayed. And Henry crawled in here after I fell asleep.”
Regina gave a small shrug, almost apologetic. “He was worried about you. I didn’t have the heart to send him back to his bed.”
Before Emma could reply, Henry stirred between them. He yawned loudly, blinking up at his mom before rubbing his eyes. “Morning,” he mumbled sleepily, his voice muffled against Emma’s arm. Then, noticing Regina still lying on the other side of him, he grinned. “You stayed!”
Emma raised an eyebrow at Regina, amused at how delighted Henry seemed by the situation. “Looks like someone’s happy about it.”
Henry sat up straighter now, energy returning quickly as it always did with him. “It felt like a real family,” he said innocently, as if he hadn’t just dropped words that made Emma’s heart skip. He looked between them with a bright smile. “Can we all have breakfast together?”
Emma’s lips parted, unsure how to respond to the sudden rush of warmth and panic that simple request stirred in her chest. She glanced at Regina, who—while composed as ever—had softened just a little, her dark eyes betraying something Emma couldn’t quite read.
“Breakfast sounds… nice,” Regina said gently, meeting Emma’s gaze as if to silently ask if she was okay with it.
Emma managed a small smile and nodded, brushing a hand over Henry’s hair. “Yeah, kid. Breakfast sounds like a good idea.”
Henry beamed, already scrambling out of bed to get ready, while Emma and Regina stayed behind for just a heartbeat longer—close, quiet, and aware of the fragile closeness that had grown overnight.
🦢♛
They made their way downstairs to Granny’s for breakfast, Henry practically bouncing with leftover energy from waking up in such a good mood. Emma trailed behind him, one hand absently rubbing at her stomach. Her appetite still wasn’t great, so when Ruby came to take their order, Emma just asked for a tall glass of ginger ale. Henry, meanwhile, wasted no time in declaring that he wanted a huge plate of pancakes—“with extra syrup, please”—and Regina, ever composed, requested a fresh fruit plate and coffee.
Emma smirked faintly across the table. “Balanced as always.”
Regina gave her a look, but there was the faintest curl at the corner of her lips. “Someone has to be the adult at this table.”
Henry didn’t even notice, too busy buzzing with excitement. “So, what will I do while you’re at your event this afternoon, Mom?” he asked, mouth already full of pancake in anticipation of his order.
Emma opened her mouth to answer, but Regina spoke first, her tone calm and reassuring. “Zelena is more than happy to watch you. You can spend the afternoon with Robin—she’s looking forward to it.”
Henry’s eyes lit up instantly. “Great!” he exclaimed, grinning wide.
Emma leaned back in her chair, watching her son’s excitement with a soft, almost wistful smile. It was rare to see him this carefree—no teasing from classmates, no whispers about not having a dad. Just Henry being a kid, with a friend, in a place where he felt like he belonged.
“See, Henry? You’re more popular here than me,” Emma teased gently, brushing a hand over his hair as he squirmed away with a laugh.
“I just make friends fast,” he said proudly.
Regina arched an eyebrow, sipping her coffee. “You’ve clearly inherited your mother’s charm.”
Emma let out a low laugh at that, shaking her head. “Pretty sure he got that from himself.”
Their food arrived then—Henry’s towering stack of pancakes steaming, Regina’s fruit arranged neatly, and Emma’s ginger ale fizzing comfortingly. For a few quiet minutes, the three of them ate together in a peace that felt surprisingly natural, as though mornings like this weren’t rare at all.
Emma found herself glancing at Regina now and then, catching the small, unguarded smiles she gave Henry when he described—in painstaking detail—how he and Robin were going to build “the best snow fort Storybrooke has ever seen.” And for a moment, Emma let herself imagine that this could be more than temporary.
🦢♛
Later that afternoon, Emma felt the knot in her stomach tighten with every step she took. The ginger ale she had sipped at lunch did little to steady her nerves. Walking side by side with Regina, she tried to focus on the crunch of snow under their boots instead of the event waiting for her.
They had just dropped Henry off at Regina’s mansion, where he was already running toward Robin and Snowflake with an enthusiasm Emma envied. Zelena had promised to keep an eye on the kids, and Emma had reluctantly agreed—it was better for Henry to play and laugh than sit through a crowd of adults asking questions about books.
By the time Emma and Regina reached the library, her heart sank. There were already people gathered outside, far more than she’d imagined. Some clutched well-loved copies of her book, their edges frayed from use, while others looked like they’d driven from out of town just for this. The sight made her palms damp, and she froze for half a second.
Regina noticed immediately and placed a steadying hand at the small of Emma’s back. “Breathe,” she murmured, low enough for only Emma to hear. “You’re going to be fine.”
Emma nodded, though she wasn’t convinced. She followed Regina around to the back entrance, grateful for the escape from the crowd’s eager stares. Inside, Belle greeted them warmly, her eyes shining with excitement.
“Emma, I’m so glad you’re here!” Belle said, her enthusiasm both comforting and intimidating. “Let me walk you through everything.”
Emma listened as Belle explained the setup: she would be seated at a table near the front, signing books, answering a few questions, maybe even reading a passage aloud if she felt comfortable. Each word made Emma’s throat tighten just a little more.
When they reached the small table that had been prepared for her, Emma stopped short. It was simple—just a stack of her books, a neat nameplate, and a pen—but it felt monumental. Like this was proof that her words actually mattered to people outside of her little apartment in Boston.
Belle gave her an encouraging smile. “Take a few minutes to settle in. People will start coming through soon.”
Emma lowered herself into the chair, her fingers tracing the edge of the table as though it might ground her. Behind her, she felt rather than saw Regina linger, standing tall, poised, and unwavering.
“You’ll stay?” Emma asked, glancing over her shoulder.
“Of course,” Regina said softly, her dark eyes steady and warm. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone in this.”
Emma let out a shaky laugh, one hand smoothing over her stomach. “Great. At least if I faint, someone I trust will catch me.”
Regina’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “You won’t faint. You’re stronger than you think, Miss Swan.”
And with that, Emma drew in a breath, braced herself, and waited as the hum of voices outside grew louder.
The doors opened, and the murmur of voices filled the library. Emma stiffened, her fingers tightening around the pen, but the first person in line—a teenage girl clutching a slightly dog-eared copy of her book—approached with a shy smile.
“I… I just wanted to say thank you,” the girl said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never read a Christmas story where someone like me could… could be happy. It made me feel less alone.”
Emma blinked, caught off guard, and felt the tension in her chest loosen just a fraction. “That… that means a lot to me,” she said sincerely, signing the book with a flourish before handing it back.
The next reader was older, a woman in her forties who admitted she’d bought the book on a whim but had cried through the first chapters. Then came a young couple, both women, who giggled and nudged each other as Emma signed both their books. One after another, they came, and Emma found herself doing more than just signing—she was listening, talking, sharing.
She started explaining how the story had come to be. “I think a lot of us know what it feels like to be lonely at Christmas,” she told a woman who asked about her inspiration. “I wanted to write something that reminded people—reminded myself—that it’s never too late to find love, or acceptance. Even if it’s not from the people you expect.”
Her voice grew steadier as she continued. “The book is about coming out, yes, but also about being brave enough to let yourself be seen. That’s terrifying, especially when you’re afraid of rejection. But I wanted to show that there’s joy on the other side of that fear. That you can find people who will love you exactly as you are.”
The words flowed more easily now, her nervousness dissolving as passion took over. She leaned forward when she talked, her hands moving animatedly, her green eyes bright. The crowd wasn’t intimidating anymore; it was a conversation, a connection.
Emma didn’t realize how relaxed she looked, but Regina did. Standing just a few steps away, Regina watched her with quiet astonishment. Gone was the hesitant woman she had walked here with, fretting about crowds and judgment. In her place was someone radiant, confident, who spoke with conviction and heart. Emma had no idea how magnetic she was when she talked about the things that mattered to her—but Regina saw it clearly.
By the time Emma looked down and noticed the stack of books dwindling, she realized her hands weren’t shaking anymore. She was smiling—really smiling.
And Regina, for once, allowed herself to smile too, soft and proud.
When the last book was signed and the line dissolved into small groups chatting excitedly around the library, Emma finally leaned back in her chair, exhaling with relief. She turned her head toward Regina, who was still standing a step behind her, watchful as ever.
“Do you have your copy with you?” Emma asked, her voice quiet but carrying a touch of warmth. “The one I signed when we first met at my bookstore?”
Regina blinked, caught off guard by the request. “What? Oh—yes.” She reached into her purse, pulling out the well-kept hardcover and handing it over.
Emma flipped it open to the title page, where her original signature sat stark and simple. She remembered that day clearly—how she hadn’t known what to say, how she’d just scrawled her name, thinking it didn’t matter much. But now, looking at Regina, it did.
She picked up her pen again, the noise of the library fading as she wrote carefully beneath her name.
To the person who showed me that I mattered.
For a moment, she stared at the words, then handed the book back.
Regina’s eyes fell on the page. She read it once, then again, her throat tightening. She wasn’t easily moved—years of walls and armor made sure of that—but the simple sincerity of Emma’s words cut through her defenses.
Her gaze lifted, and she found Emma watching her, green eyes tentative, almost shy.
“Emma…” Regina’s voice was softer than she intended. She closed the book carefully, as though it were suddenly fragile. “You have no idea what that means to me.”
Emma shrugged lightly, but there was no disguising the emotion in her expression. “It’s true. I don’t think I’d be standing here, doing this, without you.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The murmur of the library carried on around them, but between the two women, the silence felt full—charged with something unspoken, something that hovered just out of reach.
Finally, Regina allowed herself a small, almost tender smile. “Then I’ll treasure it.” She slipped the book back into her purse, her hand lingering on the leather flap a second longer than necessary.
And Emma—though she would never admit it aloud—felt steadier knowing Regina was still right there behind her.
🦢♛
After her signing, Emma spent time moving around the library, talking with the readers who had come to meet her. The idea that she even had fans still felt surreal—she was just a woman from Boston who wrote a book in the quiet moments of her life. Yet, as she listened to people describe what her story meant to them—how it made them feel less alone, how it gave them hope—she couldn’t help but feel grateful, even a little proud. Every word warmed her, eased the nervousness she’d carried for days.
But then, across the room, she noticed them.
Neal and Killian.
They weren’t standing together—if anything, their stiff postures and the way they avoided looking at each other suggested they’d had words. But their presence made Emma’s stomach knot. Why were they even here?
She excused herself politely and crossed the room to Killian, who was closest.
“May I ask what you’re doing here?” she asked, her voice calm but edged.
Killian straightened, as though preparing himself. “I just want to know you better, Emma. We’re having a child together. And this… this event seemed like the best way to understand you.”
Emma sighed, her hand brushing her temple. With Neal, things had been simple—if painful. He hadn’t wanted Henry. He’d signed away his rights without hesitation. That chapter had closed. But Killian was different. He wanted to be present. He wanted to claim a place in their lives.
“Emma,” Killian said, his tone bordering on pleading, “we should try to make this work. For the child’s sake.”
Her eyes hardened. “I already told you—I’m not going to play happy family with you. It was one night, nothing more. I’ve already raised one kid on my own. I can do it again. If you really want to be part of this baby’s life, then fine—we can talk about shared custody. But I’m not going to date you, and I’m not going to pretend I love you just because we’re having a child.”
Killian’s jaw tightened, disappointment flickering in his eyes, but after a beat he nodded. “All right. I’ll think about it.”
Emma felt a flicker of relief—until a voice cut in.
“If he gets to see his kid, then I want to see mine.”
Neal.
Emma turned slowly, her expression unreadable. For a moment, she almost laughed at her own naivety—thinking Neal would stay gone, thinking he wouldn’t stir up trouble again.
“You’re dumber than I thought,” she said evenly.
His eyes narrowed, sharp with anger, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak.
“You gave up your rights the second you sent me those papers, Neal. Remember? The ones you shoved at me right after you walked away. You don’t get to show up now and suddenly play father.” Her voice was calm, cold as steel.
Neal’s glare deepened, but Emma leaned in slightly, lowering her voice so only he and Killian could hear.
“And I don’t think you want your father knowing the real reason you went crawling back to him at seventeen. So if I were you, I’d be careful about hanging around me.”
The color drained from Neal’s face, just slightly. Emma straightened again, her chin lifted, her composure unshaken. For the first time since spotting them, she felt in control.
By the time the library event wound down, Emma was exhausted but strangely light. She’d survived her first real signing, handled both Killian and Neal without breaking, and she could almost believe she belonged here.
Regina must have sensed the weight of it all, because instead of letting Emma and Henry retreat to Granny’s, she invited them for dinner at the mansion. Emma didn’t argue—Henry’s face had already lit up at the idea of spending more time with Robin.
When they arrived, the house smelled incredible. Zelena was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up as she stirred something on the stove, and Robin and Henry were sprawled out on the rug in the living room, building an elaborate castle out of blocks. Snowflake perched on a nearby chair, supervising like a tiny queen.
“Perfect timing,” Zelena called. “Dinner’s just about ready. I even made my famous lasagna—though Regina will claim it’s hers if anyone asks.”
“Because it was mine,” Regina said smoothly, setting a salad bowl on the table. “You just happened to steal my recipe.”
Emma chuckled and slipped out of her coat, watching as Henry barely looked up from his building project before blurting, “Can we all eat together in here? In the castle?”
“Henry,” Emma warned gently.
But Regina only smiled, soft in a way Emma wasn’t used to seeing. “We’ll eat at the table, darling. Don’t worry—you can show us the castle afterward.”
Dinner was warm and lively. Henry and Robin talked over each other, telling stories about their day, while Zelena teased Regina about being far too invested in a certain Boston author’s book. Emma, cheeks warm, tried to wave it off, but Regina didn’t bother hiding her little smirk.
Emma stuck mostly to small bites—still wary of her stomach—but found herself laughing more than she had in weeks. The clinking of forks, the murmur of conversation, the sound of Henry’s bubbling laughter—it all felt startlingly, achingly normal.
After plates were cleared, Henry and Robin darted back to their castle, insisting the adults come see their masterpiece. Regina and Zelena humored them, crouching to admire the crooked towers while Emma leaned against the doorway, clutching her jacket closed.
Snowflake hopped down to weave between Henry’s legs, and he scooped her up proudly. “She’s our guard cat,” he announced.
Emma smiled softly, her heart tugging at the sight. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she belonged here.