Chapter Text
Regina Mills was known for her stoic calm. Today, she was anything but.
She found the sticky note taped to the fridge. Reading it once unsettled her—Henry wasn’t usually a prankster.
As she canvased his room, he was nowhere to be found.
Reading it twice caused the panic to swell. His schoolbag was gone. His jacket and shoes were missing from their usual spots by the front door. The front door was unlocked.
Reading it a third time pushed Regina over the edge. She had to do something, but she didn’t know what.
Be back in two days. Love, Henry.
She called up Sheriff Humbert’s cell. Graham was a thorn in Regina’s side, but he had experience.
At least that's what she hoped. Instead she got nothing.
Sorry Mayor, If this is Henry's writing, and he left on his own accord, we can’t send out an Amber Alert. He wasn’t taken, he just… left.
Regina had nothing to do. Nothing could calm her nerves.
Later that morning, she stood behind a podium and addressed the town.
“At 6:42 this morning, I found a note and an unlocked door. Henry has left. I do not know where he is. Sheriff Humbert is actively searching.”
She paused, steadying herself.
“If you want to assist, please head to the sheriff's office. If you have information, contact Sheriff Humbert or myself immediately.”
Regina lifted her chin, eyes sweeping the crowd.
“I am the Mayor of Storybrooke,” she said, her voice measured, “but today, I’m a scared mother.”
—
Regina attempted to return to her duties. Paperwork blurred together. Meetings dissolved into noise. Eventually, Belle French appeared at her side, gentle and insistent, guiding her out of Town Hall with a hand at her elbow and a look that said go.
Regina did not argue.
Archie Hopper’s office smelled faintly of peppermint and old books. Regina sat stiffly across from him, hands folded so tightly her knuckles had gone pale.
“I don’t understand why he would leave,” she said. “Henry is not impulsive.”
Archie nodded slowly. “No. He isn’t.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Has he ever mentioned running away?” Regina pressed.
Dr. Hopper hesitated just a fraction too long. “Henry has been… curious,” he said carefully. “About where he comes from. About his birth mother.”
Regina’s jaw tightened.
“Curiosity is not a reason to disappear,” she said.
Archie met her gaze, sympathetic but firm. “Children don’t always understand the difference.”
Regina stood before he could say anything else.
The school was still in session when she arrived. Mary-Margaret Blanchard looked up from her desk, surprise flickering across her face before she smoothed it away.
“I don’t know where Henry is,” Mary-Margaret said quickly.
Regina studied her. She saw it immediately—the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands twisted together.
“I see,” Regina replied coolly.
Mary-Margaret swallowed. “Henry is a good boy. He’s responsible. You should trust him.”
Regina’s eyes narrowed.
“He’ll be back,” Mary-Margaret added. “In a couple of days.”
The room went very still.
“How,” Regina asked softly, “do you know that?”
Mary-Margaret’s breath caught.
Regina stepped closer, her voice low and precise. “If my son does not return,” she said, “I will remember this conversation.”
She straightened, smoothing her coat as if nothing had happened.
“And I will know exactly where to begin looking.”
—
Regina watched the clock tick forward as she lay in her silken bed. Normally a place for comfort, somewhere to unwind. Tonight, it was only a place to wait.
Four a.m. became five. Five ticked into six.
At seven she cried.
She cried in her quiet house—a house that no longer felt magical.
She spent the day crying in Henry’s bedroom.
Replaying the last time she heard his voice. The last time he laughed across the dinner table. The last time she sat beside him, patiently working through a page of math homework meant for a ten-year-old.
Her chest ached. A breaking reminder.
For all she loved Henry, with all her heart, it had not been enough
He decided her love for him was smaller than the love of a woman who knew nothing of him. Of his struggles, or his laughter.
A woman who hadn’t even named him.
—
The knock at the door startled Regina from her stupor.
She glanced at her wristwatch. One o’clock.
It had been two days since she first read Henry’s letter.
It had to be him.
She wasn’t sure she could survive if it wasn’t.
She hurried to the door, her heart full of anticipation and hope.
It was him.
Before he could say a word, Regina swept her son into her arms.
“Henry,” she said, fighting through tears. “Henry! Oh—are you okay? Where have you been?”
She loosened her grip just enough to look at him.
“What happened?”
Henry hesitated. His arms tightened around her middle, small fingers curling into the fabric of her coat.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said quietly.
Regina stilled.
“I left a note,” he added, almost pleading. “I said I’d come back.”
Her breath caught.
“You did,” she said hoarsely.
Henry looked up at her then, eyes wide and earnest. “I just thought… I thought maybe if I met her, things would make more sense.”
Regina swallowed.
“And do they?” she asked.
Henry nodded once. “Yeah.”
Then, quickly—“But I came back. I promised.”
Regina pulled him close again, pressing her cheek to his hair.
“Next time,” she said softly, voice trembling despite herself, “we figure things out together.”
Henry nodded against her.
“Okay.”
Regina looked up past Henry, her gaze settling on the only other person in the yard.
A tall blonde woman with striking green eyes. Blue jeans and a red leather jacket.
Regina knew who she was, her face was too similar to Henry’s to know otherwise.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The woman shifted her weight, suddenly unsure, hands hovering uselessly at her sides. She looked like someone who had been invited somewhere she wasn’t certain she was allowed to enter.
“Hi,” she said finally, voice rough around the edges.
Regina did not respond at once. She kept one arm firmly around Henry, anchoring herself. Measuring.
“You must be Emma,” Regina said at last. Her tone was polite. Careful.
The woman nodded. “Yeah. Emma Swan.”
Henry pulled back just enough to look between them. “Mom,” he said softly, then glanced over his shoulder. “This is—”
“I know,” Regina said.
Emma’s brows knit together, surprise flickering across her face.
“Henry told me you were… organized,” Emma said, attempting something like a smile.
Regina’s lips curved, just barely. “I am.”
Another silence settled, heavier than the last.
Regina took a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“You brought him back,” she said. It was not a question.
Emma nodded again. “I said I would.”
Regina studied her—taking in the scuffed boots, the wary posture, the way her eyes kept flicking back to Henry as if checking he was still there.
Slowly, Regina opened the door wider.
“Then,” she said, stepping aside, “you may as well come in.”
—
Emma sat cautiously across from Regina as Henry ate a sandwich.
Regina was the first one to break the tension. She would not lose this game.
“Em-ma,” she said, drawing out the syllables. “I filled a report. It would be best to close it. Sheriff Humbert is on his way to take statements.”
She turned to Henry, who hummed happily over his food.
“Honey, Graham is going to need to ask you questions when he gets here,” Regina said. “You have to promise me not to lie to him.”
“Of course, mom,” Henry said, swallowing the last bite of his sandwich. “You know I never lie.”
Emma remained quiet at the end of the table. Regina noticed how carefully she held herself, how out of place she looked. And it wasn’t her fault.
Regina wanted—desperately—to be angry. To resent the fact that Henry had run to Emma, and not to her.
But she knew, deep down, it wasn’t Emma’s fault. It wasn’t Henry’s either.
“Your home is lovely,” Emma said softly, eyes fixed on her folded hands
“Thanks,” Regina replied. “It technically belongs to the town. This is the Mayor’s residence.”
Emma looked up. “You’re the mayor?”
Regina faltered, just briefly, caught in her emerald eyes.
“First term,” Regina said. “The election is next year.”
She studied Emma for a moment before continuing.
“So,” Regina continued. “What do you do, Miss Swan?”
“I’m a bail bondsperson,” Emma replied.
“Yeah,” Emma said, shrugging slightly. “Not exactly dinner-party conversation.”
“On the contrary,” Regina replied. “It’s… practical.”
Emma smiled at that—small, surprised.
Regina looked away first.
“How long do you intend to stay in Storybrooke?” Regina asked, reaching for Henry’s empty plate.
Emma hesitated. “A couple days,” she said. “Long enough to make sure Henry won’t leave again.”
Regina paused, fingers curling around the edge of the plate.
“And after that?”
Emma met her gaze again. Something unreadable flickered there.
“I don’t usually make plans that far ahead.”
Regina inclined her head. “That much is clear.”
Henry looked between them, sensing something but not understanding it.
“Mom,” he said around a mouthful of sandwich, “Emma makes really good grilled cheese.”
Emma winced. Regina raised an eyebrow.
“Does she,” Regina said coolly.
Emma laughed—quiet, self-conscious. “I had help.”
Regina set the plate in the sink, her reflection catching briefly in the stainless steel.
“Nevertheless,” she said.
She turned back to the table.
“You did exactly what you said you would,” Regina added. “You brought him back.”
Emma nodded. “I meant it.”
Their eyes met again—held.
Too long.
Emma wasn’t expecting Regina to be so… composed.
Henry had run away from Regina—to her. And yet, he had offered very little explanation as to why.
Everything Regina did, every word she chose, made it clear she loved Henry. That he loved her.
And still, something had urged a ten-year-old boy to travel on his own from Maine to Boston. All so he could find Emma.
When Henry first asked her to come back with him, Emma had worried. Really worried that he would forsake his mother.
Emma may have given birth to Henry, but she wasn’t his mom.
His mom was the woman sitting across from her now.
A woman who smelled faintly like apple pie.
A woman whose lips looked softer than clouds.
A woman who—unfortunately—was very much Emma’s type.