Do I own Once Upon A Time? Hazard a guess. I'll even give you a hint: the answer starts with N and ends with O.
Her first kiss was taken by one of her best friends. He was also staying at one of the homes she hated with a passion. The father had a very stressful job, or so he said, and took that stress out on them. She was sixteen when the father came home in a rage, drop dead drunk and screaming. She wasn't sure what she or he could've done, but there was no reasoning with someone that drunk.
He hustled her out the window, saying she needed to get out of here, that she could hitchhike away. When she protested, he kissed her, quickly, roughly. He told her that he'd wanted to do that once, and shoved her outside while she was too shocked to really do anything.
She was crying as she rode out of that town in the back of a good samaritan's car.
Two years later, and it felt like she was flying. She was in love, and it was never going to break. He wasn't anyone heroic, only an accountant, but their paths crossed fairly often. He'd asked her out and things went from there. They had been dating almost a month already when it happened.
She barely felt the kiss, as her hair was smoothed back and he placed it on her forehead. He climbed out of bed and her mostly-asleep mind processed the sounds of someone getting dressed. Then he waltzed out the door.
She cornered him about it later. He replied that they'd both gotten what they wanted and his wife was getting back from her trip today, so she should go away, their association was over. Association, like she was nothing but an object that he could pick up and drop as he pleased.
She disappeared then. It was the one thing she was good at.
Nine months later, and her world was complete. She stared down at the tiny bundle of blue cradled in her arms, then at the nurse waiting to take him. She'd decided on a closed adoption almost as soon as she realized she was pregnant. She couldn't stand to abort it and she had nothing to offer any child.
She laid a tender kiss to her son's forehead as he squirmed in her arms, whispered a blessing, and reluctantly relinquished him.
Hopefully he would have a better life than she'd had.
Ten years spent building those walls, and on impulse and the advice of a woman she barely knew, she was letting them cautiously, tentatively down.
He kissed her gently, tenderly, lovingly. Contrary to what he'd said, she knew he could feel, and she was looking forward to proving it to him.
He jerked back, stumbling on something, a memory if he was to believed. She smiled, a true smile for the first time in a long time, when he thanked her. She didn't know what she was thanked for, but was content to go along with it.
He went to kiss her again and for one glorious moment, she allowed herself to think this could last.
She held him seconds later as he died.
There's one more farewell kiss in her life, one that she knows nothing of. When she was too young to remember, her father bore her safely through their enemies to a sliver of hope, a prophecy made by a mad thing.
He laid her in the magic wardrobe and kissed her softly. That kiss bore all his hopes, a prayer for her safety, and a father's fear for his daughter.
Then he locked the door and lost her for nearly three decades.
She never saw her foster brother again.
She doesn't want to find Henry's father.
She missed Henry's childhood.
She lost Graham.
She found her family.