All that work.

All that work and worry and pain, all for nothing.

Well, not nothing; She did, after all, just give birth — she gave life to a child. But she wasn't even allowed to see him. As soon as he was clean and the umbilical cord cut (her very last link to him), the nurses whisked him out of the room. Because she had given him up — set him on a better path with this adoption. She had made sure he would go to someone right away; she didn't want him to have to suffer through foster home after foster home like she had

She had wanted to protest, to struggle, because she wanted her baby. The nurses told her that it was better this way; she wouldn't get too attatched, wouldn't fall in love with him. She wanted to slap them and scream. Didn't they know she was already attatched? Didn't they know she had had nine months to get to know and fall in love with him? He'd been inside her, survived off her, filled her with longing and hope and great fear and overwhelming love. Taking him away before she even got to see him wouldn't affect her feelings in any way.

Well, maybe a little bit. She did wonder if he looked like her or — Neal. Her mind still cursed him out every time she thought of him, even though her heart longed to see him. How could he do that to her? He'd used her, left her, and even worse he'd given her up. And here she was giving their son — their son — up. Neal would never see him either. Wouldn't ever know of his existance. She wasn't sure if she felt petulantly pleased or heart-wrenchingly sad about that fact.

She also wondered what name would be given to him. She had tossed a few around in her mind, but she couldn't commit to giving him one herself. It would just hurt too much to know he might never answer to it. And really, his new parents (God, she couldn't stand to think the words) would probably have tons of male relatives or friends they wanted to honor by making them their son's namesake. What did she have? No father, no brothers, hardly any friends and she refused to bring Neal Cassidy into this any further than she already had.

She did like the name Henry, though. It was a strong, simple name that couldn't be broken down or replaced. It was the name of kings, and how she wanted her child to feel that way, though it wouldn't be the truth. He was the son of thieves; crime and prison was the legacy his parents were giving him. Hopefully he would never have to know.

Ten years later and the kid shows up at her door, like magic. The magic of wishes and love and the connection between mother and son that no one (not even and especially Regina) could destory. She, Emma, Henry's (oh that name, how ironic!) birth mother, had loved and protected and provided for her son just as much Regina had, albeit in a different way.

It's amazing really, how things worked out. Her son, her baby, her only child, had found his way back to her. Just for the curse, but she didn't particularly care what the reason was. Her Henry needed her, and wanted her, and knew her and yet loved her anyway. Loved her as only a son could.

28 years old, and finally she had the family she'd longed for. Finally she was not alone. All thanks to 'Henry.' Her strong little prince.

Her son.

A.N— Sorry for my other story followers, but I was just overwhelmed by OUaT feels. So you know how Regina has mentioned a few times how Emma just gave up her son because she didn't want to know him, didn't want to care for him and how Regina has only been Henry's mother? Well, what Emma did for her son was a hard decision but it was the right thing to do, even Henry realizes this. So I just needed to write this.

Can't wait for Season 3!