"How is she?"
"She's...she's...struggling."
"It's been three days."
"She won't eat, she won't speak-"
"And your mother?"
"She just holds her close and allows her to cry." Zelena sadly explains, eyeing her father closely. "Dad, I-" and her voice cracks so roughly that his big brown eyes immediately snap up from the ground to meet her gaze. "I think you need to go see her now," she confesses, her eyes sparkling from the thick tears coating her piercing blue eyes.
Her father doesn't say a word. Instead, he presses his fist firmly against his mouth, averts his eyes to the ground again and nods just once. It's curt and emotionless and reminds Zelena so much of her damn sister, but she takes that as a yes. So, she spins around on her heels and leads the way back to Regina's room, her father's presence heavy in her shadow without another word spoken.
Zelena doesn't bother with knocking, she never did when they were little and she's certainly not going to start now. She waltzes right through the room, but her heart squeezes painfully from the gut-wrenching sobs pouring from her baby sister.
"Henry," Cora gasps the moment her eyes land upon her stoic husband closing the door behind himself.
He nods politely, his feet slowly shuffling closer, but it's so painfully obvious how apprehensive he is about seeing his daughter so utterly broken. Regina doesn't even bother looking up from the pillow her face is buried in, soaked from her persistent tears.
"Regina, I would like a word," he softly states, encouraging Cora to vacate her chair rather quickly.
Her mother presses a kiss to her temple and whispers her love before she escorts Zelena out the door. The moment Regina hears the door softly clicking shut, she decides to speak before her father has a chance.
"Daddy, please, I don't have it in me to talk about all of this," her distorted voice hardly escapes her throat before she buries her face even deeper and releases another agonizing cry that sounds like she's being ripped apart from the inside out.
"Regina, I'm not going to pretend to understand what you are going through and I'm not going to try and give some speech to cheer you up. I know nothing I can say will fix this, but sweetheart, you have to start trying to move forward in life. We need you to eat and to regain your strength, so you can get out of this bed, out of this hospital and go home."
"Go home? To what? A place that will only remind me of Naveen? Our home is filled with our love, with our memories. It will only be a prison where I'm forced every day to live with his ghost," she hysterically sobs, her body automatically curling up tight to alleviate the pain tormenting her from within.
And she can feel her father lingering closely before she hears him claim the seat her mother has been glued to for the entire time she has been shunned to that hospital bed. Very tentatively, her father reaches out and places his hand upon the left side of her face. He's warm, he always radiated heat and it seeps into her skin and somewhat settles down her spasming muscles.
"It doesn't have to be a prison, my dear," he gently whispers.
"I lost every-thing," she stutters through her heavy sobs that she no longer has any control over. "The love of my life. My happiness, my future. It was all ripped away in a blink of an eye, a blink that I can't even remember. My everything is gone, just like Naveen."
"You still have a future, Regina. I promise. You still have so much of your life ahead of you. I know it seems impossible now, but you can learn to love again."
"No, daddy," and she finally peeks out from her pillow, showing off her swollen, red-rimmed eyes that steals her father's breath away, because she never cries in front of people. "I will never love again and nobody will ever love me the way Naveen did," she declares with conviction before she hides away her battered face once again and wails like an infant in search of comfort.
"You have too much love in your heart, sweetheart, not to love again. And so did Naveen. So much, that he wanted to gift his organs to someone in need."
This immediately stops all the tears and forces Regina to lift her pounding head back up again. Of course, she and Naveen had discussed becoming organ donors a very long time ago and what they would want if something should ever happen to them, but she has been so deep in mourning that she completely forgot about all of those details.
"D-did someone...did someone get his organs?" She stammers, inspiring her father to wipe away the tears clinging to her cheeks with a pout upon his face.
"His heart."
"What?" She breathlessly gasps, and for some peculiar reason, she feels her own organ fluttering in response.
"His parents came by to see you and they told us a young woman in need received his heart."
And for a split second, she feels the sense of relief wash over her like an old familiar blanket. Her mind immediately runs wild, and she knows she has to meet this woman. She wasn't granted the opportunity to say goodbye to her husband, but a part of him lives on inside of someone else and this is her chance.
This is her one chance to properly say goodbye to her husband.
"I need to find her."
~~~~~
She's observing from the couch, truthfully, she's kind of scared of her mother right now. Her mom is obsessively wiping down every surface in the living room, even though Emma knows she has already scrubbed everything clean yesterday before she came home from the hospital. But here Mary Margret is, in sweatpants and a baggie t-shirt with a bandana wrapped around her head, neurotically soaking the tables with disinfectant and wiping them clean.
"Mom, didn't you clean before I came home?" She questions through a wince as she tries to readjust her position on the couch.
Mary Margret instantly snaps her head up from the pain in her daughter's voice. "Honey, if you're in pain, just tell me. Don't try and be the hero and wait too long."
"I'm fine, mom. Really. Now answer my question."
"It's very important to make sure there isn't any dust in this house, it's not good for you. You know this."
"I also know you're gonna be the one in need of a new heart if you don't take some time to relax. You're running around like a crazy lady."
"I'm just being cautious. You just got home last night, honey. That's only two weeks post-operation and-"
"Breathe. You're making me stress."
"Am I?" Her mother squawks like a damn parrot. "Where is your journal? You need to record your emotions-"
"Oh my god!" She yells and flinches from the expansion in her chest that creates a sharp ache to explode through her body. She immediately coughs from the pressure and she briefly wonders if this can count as one of her daily coughing exercises?
"I'll get you some water."
"No, sit down and calm down," she grumbles before she inhales slowly, pressing a throw pillow against her chest to soothe the ache festering deep inside. "Mom, I know you're worried and I know you are just trying to make sure I'm safe, but you need to calm down."
Mary Margret stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, appearing so uncertain if she should hold her daughter close, continue cleaning or abandon it all to sit down and relax because Emma never snaps at her like that. However, she isn't granted much time to come to a conclusion because the front doorbell is ringing.
"I'll get it," her mother announces, setting the bottle of disinfectant down and rushing to the door.
Emma takes the moment of peace to regulate her breathing and squirm upon the couch until she feels a little more comfortable. She hears the front door open, followed by her mother gasping and she can only imagine how hard she is being squeezed.
"Ruby. Neal," her mother sighs, producing a small smile to play at Emma's lips.
She knew those two would show up almost immediately after she was released from the hospital. And she's so happy for the distraction, but for some reason her smile feels weak and she doesn't feel the rush of excitement like she is accustomed to feeling when her two best friends show up.
Subconsciously, she frowns.
"Em!" Ruby squeals, distracting her from her darkening thoughts.
"Hey, guys-what's with the masks?" She curiously questions the moment she sees both brunettes entering with matching doctor's masks.
Glowing green eyes roll and Emma does smirk from Ruby's annoyance. "M and M over here was very adamant about not spreading any germs around you."
"It's cool though. We don't mind," Neal quickly interjects and by the crinkles forming around his eyes, she knows he's grinning like a fool behind the mask.
"Just for the first eight weeks after surgery, we can't risk any infections, not even a cold," her mother sternly states, inspiring Neal to nod along while Ruby and Emma roll their eyes playfully as if they are the same little five-year-olds being scolded once again.
"Mom, why don't you go lie down. I can tell how exhausted you are."
"Yeah, we got Emma, no worries," Ruby confidently says, already shrugging out of her winter coat to make herself more comfortable for the stay. Even though this home has been her second home since they met all those years ago in kindergarten.
"Alright," her mother agrees, but the worry in her eyes never vanishes as she quietly leaves the living room, but she knows she's exhausted and could use a little nap.
"So, how you feeling, Ems?" Neal questions, slipping out of his jacket as well and settling down on the opposite end of the couch with Ruby.
"Sore. Weak. Tired. Standard stuff," she mumbles, shrugging one shoulder carelessly.
"How's the ticker? Feels stronger?" Ruby playfully questions, but Emma just shrugs in response. "Well, you look good, babe!" She enthusiastically compliments because she knows something is haunting her best friend's mind and she wants to distract her.
"Thanks."
"So, your dad is at work?" Neal swiftly changes the subject, sensing the dark storm cloud hovering over his best friend.
"Yeah, he's holding down the business while my mom stays home with me for the next two weeks."
Her parents are both veterinarians, running their own clinic in town. She's lucky that her mother has the option to stay at home with her during recovery. Her father might be a little swamped while her mother is away, but she knows they have plenty of staff that are willing to step up during this time.
"Emma, are you feeling alright?" Ruby gently investigates, the sincerity evident in her tone and squashing her playful side from moments ago.
"Yeah."
"You don't seem fine," Neal cautiously rebuttals.
"I am...it's just a lot to process, I guess."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Ruby carefully questions, leaning just a tad closer like she wants to reach out and hold her close, but is either petrified of hurting her or far worse, contaminating her.
"I know I'm so lucky, and I am really thankful, I just...I feel really down and I don't know," she sighs heavily, dropping her gaze to pick at the pillow against her abdomen. "I keep trying to be positive and I thought when I got out of the hospital I would feel better, but I don't."
"It has only been one day, not even," Neal tries to look on the bright side, but she is just shrugging numbly again.
"I'm sure it's going to take some time. Give it a few days and I bet you'll be feeling better," Ruby adds on. "Isn't this normal? Aren't you supposed to have the blues, as they call it?" She reminds her because the woman has spent many, many years researching everything the internet has to offer on Emma's conditions.
"Yeah, I guess."
"Do you know why you feel sad? Or is it just a feeling that you can't really comprehend?" Neal attempts to help navigate her through all those overwhelming feelings.
She sighs heavily and runs her fingers through her hair, contemplating if she wants to reveal her truth because she's struggling to understand her feelings herself.
"It's like a numb kinda sad, but I-I feel like I'm also kinda mourning. It sounds weird, I know and I can't really explain it, but I feel like I lost someone. I know I personally have no clue who my donor was, but I feel...guilty."
"That makes sense," Ruby softly whispers. "You agreed to open communication with the donor's family though, correct?"
"Yeah, I did. And their family agreed as well. I put a time restriction though, for my own sanity."
"What do you mean?" Neal curiously questions.
"I had the option to open communication via email or even a letter as soon as my surgery was complete, but I asked to put a restriction for one month. I just thought my head might not be in the right place after surgery. I want to be in control of my emotions before I speak with...whomever reaches out to me."
"No, that totally makes sense," Ruby agrees wholeheartedly. "I bet once you learn more about the person, you will feel better, like maybe you can move on."
"Maybe."
"And I bet you will start to feel better when you start going to those group therapy sessions. Talking to people who are experiencing exactly what you are, it's gotta help, right?" Neal optimistically proceeds, but she can't find the strength to do anything but shrug along noncommittally.
"And once you start working out again, I bet you will start to feel normal once more," Ruby continues, desperately hoping to lift Emma's spirits.
"Yeah. You're probably right," she agrees, but her heart feels heavy and sad, refusing to cooperate with her mind that's ready to start feeling better.
So, she plasters on a fake smile and does her best to enjoy her friends' company while she has it.
~~~~
And Emma tries. She so desperately tries to jump back into life and enjoy the world that spins around her like she used to, but she's struggling. She's struggling far worse than she ever thought imaginable and no matter what she does to stop the train of worry and anxiety speeding through her head, she can't.
She's been very carefully working out to build the strength of her heart, with her dad by her side, cracking jokes and being all playful, but she still feels a weight upon her shoulders and her smiles feel forced. She's been attending group therapy sessions with others who have had transplants as well, but she finds it rather monotonous. Everything they say is just another repetitive phrase that she has read one hundred times over on the internet while researching about transplants.
She just wants someone to understand her without saying, hang in there, it will get better, your feelings are all...normal.
Ruby and Neal visit often, but they seem to be stuck on the same mantra as well and she's bored. So utterly bored. She feels like she's trapped inside her parents' home with nowhere to go and nothing to do because it's winter and her mother is paranoid she's going to catch pneumonia.
"Emma, dinner is ready," her mother shouts up the staircase, grating on her nerves like nails to a chalkboard and she pleads for her mind to transport her anywhere else but there.
Her jaw flexes as she slowly rolls her neck to shrug off her annoyance. She inhales sharply, noting how the sting in her chest is hardly even there anymore after four weeks of recovery, just a dull ache. Her eyes flutter closed once more and she relaxes, but then her mother's voice is booming louder than moments ago.
"Emma? Are you working out again? You already exercised today." She jumps in her skin, her eyes blowing wide to discover her mother leaning against her doorframe with her arms folded nervously across her chest. "You don't want to overdo it."
"I'm not exercising," she bitterly grumbles, her irritation on full display for her mother to pick apart and analyze. "I'm doing some light yoga to calm down."
"Oh, is it helping?" Mary Margret curiously questions in the softest tone and Emma knows it's because she has been on edge lately and her mother senses it.
"It was," she growls, her voice laced with accusing insinuation.
She and her mother have always been the best of friends, but as of lately, her mother has been walking on eggshells around her and she hates herself for feeling so irritated and crabby all the time, but she can't seem to control these unexplainable emotions.
"I'm sorry to disturb you. It's just...dinner is ready. Your dad is running late this evening, so-"
"You can't eat alone?" Emma snarks, her eyes drifting closed, hoping to alleviate the tension knotting in her shoulders.
"I would like to eat with you."
"I'll eat in a little bit, I'm not hungry right now."
"Emma-"
"Mom, please," she unexpectedly snaps, craning her neck and meeting her mother's sorrowful eyes and she is instantly filled with regret for being so short with her lately, but she just wants some peace and quiet. She really wants all these irritating feelings to just disappear and it takes everything in her to not cry, because they both know this isn't her. "I'll be down later. I just want to be left alone right now."
"Of course," Mary Margret sadly whispers, pushing off the doorframe and closing Emma's door before she moseys on back downstairs.
Emma sighs heavily, already regretting her short temper. She knows part of the mood swings are from all the various medications she is strictly on; one to keep her immune system from rejecting her heart, some to help her immune system to keep her strong and not as susceptible to bacteria or viruses and she knows the main culprit are the steroids, that are causing her to lash out.
She closes her eyes and attempts to meditate through these irrational mood swings, but the weight of guilt claws at her until she pops right up from her mat and stomps out of her room and down the stairs to have dinner with her mother. She finds her mom sitting all alone at their dining room table, staring aimlessly at her plate, swirling around a glass of white wine in her hand. She swallows thickly.
"I'm sorry," she finds her mouth blurting out without her consent because of how miserable her mom appears, all because of her.
Mary Margret's head jerks up from the sound of her daughter's voice. She quickly sets down her glass and picks up her utensils like she was eating that entire time. And Emma hates herself because her mother has spent her entire life worrying that she might have to bury her baby and it's completely unfair. Now, finally, finally, Emma received her heart and her mother can breathe again after thirty long years and Emma can't stop snapping at her and pushing her away.
"It's fine," Mary Margret mutters and quickly takes a bite of her chopped chicken salad.
"No, it's not," Emma exasperates, collapsing into the chair beside her mother with the heavy weight of exhaustion dragging her down. She smoothes her hands over her scalp until she moves around her high ponytail to clasp onto the back of her neck. She drops her gaze to the table and she is just too tired to stop the tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm so sorry that I have been short with you. I know-I know you just want me to be safe," her voice croaks out through the heavy emotions lodged in the back of her throat.
"I understand that you are going through a lot. I just want to help you, honey," her mother softly whispers.
"I know you do," she sniffles, refusing to meet her mother's sad eyes. "But I don't think you can. I don't even know what I need."
As the realization washes over her, she drops her arms to the table and buries her face, surrendering to the sadness that has been plaguing her heart. Her mother is up and out of her chair in two seconds flat, draping her tiny frame over her daughter's back for comfort and Emma breaks down even more, sobbing from the unconditional love her mother always showers her with.
"We will get through this."
"I should feel so fucking excited that I have at least ten more years, but I feel so damn depressed," she cries, just as the familiar sound of her father coming home from work resonates around her.
She listens to the garage door closing and then comes the predictable routine of her father kicking off his shoes before he steps into the bathroom to wash his hands thoroughly. Always so careful not to spread germs with Emma around.
"Where are my two favorite humans?" He chuckles, his voice so light and airy before he hears his daughter in hysterical tears. "Hey, what's going on?"
"Nothing!" She suddenly explodes, jerking away from her mother's warm embrace to wipe away her persistent tears because she doesn't want to keep explaining herself when nobody understands her.
"Hey, no need to get snippy with me," her dad sternly scolds and she feels like a small child all over again which only further agitates her hormones. "Listen Emma, I know you are going through a lot, but this constant snarky attitude isn't helping any of us."
She groans, roughly burying her face into her hands once again.
"David," Mary Margret's soft tone is quick to jump in. "She doesn't mean it. I don't think she can help it right now."
And she can just hear the way her dad defensively folds his arms across his chest, which always means business and scared her into submission when she was younger.
"Emma, maybe it's time you consider seeing someone," he suggests, forcing a warm rush of embarrassment to swim through her veins and paint her cheeks a deep crimson.
"Yes, please, let's add more doctor appointments to my life," she sarcastically quips.
"I'm tired of you jumping down our throats-"
"Okay, both of you, stop," her mom quickly interjects. "David sit down, let's talk about this."
Her dad sighs heavily, but he obeys his wife's request and settles down in the seat across from his blushing daughter, soaked with tears.
"Dad, I'm trying to be optimistic, but I'm really having a hard time. I just feel so sad all the damn time and I don't know how to stop it," she confesses again, her voice breaking as she swipes her sleeve across her runny nose.
Her mom claims the chair beside her and rests her hand upon her bouncing knee to calm her jitters.
"Do you feel depressed? Like everything is just blah?" Her mom sweetly asks, inspiring Emma's head to bob along, but then she quickly shakes her head, rejecting the suggestion.
"Wait, no. It's like something is missing. I feel like I'm mourning someone still. I-I just feel so damn guilty that I was pleading so hard for a heart, so I could live...I feel like I was begging for someone to die for me. I don't know whose heart this is, but I feel so awful that fate sacrificed them, so I could survive."
"That's understandable, kid," her dad sweetly replies, but she's so damn sick of people telling her that her feelings are valid.
She just needs something else.
"Honey, maybe it's time you reach out to the donor's family. Maybe you need to hear their story, so you can grieve and move on in life."
She sniffles again, roughly wiping her face with her other sleeve to clear away the mess. "I guess. I just feel like a mess and I don't know if I can speak to them without bursting into tears."
"Maybe it's what you both need. Maybe you can talk to them and maybe you will both cry and maybe it will help everyone move on," Mary Margret gently offers, but all Emma can do is shrug, just like she always does as of lately. "It has been one month like you requested. The envelope is just sitting there with the information you need to contact the donor's family."
"I know," she sighs heavily and abruptly pushes back her chair to stand up. "I think I'm going to head upstairs and rest a little bit."
"How about you eat something?" David meekly asks, but she is already walking out of the kitchen to hide away in her room.
"I'll be down later," she mumbles over her shoulder and jogs right back upstairs.
She softly closes her bedroom door and flops onto her bed like her body cannot possibly stay upright any longer. She pulls her knees to her chest and rolls onto her side like she's a little girl all over again. And she feels that way as of lately, she never expected to be thirty and living with her parents once again.
She does think about what her mother had offered but she really doesn't know if she has the strength to speak to her donor's family just yet. She's fairly confident it's going to unleash another pack of wild emotions that she can't possibly tame and she knows she is not ready for that quite yet.
Luckily, her phone beeps, informing her that she has a new email. She kind of hopes that it's work. She could use the distraction, and she becomes optimistic when she clicks on the email to find a name she has never seen before. Possibly a new client. Her thumb presses on the email before her eyes ever register the subject.
Dear Emma Swan,
Truthfully, I'm not quite sure how to start this off. I understand that you requested one month grace period before communicating with your donor's family and according to my calendar, that's today. I hope all is well on your end, especially your recovery. I'm not entirely sure how much information you would like, if any. The only information I received about you was your name and email for contact, but I was hoping maybe we could exchange a little more. I'm going to keep this first email short to allow you some time to process, but I do hope to hear from you soon.
Sincerely,
Regina Mills
Emma purses her lips as she finishes reading the email and it's because of the way her heart flutters. She hasn't felt any type of excitement in four long weeks and she wouldn't necessarily say that she's feeling ecstatic right now, but she feels...something.
And that alone is everything.
A small smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth and without a second thought, her eyes drift back to the top of the email just to read it all over again. It's vague, that much is evident, but she's sure if she would have reached out first, hers would have been just as empty.
Her email probably would have said, 'Hey, so I'm the one who received the heart. Let me know if you want to chat.'
A tiny laugh escapes her nose as she shakes her head at her own stupidity. She quickly scans the email once again and lingers on the name, Regina Mills. She tilts her head to the side, a thousand different scenarios skittering across her mind. Is this a parent? A sibling? A significant other? A daughter? A cousin?
She allows her mind to run wild as she contemplates how she wants to reply. However, she ends up reading that email over and over again until her eyelids can't find the strength to stay open any longer and she falls fast asleep.
With a tiny smile playing at her lips.