Chapter Text
The alarm clock did not ring; it vibrated on the light wood nightstand, a subtle, dull hum that died at exactly 6:30 sharp.
Regina Mills opened her eyes before the third vibration. She slid out from the silk sheets fluidly, taking care not to disturb the weight of the duvet beside her. Robin was sleeping on his back, a heavy arm over his eyes, breathing deeply and rhythmically. In the dim light, her husband's hands—those cardiothoracic surgeon hands that the hospital insured for millions—rested open on the pillow.
She walked barefoot across the oak wood floor, cold against the soles of her feet, to the master bathroom. She did not turn on the ceiling light, preferring the amber reflection of the backlit mirror. In front of it, she took two seconds to observe herself: not a single dark hair out of place, her jaw tight, her eyes fixed. She pulled her hair back into a tight, severe ponytail before heading downstairs.
The silence was absolute, broken only by the sharp, rhythmic chop of the ceramic knife. Regina was cutting celery, ginger, and green apple with milimetric precision.
"Mommy..."
Regina stopped her hand holding the last piece of ginger and turned her gaze toward the digital clock embedded in the oven.
6:45.
Hope was standing on the threshold connecting the hallway to the kitchen. Having just turned six, her organic cotton pajamas—with the initials H.M. embroidered on the chest pocket—still fit a bit loosely on her shoulders. She shuffled her barefoot feet, and in her small hands, she held a teddy bear.
"I’m hungry, mommy," the girl whispered, rubbing an eye with her fist as she shuffled a couple of steps further into the kitchen. "I dreamed of giant pancakes. Can we have pancakes today?"
Regina softened her gaze for just a moment, just long enough to set the ceramic knife down on the cutting board.
"No, my love. Today is a school day," she replied in a low voice, gently guiding the girl by the shoulders to turn her around. "Go upstairs, wash your face, and your first-grade uniform will be ready in the dressing room."
The girl nodded, docile and still half-asleep, and her small steps faded away back upstairs. Regina watched her walk reluctantly toward the staircase. In the dim morning light, Hope's silhouette betrayed the unmistakable blend of her genes. She had subtly olive skin and a straight bob of hair, a chestnut so dark it bordered on black, perfectly framing her face.
Before setting foot on the first step, the girl turned around one last time. Her small, fine, delicate nose wrinkled in a gesture of slight disappointment, and she locked her huge, round, bright brown eyes onto Regina, eyes that seemed to take up half her face. It was a gaze identical to her mother's when she was trying to get her way—intense and analytical, though still wrapped in the innocence of her six years.
"Not even a tiny one?" Hope insisted, narrowing those large dark eyes in a final attempt at negotiation.
"Not even a tiny one," Regina replied, holding her gaze with a slightly raised eyebrow, though a spark of affection softened the rigidity of her posture. "Upstairs, Hope. The clock is ticking."
The little girl let out a dramatic sigh that seemed to puff up her loose pajamas, turned around, and began to climb the stairs one by one.
She took the glass of green juice and took a long sip, letting the pure bitterness scrape her throat as she stared out the large garden window. Through the glass, the September landscape broke through with a clean, golden light. She opened the refrigerator to take out the organic eggs and sourdough bread.
Robin shuffled into the kitchen, his eyes half-open and his brown hair completely disheveled from hours of sleep. He was wearing only grey cotton boxer briefs that hugged his athletic build, leaving his broad torso and defined shoulders on display.
Before Regina could react, two strong arms wrapped around her waist, taking her by surprise.
"Good morning," Robin murmured in a husky voice, thick with sleep.
Without waiting for an answer, he gently brushed Regina's tight ponytail to one side and pressed his warm lips against the curve of her neck. The brunette set the spatula aside and leaned back slightly, resting her body weight against Robin's bare chest while enjoying the warmth of the kiss on her neck. A small, genuine smile appeared on her lips.
"Good morning," she murmured, turning her head slightly to find his lips, giving him a quick but tender kiss. "You're just in time to help me. The toast is almost ready."
Robin let out a low, throaty laugh that vibrated directly against Regina's back, keeping his hands firmly planted on her hips covered by the black silk of her nightgown. With a swift, daring movement, he slid his fingers down, lifting the silk of her short nightgown slightly to reveal the thong underneath, and squeezed her ass firmly, making her startle subtly.
"I thought the boss of the house had everything under absolute control, as always," he teased, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but completely surrendered to the comfort of their shared routine.
"I do, but it's Hope's first day of school and I want everything to be perfect," Regina replied, glancing at the clock out of the corner of her eye before basking in her husband's warmth. "Come on, go put the plates on the table while I finish with the eggs. If you let them get cold, the one who is going to be late to the hospital is you."
Robin gave her hips one last affectionate squeeze before letting go, though he didn't move too far away.
"At your command, captain," he replied with a lazy smile, taking three white porcelain plates and the cutlery.
Regina watched him out of the corner of her eye as she plated the poached eggs. They were a team, and despite the strict routine she enforced, he knew perfectly well how to soften her edges without breaking the house's rhythm.
She placed Hope’s breakfast on the smallest plate and the other two on the marble bar, just as Robin finished placing the linen napkins with a symmetry he had clearly learned from her.
"Is Hope awake yet?" he asked, leaning his elbows on the bar and looking at her with curiosity, the sleep beginning to clear from his brown eyes.
"She came down about ten minutes ago," Regina said, taking her glass of green juice to finish the last sip. "Trying to negotiate chocolate pancakes for breakfast."
Robin let out a clean laugh.
"Chocolate pancakes? At seven in the morning on the first day of first grade? That sounds like an idea from..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. They both knew where those wild ideas came from.
"I'm going up to see how she's doing," Regina said, stepping around the bar.
Regina climbed the stairs in silence, her hand brushing the polished wood handrail. She headed straight for the third door on the right. The door to Hope’s room was ajar, letting out the muffled sound of small, bare feet shuffling around and the subtle clinking of wooden hangers.
Regina pushed the door open gently, without making a sound, and leaned against the frame with her arms crossed.
Hope had her back turned, standing in the middle of her pastel-toned circular rug. She had taken off her pajama top, exposing her small back and that subtly olive skin that gleamed under the sunlight streaming through the large window. With her childish hands, she was struggling mightily against the white polo shirt of her school uniform, which had gotten stuck at her ears. Her straight, dark bob of hair poked out of the garment’s collar like ruffled feathers, shaking with frustration as the girl pulled downward to no avail.
"Do you need some help, my love?" Regina asked, softening her severe tone with a warmth that only her daughter could draw out of her.
Hearing her, the polo shirt shook, and after one last desperate tug, Hope's head finally emerged. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from the effort, and those brown eyes immediately looked up from the center of her delicate face. Her small nose wrinkled again, this time from the annoyance of the stiff, new cotton.
"It's stiff, mommy," the little girl complained, huffing as she tried to pull down the sleeves that fit a bit loosely on her shoulders. "And the buttons on the skirt are hard."
Regina smiled tenderly and stepped into the room, breaking her impeccable posture to kneel on the rug, bringing herself exactly to eye level with those large, dark eyes.
"Let's see, let me look," Regina said sweetly, reaching out her hands to button the polo shirt's collar with quick, precise fingers.
Hope stood very still, letting her mother tame the stiff fabric of the uniform. However, instead of looking at the buttons, the girl’s huge brown eyes drifted down, transfixed by Regina’s nightgown. She reached out a small hand and timidly touched the hem of the black silk, rubbing the soft fabric between her thumb and index finger with true fascination.
"Mommy..." she whispered, looking up with that intense and analytical expression so characteristic of her. "When I grow up, will you buy me a soft pajama like yours?"
Regina stopped her fingers on the last button of the polo, surprised by the request. She looked at her daughter and couldn't help but let a warm, amused smile draw on her lips.
"Oh, really? You don't like your initialed one anymore?" she teased, giving the tip of her nose an affectionate little tap.
"Mine is for little kids," Hope protested, knitting her brow as her straight bob swayed. "Yours is prettier. It's shiny and it doesn't itch at all. I want one just as black and soft to sleep like a queen, just like you."
Regina let out a soft laugh, a low sound that filled the sunlit September bedroom. She caressed the olive cheek with the back of her hand, touched by her six-year-old logic.
"Alright, I promise that when you are a few years older, we will look for a silk one for you," she conceded, rising elegantly to her feet. "But today, the queen of first grade has to put on her uniform skirt. Come on, hand it to me."
Hope nodded immediately, thrilled by the promise of her future silk pajamas, and ran to the bed to grab the pleated grey uniform skirt that Regina had perfectly ironed the night before. She held it out to her mother like a trophy.
Regina took it and helped the little girl step into it. With the patience she reserved only for these moments, she fastened the side buttons that caused the girl so much trouble, making sure the garment was perfectly aligned. When she finished, she gave her two gentle pats on the shoulders.
"All set. Now go to the bathroom and brush your teeth. Your father is waiting for you downstairs with breakfast," she instructed, giving her a gentle, affectionate nudge on the back.
"Thanks, mommy!" Hope squealed.
She dashed off toward the adjoining bathroom, her bare feet pattering happily against the wooden floor. Regina watched her go, feeling a warmth in her chest that dissipated any lingering morning tension. She turned to look around her daughter’s room. Everything was in its place, reflecting the order she so loved to maintain.
After a few seconds of deliberation in her dressing room, her fingers selected her garments for the first day of the school year. She chose a white silk blouse that hugged her torso with milimetric precision. Next, she slipped into a charcoal grey pencil skirt, high-waisted and impeccably cut, which sculpted her figure and ended exactly two fingers above her knees. She slipped her feet into black pumps with four-inch stiletto heels that instantly shifted her posture, elongating her legs.
In front of her vanity, she applied quick dabs of concealer to erase the early wake-up call and a subtle touch of blush that brought her olive skin to life. With two sweeps of mascara, she opened up her dark gaze and finished her ritual with a sophisticated, bold matte red lipstick.
Robin was sitting at the table with his iPad propped up in front of him, trying to read the morning newspaper. However, his attention was completely divided.
Hope, her hands slightly smudged with egg, was playing at sliding a piece of bread crust across the bar as if it were a race car, making sound effects with her mouth. Robin, far from scolding her, used his own spoon to act as a "barrier" in the way, causing the girl to giggle.
"Daddy, you're going to crash into me!" the little girl protested through giggles, wrinkling her delicate nose.
"This is a roadblock, young lady. Papers, please," he teased in his husky voice, winking at her just as the echo of Regina’s heels announced her arrival.
"I see you two are taking this very seriously," Regina said, raising an eyebrow, though the corner of her lips betrayed her amusement.
She approached her daughter with the hairbrush she had brought in her hand.
"We still need to do your hair, young lady," Regina said.
Gently but firmly, she tamed the girl’s straight hair, making sure the dark bob perfectly framed her features and her small nose.
Robin looked up from his iPad, tearing his eyes away from the screen for a moment, and smiled at the sight of them. He stood up to give them each a goodbye kiss.
"Have a great first day," he wished her affectionately, as he settled back in with his reading.
Just as Regina made a move toward the door, Hope spun around and threw herself back at Robin. Her little arms wrapped tightly around her father's neck, burying herself in his shoulder, clinging as if her life depended on it.
Regina grabbed the keys to the Mercedes, Hope grabbed her new backpack, and they both headed out toward the garage.
"I don't want to go, daddy!" the little girl whimpered, hiding her face.
Robin, caught off guard by the outburst, held her immediately, wrapping his strong arms around her as he exchanged a worried look with Regina.
"Hey, what's wrong, my love?" he murmured in an extremely sweet voice, kissing her straight bob. "You were so excited about school yesterday."
"I’m just going to miss you so much," Hope protested in a tiny voice, bunching up Robin's shirt in her small hands. "You spend so much time at the hospital, and I want to stay here with you today."
Regina stopped in her tracks. The echo of her heels died on the marble, and her severe expression completely vanished. Seeing her daughter so small, dealing with that mix of first-day nerves and the weight of Robin's long shifts, squeezed her heart. She set the car keys on the kitchen bar and approached them with soft steps.
She bent down a bit, taking care not to strain her pencil skirt, and placed a loving hand on the girl’s back.
"Sweetheart, look at me," Regina requested gently. Hope turned her head, revealing those huge brown eyes now pooled with tears. "Daddy has to take care of his patients today, but you know what? He is going to be the very first one waiting for you at the school doors when you get out."
Robin nodded immediately, giving his daughter a reassuring smile.
"Your mother is right. I get off early today, and I promise I'll be there first, with the car ready so we can go get a giant ice cream. But to do that, the queen of first grade has to go discover her new classroom. Deal?"
Hope blinked, wiping away a tear with her fist as she looked at her father and then at Regina, analyzing the proposal with that characteristic maturity of hers.
Regina, hearing the promise of ice cream, couldn't help but frown instantly. Her mind, always structured and protective of routines, immediately set off silent alarms.
"Ice cream on a Monday afternoon, Robin?" she reproached with a raised eyebrow, crossing her arms.
"Chocolate?" Hope negotiated in a tiny voice.
"Whatever flavor you want," Robin assured her, giving her one last affectionate squeeze before gently letting her go.
Regina held her daughter’s analytical gaze for three seconds, trying to maintain her strict-mother facade, but Hope's little face won over everything. She let out a sigh of surrender, and the tension in her face dissolved into an indulgent smile.
"Alright," Regina conceded, tapping the girl’s nose. "One chocolate ice cream for your first day. But only one scoop, understood?"
"Yeees!" Hope squealed, recovering all her energy in a single second.
The little girl let out a sigh, finally convinced, and let go of her father's arms, though she gave him one last quick kiss on the cheek. Regina smiled at her, took her hand, and, after exchanging a knowing and grateful look with Robin, guided Hope toward the garage.
The Mercedes glided smoothly down the tree-lined avenues as the September sun finished lighting up the streets. Inside the car, the dashboard screen displayed Hope's favorite playlist, and the first chords of Olivia Rodrigo began to play through the speakers.
Regina glanced at her through the rearview mirror, a smile etched on her matte red lips.
Unable to help herself, caught up in the little girl’s energy, Regina joined in. She accompanied Hope on the next verse, modulating her voice with perfect pitch while tapping her fingers on the leather steering wheel. Hearing her mother sing with such complicity, Hope's huge brown eyes flew wide open with pure joy, and she sang even louder, laughing between phrases.
Regina gradually turned down the volume as she searched for a parking space, casting one last knowing look at her daughter in the mirror.
Just as Regina shifted into park and the Mercedes came to a perfect stop in front of the school's main entrance, a sudden, dull thud jolted the rear of the vehicle. The impact wasn't violent, but it was jarring enough to make Regina’s heels tense against the car floor.
"Ow!" Hope exclaimed, clutching her backpack in the backseat, more startled than scared.
Regina closed her eyes for a second, gripping the leather steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her breathing quickened, and that implacable rigidity returned to her jaw in a blink. She looked in the rearview mirror. Behind her pristine rear bumper, a highly recognizable yellow car had wedged itself against her. That Beetle, which only kept its humble outer silhouette, was actually an astronomical custom restoration classic.
"It can't be true," Regina muttered under her breath.
She switched off the engine, opened the Mercedes door with icy elegance, and stepped out of the car. The sharp, dry click of her stiletto heels against the parking lot asphalt sounded almost like a declaration of war.
From the car behind, the driver’s side door swung open. Emma Swan tumbled out, but even in her obvious panic, her presence exuded an effortless sophistication that rivaled the mayor's own impeccable style. Everything about her screamed luxury, but with that signature rebellious, magnetic, and casual edge of hers.
She wore a red leather jacket that was no ordinary coat, but a piece of haute couture crafted from Italian lambskin in a vibrant crimson hue. The leather, incredibly soft with a subtle sheen, molded perfectly to her back. Underneath the jacket, an immaculately white, ultra-tight top made of premium silk-cotton knit clung to her torso like a second skin, highlighting her athletic silhouette. She paired it with dark designer skinny jeans in Japanese denim, clinging with milimetric precision from her hips to her ankles, and black suede stiletto ankle boots.
"Regina! I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, seriously," Emma called out, stepping forward quickly while scratching the back of her neck. "I was trying to tune the radio because Henry was insisting on changing the song, and... well, I misjudged the distance."
From the back door of the yellow car, Henry stepped out with a massive backpack over his shoulder, visibly embarrassed, covering his face with one hand.
"Hey, Regina..." the boy greeted in a tiny voice, looking at the contact point between the two bumpers. "Sorry, it was my fault for distracting her."
Regina walked to the back of her car, ignoring the blonde’s apologies for a moment, and bent down subtly to evaluate the damage to the Mercedes' paint. Then she stood up straight, crossing her arms and fixing a piercing glare on Emma.
"Swan, you had the entire school parking lot to yourself," Regina said, her voice dangerously calm and her eyebrow arched to the maximum. "Did you have to kick off the first day of school by wedging your sports car into my bumper?"
Emma winced, looking at the front of her pristine Porsche and then at Regina's Mercedes bumper.
"Come on, Regina, it’s barely a scratch," Emma tried to downplay it, slipping her hands into her jacket pockets with that carefree attitude that always drove the brunette crazy. "Insurance covers everything in five minutes. Besides, yours is an SUV, it’s supposed to take hits."
"It’s meant for the road, Swan, not your utter lack of driving skills," Regina shot back, stepping forward as the echo of her heels marked her territory.
Before Emma could retort, a bright, crystal-clear giggle broke the tension on the asphalt. Hope was peeking out of the rear window of the Mercedes.
Hearing her, Henry couldn't hold it in anymore. His shoulders dropped, his embarrassment faded, and he let out a clean laugh that instantly infected the little girl.
Hope opened the Mercedes door and hopped out of the backseat. Henry walked toward her with open arms, and the little girl threw herself into them, wrapping him in a tight hug that made her straight bob shake. Henry lifted her slightly off the ground, spinning her around affectionately.
"I missed you, Hope! Ready for first grade?" he asked her with a massive smile, adjusting the new backpack on her shoulders.
Regina watched the kids' effusive hug, her eyebrow raised and her hand resting elegantly on her hip, just above the flawless line of her pencil skirt. She couldn't help but let out a dramatic, albeit deeply ironic, huff.
"My goodness, how dramatic," Regina commented. "Anyone watching you would think you haven't crossed paths in a century, when you saw each other literally every week this summer."
She locked her eyes on Emma, who was watching her with a smug smile, her arms crossed over her leather jacket. Regina exhaled a long sigh, giving in to her daughter’s happiness.
"Summer just doesn't count the same way, Regina," Emma teased, taking a step forward and giving her one of her cheekiest smiles. "A reunion in the schoolyard always has more class."
Regina rolled her eyes with practiced sophistication, though the corner of her lips betrayed that any trace of real annoyance had evaporated.
"'Class' is the last word I would ever associate with you, Swan, especially after seeing how you park," Regina retorted, crossing her arms as she adjusted the leather purse on her shoulder. "But I'm not going to argue semantics with you in the middle of the parking lot. Let’s go, the bell is about to ring."
Henry and Hope had already taken the lead. The boy walked slowly, adjusting his pace to his friend's, while she gesticulated enthusiastically, explaining in rich detail the promise of chocolate ice cream Robin had made her that morning.
Emma and Regina followed a few steps behind.
"Come on, admit it, Mills," Emma said out of the side of her mouth, lowering her voice so the kids wouldn't hear, but with a spark of amusement in her eyes. "The little push did you good to release some tension. You were so uptight you looked like you were made of porcelain."
"The only thing that's going to break here, Swan, is your bank account when my insurance sends you the bill for the bumper," Regina declared, shooting her an icy glare that, nevertheless, failed to wipe the smug grin off the blonde’s face.
As they reached the stairs of the main entrance, the flow of parents and children grew denser. The rustle of dragging backpacks, nervous laughter, and reunions filled the warm September air.
Henry and Hope stopped in unison in front of the main entrance threshold, swinging their identical backpacks with the typical impatience of six-year-olds. For both of them, crossing those glass doors meant the exact same thing: the start of the great adventure of first grade.
"Alright, kiddos," Emma said, catching up to them and ruffling Henry's blonde hair with overflowing affection. "Try not to demolish the classroom on your first day. And Henry, do me a favor and don't drag Hope into your courtyard experiments."
"Hey, I'm very well-behaved!" Hope protested, wrinkling her small nose with dignity as she looked at Emma and then sought her mother's approval.
Regina smiled with a genuine softness that disarmed the rigidity of her outfit. She leaned forward subtly, mindful of the impeccable drape of her grey pencil skirt, and adjusted the straps of the girl’s backpack. With agile fingers, she caressed Hope's dark hair, making sure the perfect bob framed her face.
"Be good, my love. Remember daddy will be waiting for you at the door as soon as you get out," she whispered sweetly, planting an affectionate kiss on her olive cheek. "And you, young man, look after her."
"I promise, Regina," Henry replied with a bright, mature smile, nodding before taking Hope's hand.
Henry pulled gently on Hope’s arm, and both of them stepped into the school lobby, blending into the bustle of the other first graders.
Regina and Emma remained standing on the first step of the stairs, watching the two small silhouettes until they disappeared down the hallways. Silence settled between them for a few seconds, broken only by the distant murmur of the schoolyard.
"Wow..." Emma murmured, losing her eternal smirk for a split second and shoving her hands into the pockets of her red leather jacket. "They're in first grade now. They're officially growing up, Mills."
"Surprisingly, Swan, you're right about that," Regina admitted in a thin voice, letting out a held-in sigh as she smoothed the front of her white silk blouse. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a schedule to keep and a rear bumper to handle through my assistant. Good morning, Emma."
"'Good morning,' just like that?" Emma interrupted, stepping quickly to block her path.
Emma tilted her head, sporting a lazy, cheeky smile that made her green eyes sparkle under the morning sun. With an exaggeratedly dramatic gesture, she placed a hand over her chest.
"I'm offended, Mills. After the intimate moment we just shared in the parking lot, I expected you to at least buy me a coffee. You know, to shake off the shock of the crash."
Regina stopped dead. Her gaze swept over the blonde with deliberate slowness, lingering barely a millisecond too long on the way the white top hugged her torso before rising to meet her eyes. She arched a perfect eyebrow, keeping her arms crossed.
"The only crash you should be processing, Swan, is the bill from my mechanic that will be arriving directly in your name," Regina countered, her voice meant to be cutting but carrying a velvety trace of amusement. "And I highly doubt your ultra-tight jeans can handle a blow like that."
Emma let out a low laugh, taking half a step forward, cutting down the safety distance Regina fought so hard to protect.
"My, my, brunette. I didn't know you paid such close attention to my pants," Emma teased in a whisper, leaning in subtly. "And hey, if you wanted me to tap you from behind, you only had to ask nicely. You didn't need to slam on the brakes in front of me."
A subtle blush, almost imperceptible but real, crept up Regina's olive skin. Her dark eyes flashed with a mix of indignation and undeniable magnetism. Instead of backing away, Regina stood tall in her four-inch heels, bringing herself inches from the blonde's face, challenging her with her eyes.
"Careful, Swan," Regina warned, her red lips curving into a dangerously sophisticated smile. "Your audacity is starting to border on insolvency. Don't push your luck; you know very well you can't afford to play with me."
"Try me, Mills," Emma challenged, her voice a pitch huskier, her gaze locked on the other's crimson lips. "I’ve always had a taste for expensive things."
They remained frozen at that minimum distance for a couple of eternal seconds, where the bustle of parents and children around them seemed to fade completely into a distant hum. The game of teasing and double entendres, habitual between them but always charged with a latent electricity, vibrated in the air.
Finally, Regina let out a dramatic sigh that failed to hide the sparkle in her eyes. She reached out a hand and, with agonizing slowness, straightened the collar of Emma’s red leather jacket, letting her fingertips brush the skin of her neck for an instant too long.
"Keep dreaming," Regina whispered, giving her a couple of patronizing pats on the chest before stepping away with feline elegance. "Now get out of my way."
Emma willingly took a step back, raising her hands in surrender, though her smirk was wider than ever.
"At your service, brunette," Emma said with a wink. "Drive carefully. You wouldn't want me to have to tap you from behind again."
Regina rolled her eyes with practiced sophistication, turned around, and walked down the steps.
The Mercedes glided with a soft purr through the city's most exclusive avenues, leaving the school zone behind to head into the arts district. Regina drove with a firm hand on the leather steering wheel, as the morning light reflected off designer storefronts and carved stone facades.
She parked in her reserved space right behind an imposing wrought-iron and glass storefront. An elegant, minimalist sign at the entrance read: Mills Contemporary.
As she got out of the car, the echo of her four-inch stiletto heels on the granite sidewalk announced her arrival. Regina pushed open the large glass panes of the entrance, immediately welcomed by the scent of fresh paint, fine wood, and the perfectly regulated air conditioning of the art gallery she ran with an iron fist and exquisite taste.
"Good morning, Mrs. Mills," her young assistant greeted her immediately from the reception desk, straightening up at once upon seeing her boss's flawless figure.
"Good morning, Elsa," Regina replied without slowing her purposeful stride. "I need you to contact the car insurance immediately. Mrs. Swan has been up to her old tricks in the parking lot. And brew me a strong coffee; we have to review the catalog for next Friday's exhibition."
"Of course, I'll take care of it right away," the assistant nodded, taking notes at lightning speed.
Regina entered her private office, an pristine white-walled room decorated with a highly sought-after abstract piece behind her glass desk. She set her leather purse on the desk, sat down with absolute elegance, and gazed for a second out the large windows looking into the main exhibition hall, where avant-garde sculptures and large-format canvases awaited the opening of the doors.
The day at Mills Contemporary quickly transformed into a whirlwind of calls, high-level negotiations, and visits from renowned creators. Regina spent the morning discussing lighting arrangements with a highly valued avant-garde sculptor and the afternoon on the phone with a collector in Geneva interested in acquiring an entire series of expressionist canvases. Between the shuffle of catalogs, the demands of the artists, and the planning of Friday's grand opening, she barely had a second to breathe.
Her cell phone, silenced and buried at the bottom of her leather purse on the glass desk, vibrated several times without her noticing.
It wasn't until the hands of the wall clock in her office marked ten past four in the afternoon—barely twenty minutes after the school’s official dismissal time—that Regina finally dismissed the last representative and let herself sink into her leather armchair. She let out a tired sigh, rubbed her temples taking care not to ruin her makeup, and, almost out of habit, reached into her purse to pull out her phone.
As the screen lit up, her heart skipped a beat.
She had three missed calls from Robin and a series of urgent text messages on the lock screen. With her pulse quickening, she unlocked the device and read the messages in one go:
Robin (15:15): Regina, a critical cardiac emergency just came into the OR. They need me now. I won't be able to make it in time to pick up Hope.
Robin (15:32): Sweetheart, I'm still here. Have you read this? Please tell me you can go. I don't want her waiting alone on her first day.
Robin (15:50): Heading into surgery now. I'm so incredibly sorry. Call me when you have her.
Just as Regina, her heart racing and a cold wave of maternal guilt washing over her, jumped to her feet ready to dash to the Mercedes, one last notification lit up her phone screen.
It was a text from Emma.
Swiping to open it, a breath of fresh air seemed to bring her back to life. The screen showed a bright, sharp photograph taken under the golden afternoon light. In it, Henry and Hope were sitting on a wooden park bench near the school. Both were still wearing their first-grade uniforms, though their polo collars were slightly rumpled from play.
Hope was holding a waffle cone with two small hands, containing a massive scoop of chocolate ice cream that was already starting to melt onto her fingers, wrinkling her small nose in a face of absolute happiness. Beside her, Henry looked at her with a giant smile, his face smudged with vanilla.
Emma (16:05): Saw the kid waiting at the entrance looking none too pleased. Don't worry, we got a head start on the deal. I'll bring her to your work in a bit. Can't have people saying I'm a bad influence.
Regina sank back against the headrest of her leather armchair, exhaling a long sigh of relief that instantly dissolved all the tension coiled in her shoulders. An involuntary smile, soft and laden with a gratitude she would never admit out loud, curved her lips.
She propped her elbows on the glass desk, staring at the photo of the kids once more before typing a quick reply.
Regina (16:13): You had better not get chocolate on her uniform before you get here. I will be waiting for you.
The silence of the art gallery broke an hour later with the sound of the heavy glass doors swinging open. The echo of hurried footsteps and a childish cry, subtle but constant, resonated loudly in the pristine exhibition hall. Regina stood up immediately, stepping out of her office at a brisk pace.
The scene she encountered stopped her after a few yards. Emma was carrying Hope in her arms, holding her against her chest with a mix of affection and clumsiness. The little girl, her cheeks flushed and her brown eyes completely pooled in tears, was clutching tightly to the collar of Emma’s red leather jacket. Henry walked a step behind, carrying both school backpacks with a grimace of awkwardness and a shyness that contrasted with his joy from an hour ago.
"I want daddy! I want to go to the hospital with my daddy!" Hope sobbed, her dark hair messy and her delicate nose very red.
"Hey, easy, princess, we're here now," Emma murmured to her in a soft voice, giving her clumsy but comforting pats on the back as she tried to maintain her balance.
Upon seeing Regina, Hope immediately stretched her little arms toward her. Regina closed the distance in three quick strides. She took her daughter into her arms, cradling the small body against her white silk blouse with a protective naturalness.
"What's wrong, my love? You're with mommy now," Regina whispered, gently stroking her back as Hope hid her wet face in her neck. "Shh... it's okay now."
Emma shook out her jacket, exhaling a tired sigh, and looked at Regina with an apologetic wince.
"She was fine with the ice cream, seriously, but as soon as Henry mentioned that their dads must be operating on someone and would be late getting home... she fell apart," Emma explained in a low voice, scratching the back of her neck. "She refused to walk anymore and kept begging to go to the hospital to find him."
"But... but daddy promised he would be at the door," Hope hiccuped, seeking Regina’s gaze with those huge brown eyes full of infinite sadness. "And he wasn't there. I want to go with him, mommy."
Regina felt a stab of pain in her chest. She knew how hard it was for the little girl to deal with Robin's long, unpredictable hours in the operating room, especially on a day of so many emotions like the first day of primary school. She looked at Emma and then at Henry, offering them a look filled with sincere, silent gratitude.
"Thank you, Emma. Really," Regina said in an unusually soft tone of voice. "And thank you too, Henry."
"No problem, Regina," the boy replied with a shy smile, setting Hope's backpack down on one of the designer benches at the entrance. "I hope she feels better."
Regina nodded, turning all her attention to the girl still sobbing quietly against her shoulder.
"Let's go to my office, my love," she whispered in her ear, kissing her forehead. "We are going to call daddy so that, as soon as he gets out of surgery, the first thing he hears is your voice. How does that sound?"
Regina began to guide Hope toward her office, but before she could cross the threshold, Emma gently touched her shoulder. She had an unusually serious expression, stripped of her usual mockery, and was playing nervously with her Porsche keychain.
"Regina..." Emma murmured, lowering her voice. "Can we talk for a second? Alone."
Regina paused and looked at her sideways, intrigued by the blonde's tone. She quickly assessed the situation and turned to Henry, who was waiting politely by the entrance.
"Henry, sweetheart," Regina said, recovering her regal yet warm tone. "Would you be so kind as to take Hope to Elsa's desk? Tell her to give you some paper and the gallery's special markers."
"Sure, Regina," Henry agreed immediately. He reached out his hand to the little girl. "Come on, Hope, I'm going to teach you how to draw a real dragon."
The girl, though still wet-faced with an occasional hiccup, let herself be led by her friend, drawn in by the promise of the markers.
Once the children were far enough away and their voices faded down the gallery corridor, Regina crossed her arms, locking her dark eyes on Emma.
"What is this about, Swan? If this is another cheap excuse to avoid paying for the ding from this morning..."
"No, it has nothing to do with the car," Emma cut her off. She let out a sigh, pulled her phone from her leather jacket pocket, and unlocked the screen. "Look, I just got this. Killian sent me a message. I think you should see the photo."
Emma handed her the phone. Regina, frowning with suspicion, took the device and looked at the screen.
The image was sharp, taken barely a few minutes ago under the afternoon sun. On the patio of an Irish pub conveniently located right across from the hospital's emergency entrance, stood Robin and Killian Jones. Robin, with his scrub shirt half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, and a relaxed, ear-to-ear grin, was clinking a cold pint of Guinness with Killian.
The temperature in the office seemed to plummet several degrees below zero. Her gaze locked onto her husband’s dazzling smile in the photo. The same man who less than an hour ago had sent her a frantic text claiming a "critical cardiac emergency in surgery" that prevented him from picking up his daughter. The same man Hope had just been sobbing desperately for in the middle of her gallery.
"Regina, I... I'm sorry," Emma said, taking a cautious step back as she saw the brunette’s knuckles turn completely white as she gripped the phone.
Regina handed the phone back to Emma with a slowness that was almost more threatening than a scream. With her jaw completely rigid and her dark eyes narrowed into slits of obsidian, she pulled her own cell phone from her pocket. She unlocked the screen and tapped Robin's name. She didn't even have to wait two rings.
"Regina? Hey, sweetheart!" Robin’s voice sounded on the other end of the line, in an unusually relaxed tone with a murmur of laughter and clinking glasses in the background. "Good thing you called. Are you with the little one yet? What a crazy day in the OR, but luckily everything went well..."
"Robin," Regina interrupted. Her voice was a whisper of pure ice, so sharp the surgeon seemed to go instantly mute on the other end of the phone. "Explain to me, in detail, what kind of post-operative procedure requires the use of a Guinness tap."
"Killian and I just had a ten-hour shift in the OR saving a life. Are you really going to give me this monumental lecture and question my parenting just for having a twenty-minute beer with my colleague and best friend to unwind? I need to breathe, too."
"To unwind, Robin? To enjoy your friends?" her voice was an icy whisper that cut through the air. "Don't make a mistake. I am not lecturing you for having a beer. I am lecturing you because your six-year-old daughter was left completely alone at the school gates."
Robin froze, and the indignation on his face began to crumble.
"What...?" he stammered. "I took for granted that you were with her."
"You took for granted?" Regina hissed, with venomous irony. "The eminent Doctor Locksley, whose hands are insured for millions, bases his six-year-old daughter's safety on assumptions? My phone was silenced in my purse because I was working. You took for granted that I would go; I took for granted that you would keep your promise. And while you were toasting with Killian Jones across the street, our daughter was standing on a sidewalk, alone, watching all the other children leave with their parents on her first day of primary school."
"Sweetheart, really, I'm sorry," Robin rushed to say, genuine worry in his voice. "The surgery got complicated and I panicked. When I got out of the OR and didn't see any calls from you, I assumed everything was under control and you were with her. Killian insisted on having a quick round to ease the tension from the operation and..."
"Well, your brilliant deduction, Robin, has ended with our daughter crying inconsolably in Emma Swan's arms because her father wasn't at the school gates," Regina cut him off with implacable coldness. "Hope is right now in my gallery, heartbroken because she thought something had happened to you or that you had forgotten about her."
A heavy silence fell. On the other end of the line, the metallic scrape of a chair being dragged in a hurry could be heard, along with the murmur of Robin hurriedly saying goodbye to Killian.
"I'm on my way right now," Robin said, his voice thick with guilt and resolve. "I'm five minutes away. Regina, seriously, I am so, so sorry..."
"You have exactly four minutes," Regina declared with terrifying calm. "And you had better bring an excellent explanation for your daughter."
"My God..." Robin whispered, running a trembling hand through his brown hair, completely disarmed. "Regina... I... I really thought you had received the text. I thought she was safe with you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"I am not the one you need to apologize to," Regina declared. "Get over here and fix your daughter's heart."
Anger coursed through her veins, but rising above it was her instinct to protect herself, to shield every inch of her facade before crumbling.
Emma watched her in silence. The blonde's usual smugness had completely vanished; there was no trace of the brazen woman who minutes earlier was joking about broken bumpers. Seeing the rigidity in Regina's back, something in Emma softened.
She took a step toward her, closing the distance with an almost reverent slowness. The subtle creak of her leather jacket as she moved seemed to fill the entire space.
"Regina..." Emma murmured, in an strangely soft voice, stripped of any hint of sarcasm. "I'm really sorry. I didn't want to bring you the photo to... to rub it in. I just thought you should know."
Regina didn't move. She remained motionless, her eyes lost in the reflection of the window, but every cell in her body went on high alert. Emma’s closeness was a latent danger. With her barely a couple of spans away, the air in the office charged again with that same silent, mysterious gravity from last time. Regina actively fought against her own mind, forcing herself not to remember the warmth of the blonde's fingers on her skin, not to think about how it felt to have the abyss just a millimeter from her lips in this very room. Don't think about that. Not now. Not with her looking at you.
"I don't need your pity, Swan," Regina replied, in an icy voice, cutting like a scalpel.
Emma was not deterred. Instead of backing away, she advanced another inch. Her green gaze locked onto the back of Regina's neck, heavy with a comprehension the brunette deeply loathed because it made her feel exposed.
"It's not pity," Emma insisted, slowly walking around to try and catch her eyes. "It's just that I know what this is like. I know what it's like to carry the entire weight of things on your shoulders while others go off and... well, do what Robin did. If you need me to stay, or if you want me to take the kids so you two can talk alone when he gets here... I'll do it. Just tell me."
The offer was sincere, warm, selfless. And for that very reason, to Regina, it was absolutely intolerable. Allowing Emma to support her meant admitting a crack in her armor. It meant letting the blonde into her only remaining pocket of vulnerability, precisely in the place where they had almost committed their greatest madness.
With a fluid movement, Regina spun around on her four-inch stiletto heels. Her posture was of military rectitude; her shoulders were perfectly aligned, her jaw tight, and her dark eyes flashed with a defensive hostility meant to be an insurmountable wall between them.
"I appreciate your sudden bout of civic duty, Swan, but it is not necessary," Regina declared, locking her in a gaze meant to freeze her blood. "Robin and I will manage our family matters in private. As we have always done. I do not need you to play my savior, nor do I need you to clean up the broken dishes of my marriage."
Emma stopped dead, taking the hit of those words with a subtle wince of pain, though she didn't look away.
"Are you really going to do this now?" Emma asked in a whisper, narrowing her eyes. "Are you going to build this wall of ice with me after what just happened? I’m just trying to help you, Regina. You don't have to pretend you're made of iron all the time."
"I don't pretend, Swan. I am iron," Regina countered, taking a step forward that forced Emma to step back, reestablishing their safe distance.
Finally, the blonde let out a bitter sigh, nodding slowly as she took a definitive step back, shoving her hands into her leather jacket pockets.
"Fine, Mills. Your way," Emma said, reclaiming a bit of her usual distance, though her green eyes still emitted a somber light. "Good luck with your four minutes."
She turned and walked toward the office door. Regina watched her go, keeping her arms crossed so tightly her nails dug into the silk of her sleeves. Only when the doorknob clicked shut behind Emma did Regina allow herself to close her eyes for an instant and exhale the breath she was holding in her chest.
At the reception counter, Henry was patiently pointing at the paper where Hope was trying to trace the tail of a dragon.
After a long twenty minutes, upon hearing the sound of footsteps, the little girl looked up. Seeing her father, her huge dark eyes flew wide open, and for an instant, a spark of the morning's joy threatened to return to her face. However, the memory of waiting on the sidewalk and the anxiety of feeling forgotten took over again. She dropped the marker on the table and lowered her head, clutching her teddy bear against her chest.
Robin did not hesitate. He slid onto his knees directly onto the gallery floor, not caring in the least about wrinkling his dress pants further or the coldness of the granite. He brought himself exactly to his daughter's eye level and reached out his hands, but he didn't force her into a hug; he waited for her to look at him.
"Hope... my love," Robin said, his voice so soft and broken that Regina's heart squeezed from a distance. "Look at me, please."
The girl slowly raised her large brown eyes, pooled once again with tears that threatened to spill over.
"Daddy made an unforgivable mistake today," he continued, finding the little girl's small hands and wrapping them in the warmth of his own. "I made you a promise. I told you I would be the first one at that door, and I didn't keep my word. I thought... I assumed things I shouldn't have, and because of me, you were scared. There is no excuse for that. I am so incredibly sorry, my love. I am sorry with all my heart."
A couple of tears slid down Hope's olive cheeks.
"I thought something bad happened to you at the hospital," the girl whispered, her voice cracking. "Or that... or that you forgot about me because you were tired."
"Never, do you hear me? I would never forget about you," Robin replied immediately, with absolute firmness as he wiped away her tears with his thumb with infinite gentleness. "You are the most important thing in the world to me. You and your mother. Today I messed up in the worst way, but I promise you, on everything I love, that it will never happen again. Can you forgive me, princess?"
Hope watched him for a few seconds with that analytical and intense gaze she had inherited from Regina, weighing the sincerity in her father's eyes. Finally, she let out a long sigh that shook her small shoulders and threw herself forward, wrapping her little arms around Robin's neck.
Robin held her against his chest with desperate strength, closing his eyes and burying his own face in the little girl's dark hair.
In the hallway, Regina released the breath she didn't realize she was holding. Her arms uncrossed and her posture lost that defensive rigidity that characterized her.
Regina walked slowly toward where her husband and daughter were still hugging on the floor. She stopped beside them and placed a soft hand on Robin's shoulder. He looked up, offering her a look loaded with infinite gratitude and a silent promise of amendment.
It was in that moment, as he stood up, that Robin noticed the two figures waiting by the reception counter.
Emma was standing there, one hand resting on the marble counter and the other tucked into the pocket of her red leather jacket. Beside her, Henry watched the scene with a shy smile of relief, still holding the colored markers.
Robin walked toward them with a firm step, cradling Hope against his left side to extend his right hand to Emma.
"Emma," Robin said, his voice deep and laden with an honesty that resonated in the silence of the gallery. "I don't have the words to thank you for what you did today. I know I messed up completely, and if you hadn't been there to pick up Hope... I don't even want to think about how scared she would have been. Thank you, truly. And to you too, Henry. You're a great friend to her."
Henry shrugged, his cheeks turning a subtle shade of pink.
"No problem, Robin. I'm just glad you're okay."
Emma shook the surgeon's hand firmly, giving him a warm, sincere smile that, out of the corner of her eye, sought out Regina's reaction.
"Don't worry about it, Robin," Emma replied, keeping her voice low so as not to break the little girl's calm. "We all have crazy days at work. The important thing is that the kid is okay and you're here now."
Regina, who had remained a couple of steps away with her arms crossed, felt the tension coiled in her neck begin to dissipate. Her dark eyes met Emma's green ones. There was a silent conversation happening between the two of us, an exchange of gratitude and a tacit truce after the trainwreck they had in the office minutes earlier.
"Come on, let's let this family head home. Henry, let's go."
"Bye, Hope!" the boy waved.
Little Hope, her eyes already half-closed with sleep, raised a limp little hand to wave goodbye as her father adjusted her. Robin looked back at Emma, nodding toward the garage exit.
"I owe you a huge one, Emma."