Repeat (A Once Upon A Time Fanfiction / Captain Swan's Daughter)

8

Emma and I sat and watched a few episodes of friends. We both ended up laughing at the same scenes, which could have been a coincidence. The second episode we watched was the episode where Phoebe gives birth to the triplets. When Phoebe had to give them away, Emma suddenly burst into tears.

"I'm sorry." Emma said, laughing at herself as fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Emma didn't strike me as an emotional person, so I was surprised at this outburst of sadness. I didn't know how to react, so I just sat and looked concerned in the corner of the sofa.

"Are you okay?" I asked, when it blatantly obvious she was not.

"I'm sorry, It just...It's just sad and it reminds me of a past experience." Emma apologised for the second time. She wiped her face with her sleeve.

I thought it would be too forward to try and find out more details, but Emma opened up to me without me saying a word.

"A long time ago I was forced to leave my daughter. I love her so much, and it broke my heart having to say goodbye to a helpless little girl. I don't even know if she's okay." Emma managed to say, still crying. She kept pausing to catch her breath.

"I'm sure she'll be okay, Emma." I reached for her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. She smiled at me, but she was still clearly very upset.

"You must think I'm such an unstable crazy lady crying my eyes out at friends." Emma guessed. I didn't think she was crazy at all.

"You have every right to be upset, Emma." I said, trying to comfort her. I wasn't good with advice or comforting, because I'd never been in a situation where I had to be.

"I just feel like a terrible mother. I was irresponsible and had a kid when I was 18, may I add that I was also in prison. Then I had another chance to be a good parent when Phoebe was born, but I was forced to abandon her. I had no other choice and she will have grown up thinking I didn't care about her." Emma was rambling, a few tears still emerging from her tear ducts. After a long pause, Emma spoke up again. "I shouldn't really be telling you all this, but I just needed to get it off my chest. I have nobody else to tell."

I nodded and smiled sympathetically, but all I could think about was her daughter's name. I was 99.9% sure she had said Phoebe. I couldn't think of any names that rhymed with Phoebe, so she had to have said a name identical to mine. The ages didn't add up and there must be thousands of Phoebes born in 2000, but I still couldn't help thinking that she could be my mother. Emma hadn't even mentioned how old her daughter would be now. She could be 6 for all I knew.

"It's okay to cry," I told her. "If I knew my parents were crying about where I was I would feel so loved. Only one person has really loved me since the day I was left on the side of a busy street in nothing more than a blanket and a locket."

Emma's eyes suddenly got wider, but only for a second.

"I wish my daughter could know that I had no choice but to leave her. Most parents who leave their kids say that they wanted their best chance for them, not that I know many people who abandoned their kids, but I didn't have a choice." Emma was talking and blinking fast, probably to try and stop herself from crying her eyes out in front of a teenager. "I'm going to make a drink, would you like one?"

I nodded, remembering that a drink was the reason I came downstairs in the first place. I'm easily destructed, so my favourite show and a heartbroken lady would surely distract me in an instant.

"What would you like? I know you like hot cocoa, which I can make, but it's nowhere near as good as Granny's." Emma asked.

"I'm sure you make a delicious hot chocolate." I smiled, hoping it might cheer her up the tiniest bit. I didn't like seeing people I care about upset, and in this short day, Emma had become someone I cared about.

While Emma made some drinks, I went upstairs to get my phone. On the way up I saw a few photos hanging on the wall. One photo was of Emma, a teenage boy with brown hair, and a man with dark brown hair and a lot of stubble. Both Emma and the man had leather jackets on, but his was black and hers was red. The boy standing in the middle looked so happy. I instantly became jealous of a person I had never met. His family may have been edgy and, I guessed, at times dysfunctional, but he had one. It was more than I had ever had. I could start my own family when I was older, but it wouldn't be the same as having loving parents.

The second photo was a picture of Emma holding a baby girl. The blonde was smiling wider than she was on any other of the photos. The tiny little girl had a daisy chain wrapped around her bald head, and Emma had made herself one to match. It looked like the sort of photo you'd see on Instagram with the captain 'GOALS'.

The third photo I had a good look at was a picture of Emma and a woman I met earlier today, Mary Margaret. Emma was holding a mug that said 'world's best daughter', and Mary Margaret's mug said 'world's best mom'. The picture confused me, but I guessed that sister probably had a lot of inside jokes.

"Zoe?" I heard Emma call. It should have only taken me a minute or less to run and grab my phone, but I got sidetracked my photos.

"I'm coming." I called back down the stairs before quickly getting my phone and going back to join Emma.

"Prepare to be disappointed." Emma said as she handed me my drink. She had wiped her eyes and tried to make herself look a little more presentable since the crying outburst.

I took a sip of my hot chocolate, being careful not to burn myself.

"I love it." I told Emma. "Nobody can usually make it exactly how I like it, but you just did."

"You're saying that to cheer me up." Emma said, slumping down into the sofa and picking up her drink from the coffee table. "I know because that's what exactly the sort of think I'd do."

"I promise it's not." I insisted.

"Okay, whatever." Emma said, giving up on our little debate.

There was a long pause while we both drank some of our drinks.

"I know you probably don't want to talk about this again, Emma, but have you ever tried to contact your daughter?" I asked.

"I've been too scared." She admitted.

"How old would she be now?" I tried to question her without getting her upset. I was curious.

"I'm not 100% sure, which is kind of to do with why I had to send her away. I think she's probably a teenager now." Emma guessed. I was very confused.

"I could try and find her on some sort of social media. You don't have to contact her, but you might be able to see her." I suggested.

There was pause for a few seconds before Emma spoke up again.

"Would you really do that for me?" Emma asked. She was asking like I was risking my life, when I was actually just Internet stalking.

"Sure, what's her full name?"

"Phoebe Jones."