Sometimes Just One Second

Chapter Six

After the Curse Is Broken, Current Time

Arriving back at the manor house that Regina had 'gifted' to Jefferson, tormenting him with 28 years of watching his precious daughter living and loving complete strangers as her family, was always a bit bittersweet. For so long he'd sequestered himself within those walls, madness battering at his mind like a moth lighting on a flame. The torture and loneliness and aching grief he experienced within the house always threatened to suck him under.

Even now, after Grace was at his side. A long time ago, Jefferson had made a room up for his daughter, and it had been rigorously cleaned every week – a torture in its own right because he despaired of ever having his daughter living there with him.

It was rather surreal having Grace in the house with him, living in the room he'd created for her.

"Papa, what's wrong?" Grace asked in concern, looking up at him as they entered the foyer of the house.

He smiled weakly down at his daughter and shook his head slightly.

"I'm not sure yet," Jefferson said, running a hand down her hair and then shrugging out of his coat.

"Alright, Papa," Grace said trustingly, hanging up her coat and hat on the pegs designated for that purpose.

"Did you like Miss Aubrey?"

Jefferson swallowed deeply and nodded his head without looking at his daughter.

"I did. She seems very nice, and I'm glad you had a friend when you were looking for me."

"She's very pretty, too," Grace said slyly, but with an innocent smile on her face when he glanced at her.

"Get outta here, you monster," He teased, shooing her away.

When she practically cackled and danced away, he rubbed his forehead in wry amusement. Grace was a devious mix of both Priscilla and Jefferson; while Jefferson had been a scoundrel and mischievous, Priscilla had had a wicked sense of humor, and deviously sharp. He could admit, that on their adventures realm hopping, that Priscilla had saved his hide more than once with her sharp mind and quick instincts.

Making his way to the large kitchen – a kitchen he had rarely stepped into during his tenure within these walls – he sighed and paused in the doorway. The kitchen had been Regina's way of constantly reminding Jefferson what he'd lost with Priscilla's death. If Priscilla had lived, it would have been her dream kitchen with beautiful granite countertops, large, spacious cabinets with gentle close hinges in a beautiful walnut color. Twin convection ovens in stainless steel, gas stove top on the center island with butcher block counters next to it, and a wide French door refrigerator, it always struck something within him to enter the kitchen and realize just how alone he'd been for years. No family filled the rooms, no one to eat his meals with, no one to share his bed, no one to share his life.

Regina had planned her prison exquisitely.

But now, now that he entered the grand kitchen, he pictured Aubrey padding barefoot on the floor, baking her cupcakes or breakfast, or dinner, an apron around her waist to protect her skirts. Grace would be darting and weaving around her, chattering away about her day at school or a book she'd read. And he'd be standing in the doorway, beautifully content with the picture his life would be.

But Aubrey – who he was certain was Priscilla back in the Enchanted Forest but was still unable to shake the fog of disbelief and confusion – was a stranger in his wife's face. She apparently had no memory of Jefferson, which if she had been Priscilla before the curse was cast there'd have been no way to mistake him for anyone else. Priscilla had died protecting Grace as an infant, and so there wouldn't have been any kind of recognition when confronted with a curseless Grace in her bakery. Priscilla had had no idea of the beautiful little girl that Grace had turned out to be, and every day raising her had been an exercise in grief at that knowledge.