The Heart That Beats For Her

Chapter Eight

Dear Emma,

I understand that we haven't spoken since our meeting and maybe that has a bit to do with the way I left things. It was all overwhelming, hearing his heart and knowing I will never hear it again. However, please don't feel like you are pestering me. I am more than comfortable to answer whatever questions may arise.

Now, as for that sweet tooth you are inquiring about, yes, Naveen was a sweets-a-holic. I'm not sure what exactly your tongue is salivating for, but my husband enjoyed a bear claw most mornings. Sometimes in the afternoon, I would catch him sneaking a Snickers. Even after dinner, he always pushed for dessert and most of the time it was donuts, which I found absurd. I, on the other hand, always fought for a nice apple pie (he was not a fan).

I do hope this helps and again, please do not hesitate to reach out and ask whatever you would like. It was good to hear from you again. Please take care.

Best regards,
Regina Mills

P.S.
My mother has stopped sneaking into my bed, however, she must have spoken with your mother because now I find her lingering outside my doorway.

Emma is still grinning like she slept with a hanger in her mouth, all because according to the time marked on the email, Regina had sent the message before they randomly bumped into each other at Doughnut Plant. Seriously, what are the odds? Very slim, Emma keeps reminding herself and there's this stupid voice in the back of her head, the one that still finds hope in sappy fairytales, that keeps whispering a silly word of fate.

"Emma?" She blinks away her blissful thoughts to find her mother lurking in the doorway once again, like she gets paid to stand guard for her daughter. "You've been kind of quiet this evening. Have you been journaling?" She timidly questions, knowing how much it irks Emma that she's constantly checking up on everything that has to do with the surgery.

"No, not tonight," she mumbles, her finger pressing the side button on her phone to hide away the email she's been gawking at, like she's on a first date with the damn thing.

"Have you been though?" Mary Margret inquires, cautiously stepping into the bedroom like there might be some secret trigger that will blow up in her face. "You have your monthly checkup tomorrow and the doctor is going to want to see that journal. He needs to know how you have been coping."

"I know, mom."

"But you aren't coping. I thought meeting that woman would help ease your guilt, but lately..." Emma's eyes flutter closed and she forces herself to inhale sharply and squash the anger that's bubbling up...again. "....I don't know, you seem more depressed," her mom finishes, placing a tentative hand upon her shoulder, but Emma refuses to meet her sad eyes.

"I know. I'm trying, but it's kinda hard when I feel like I'm bound to this house. I just feel..."

"Sweetheart, I understand that you feel restricted, but we have to maintain your safety. This first year is crucial."

"I know," she breathes out slowly, her eyes still latched onto the phone in her lap.

"But hey, you went out this afternoon with Ruby," Mary Margret desperately tries to flaunt the one positive thing in Emma's face.

"Right."

"It's going to get better, as the days tick by, things will smooth out and you'll start to feel normal again, you'll see."

"Yeah," she mumbles under her breath as her mother's hand slowly falls away.

"I made dinner."

And it takes everything in Emma not to snark out a sarcastic comment about how her mom always makes dinner and it doesn't need an official announcement.