Regina M.

It was a quiet Saturday morning in Storybrooke, one of those mornings that suggested calm but always held some surprise. Emma was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking her coffee with one leg propped up on the chair. Across from her, Henry lazily leafed through a comic book; he was wearing headphones, but his eyes occasionally drifted down the hallway.

Regina, always elegant even in her bathrobe, moved around the kitchen preparing breakfast with a care that blended habit and love. Her magic stirred the scrambled eggs while she cut strawberries by hand, insisting that some things were better when done the traditional way.

Then the sound came: small, determined footsteps echoing down the hallway. Their daughter appeared, arms crossed, with a stormy expression for someone who had barely gotten out of her pajamas. She walked straight past Emma and Henry and hugged Regina's waist, pressing her face against her hip.

"Good morning, dear," Regina murmured, brushing the messy curls away from her daughter's face. "What happened?"

The girl looked at her mother with a troubled gaze, clearly undecided about whether to speak or not.

"She's angry because I said I'd take her to school with Mom," Henry said without looking up. "She wanted you ."

Regina raised an eyebrow. "Is that true?"

Emma chuckled softly behind her coffee cup. "I think we have a little queen in the making."

The girl frowned even more. "You weren't here yesterday. I waited, and you only arrived late."

There it was—that flame. Regina's flame. It wasn't just bad temper, but a possessiveness typical of young hearts.

Regina knelt down and gently held her daughter's face. "Mommy had to help Mr. Gold, remember? I promised I'd make it up to you, didn't I?"

The daughter nodded reluctantly, though her arms continued to tighten around Regina's waist as if she would never let go.

Emma gave Regina an amused smile.