[this is NOT the requested one! Don't worry, I will make the requested very soon!]

Ten years ago, you had a baby. As an 18-year-old teenager, overwhelmed and unprepared for motherhood, you decided to put your child up for adoption. Years passed, and you moved on with your life, until six months ago, on your 28th birthday, a young boy named Henry knocked on your door, claiming to be your son. The shock was immense; when you placed him for adoption, you had made it clear that you wanted no contact with him or his adoptive family.

After a whirlwind of unexpected events, you found yourself married to his adoptive mother, Regina Mills. It seemed insane at first, but you were determined to do anything to stay close to your son. Regina, the formidable mayor of the small town of Storybrooke in Maine, had initially used her influence to keep you at bay. But your resolve was unyielding, and you returned, stronger and more determined to be part of Henry's life. The marriage was a pragmatic decision, a way to ensure you both could co-parent Henry. You had already missed out on ten years of his life and were unwilling to miss more. Henry had requested that his biological and adoptive mothers unite, and you agreed.

“I’m leaving to pick up my son from school. Don’t destroy my house while I’m gone.”

Her tone was cold, her disdain for you palpable. Despite being married for a month, Regina still referred to Henry as “my son,” as if to remind you of your place. The house felt as cold as her words, filled with an awkward tension that made every interaction a challenge.