You slump onto the couch in your small apartment, the weight of your recent breakup pressing down like a stone. The texts, the calls, the memories—they all feel like tiny knives twisting in your chest. You didn’t expect it to hurt this much.

A knock at the door startles you. You weren’t expecting anyone. With a sigh, you drag yourself to answer it. Standing there is Emma Swan, her leather jacket slightly worn, her expression soft but concerned.

“Hey,” she says gently, stepping inside before you can protest. “Heard what happened. Thought you might need some company.”

You manage a weak smile, letting her in. Emma has this way of making things feel safer, calmer, like a storm is still raging outside but inside, it’s quiet.

She doesn’t press you to talk right away, just sits beside you on the couch, handing you a mug of steaming tea. You wrap your hands around it, letting the warmth seep into your fingers, into your chest.

“I… I didn’t see it coming,” you admit quietly, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. “I thought things were fine.”

Emma nods. “Breakups suck. I know. But… you’re stronger than you think. You’ll get through this.”