The sun's warm glow paints the sky in shades of pink and orange, creating a serene atmosphere over Storybrooke. The light streams through the café's windows, casting long shadows across the wooden floors.

Melody brings over our coffee, placing each mug on the table. This time, I receive a criss-cross pattern made with chocolate syrup.

"Thank you," I say, then take a sip of the hot latté and release a contented sigh.

"Since you agreed to the interview, I decided to make the entire article about you. GMS and WOLF are going to cry for not getting you for themselves," Delilah says, producing her notepad and flipping through its pages until she lands on the right one. "Alright, first question," she says, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret for my ears only. "Why did you come to Storybrooke?" I thought everyone knew the answer to this question, so it seems odd she'd ask.

"To find my parents," I say, trying to express my confusion.

"That's it?" she says as though she watched a movie with a dissatisfying ending.

"What other reason would I have?"

"Everyone knows you're here to find your parents, but there must be another reason no one knows. Now's your chance to share that." Her words sink in, causing me to evaluate that reason. I can't tell her it was to escape the foster home. That sounds selfish and fear-driven. If only they knew what I was running from. Am running from.

"Sorry to disappoint, but that's it."

She slumps her shoulders and stares at her notepad. "I guess I could elaborate. 'Orphan Bella Palmer takes a leap of faith and journeys far to our hidden town in a pursuit to find her long-lost parents, whom she's yearned for her entire life.'"

"I'd take out the 'orphan' part. It's not a label I want inscribed on my forehead."

"Sure, sure," she says, scribbling notes. "Next question. Why do you want to find your parents?"

"There has to be a why?" I burst out, infuriation gripping me. Why does there have to be a reason for finding my parents? Wouldn't it be the same for everybody?

"I know, but people want things spelled out for them."

"Why would you want to find your parents?"

"Love, validation, support—"

"All those things."

"Okay, got it." She writes more notes. "I'm getting the vibe you don't want to talk much about your parents, so I'm gonna skip a few questions." Delilah crosses them off in her notepad while muttering, "No. Not that one. Nope. Oh, got one! This one's more for me as a friend, but I'm sure the town would also love to know. Who's someone you'd kill to meet?"

"Kill's a strong word," I say, remembering how Henry implied that he wants to murder Mr. Gold. How can I be sure of his intentions when he played it off as a joke?

"Love to meet, then."

If I was eleven and still obsessed with technology, I'd say, "Tony Stark," but that didn't go well. I'm still haunted by that memory and can't watch a Stark Industries ad without feeling ashamed. So I go with the next Avenger I admire. "Natasha Romanoff."

"I love her!" Delilah exclaims, smacking her hands on the table. "She's such a badass and a powerful woman. I wouldn't want to get into a fight with her. She'd break my neck just by looking at me. As much as I'd love to meet her, though," she tilts her chin downward to say under her breath, "I'm gonna have to say Captain America." Her cheeks flush rose pink.

I lift my mug, preparing to drink from it. "He's hot."

Delilah's cheeks blush even brighter. "All the Avengers are hot."

"Yeah, but he's the hottest." I smile behind my mug and take a sip of coffee.

She looks out the window with a grin, the blush spreading over her nose and neck. "Okay, well, what about Iron Man?" she asks, returning her attention to me.

I set my mug down, unsure how to answer. I suppose it's true when they say to never meet your heroes. "Kind of already met him."

"You met Iron Man?" Delilah says, leaning in with interest, her face mystified. Then, she sits back and moves her hands around her head to express how she's mind-blown.

"Don't get too excited," I say. "It did not go well."

"Girl, you have got to give me all the details right now."

I take a deep breath and try to steady my shaking hands. It's not every day I share my backstory with someone, but I've already told her the Irene story, so how much harder can this one be? I can't keep it bottled up inside anymore. I've been carrying the weight of this memory ever since it happened. I have to face my fear and hope to find closure by sharing this with Delilah.

Her eyes are on me, waiting for me to speak. It's now or never.

I inhale another deep breath and prepare to tell my story. "Alright, but none of this can be in the article."

Delilah flips her notepad closed and slides it away. She places her elbows on the table and holds her head up like a child.

"It was a school field trip back in 2009."

"Ooh, a date."

"We went to the Stark Industries New York Facility—"

"And you met him."

"Well, I wasn't supposed to, but I did. We were following the tour guide around, and then I saw a 'Restricted Access' sign on a door. Curiosity got the best of me, and I broke off from the group and went inside."

"You didn't need an eye scan or a handprint to get in?"

"Just a code."

"But this is Stark Industries. I was kind of expecting more."

"Can I finish?"

"Oh, yes. Go ahead."

"So I went in, and it was a lab. I very stupidly touched a prototype, and it went haywire. I tried to stop it, but it caused a chain reaction and set off the other gadgets."

Delilah gasps. "And then what happened?" she says with an enthusiastic interest, like a kid listening to a bedtime story.

"And then...he walked in. He was furious. He had security remove me from the building."

"Oh, my God. You were a kid."

"It was one of the worst moments of my life. He also stopped the tour. All my classmates hated me. Even my teacher seemed disappointed in me for a while after that."

Delilah has a thoughtful expression on her face. What's she thinking? I hope she can understand this incident's impact on my life and help me move forward. That's what friends do.

I sigh, a sense of shame and embarrassment arising from what happened so many years ago. "And I'll never forget this part. My teacher apologized for me lashing out and told him I'm an orphan, so I had no one to teach me any better."

"Holy shit," Delilah whispers.

It's a mix of relief and anxiety after sharing the details of the moment that's haunted me for so long. Part of me worries Delilah might judge me, but I had to share my experience. "I guess you could call it the iron price of curiosity."

"Can I ask you something?" she says, then puts her hands up in surrender. "This comes as a friend. Are you more embarrassed that Tony Stark found out you destroyed his lab or that your teacher told him you're an orphan?"

How is it that the one person I tell the story to can see the true meaning behind my shame? See right through me as though I'm glass?

Delilah catches on to my thoughts. "You didn't seem to like that label earlier, so I just thought..."

I was humiliated enough from destroying the lab, but Mrs. Thompson added to it by telling Stark I'm an orphan. Everyone who discovers that little tidbit never views me the same. I didn't want him to think of me any less than he already did. He was my hero. Not anymore.

After some seconds of silence, Delilah gets back to the interview and asks me questions about my flying monkey experience and more about myself. Then she says, "I love the café. It's such a great place."

"It's got a nice ambiance."

"A lot of teens come here instead of Granny's because she doesn't like us very much. She thinks we're loud and take up too much space." She's right. The teens' chatter isn't deafening, but I can see why Granny doesn't want it in the diner. "I mean, she doesn't mind a couple of teenagers. She just won't allow an entire group of us unless it's a party or something."

"People have parties at Granny's?" I ask, inclining my head.

"Of course! We have them all the time."

"And they're fun?"

"Yeah," she says like it was a dumb question. "Most of the town shows up, and obviously, Granny caters. It's the best."

"I'm sure it is."

She takes out her cell and says, "I've been meaning to show you something." She turns her phone around and shows me her screen. "I found this article about how you were found on the side of a road."

My heart sinks like a stone in a bottomless ocean.

"'Man Finds Abandoned Infant Near Unexplained Ditch.' That must be where the portal opened."

Tears fill my eyes as I stare at her.

She sees my face, and her smile fades. "I won't use it if you don't want me to. I just thought it'd be interesting."

"That's the day my parents abandoned me, and it's also the day I was put into the system. I don't even know what my real birthday is. Whoever filled out the documents put that day as my birthdate as if I would want to celebrate it. It's the worst day of my life. Put that in your article." I stand to leave.

"Bella, I'm sorry."

"You used me," I croak.

"What are you talking about?" she says, standing, too.

"I shared with you one of the most humiliating experiences of my life and gave you useful material for your article, and you ask me about that? Talk about a low blow."

"I won't use it."

"But you were considering it. You want everything and anything to get that job, don't you? No matter who it hurts."

"That's not true."

"Henry was right. You were pretending to be my friend to get information for your stupid article. All you care about is that job."

"Henry said that? But we're close."

"Well, he doesn't feel that way about you."

"This is crazy. I'm not faking anything."

"I should've known better than to be so naïve. I've met so many people like you. I should've seen it coming."

"Bella, I—"

"I'm out of here." I storm off, but I turn back around. "And I'm taking this coffee." I take the mug and chocolate croissant and march away again.

"Excuse me, Miss. You can't take the—"

"Shove it down, lady," I say to the waitress as I exit the café. Like they can't spare one mug.

It was foolish to think I had a real friend my age. I'm not that lucky.

* * *

Around six o'clock, I go back to the apartment, finding Neal, Mary Margaret, David, and Henry inside. Regina warned me to stay away from Henry and delivered numerous threats my way, but right now, I don't have a choice. I'm crashing here, and he happens to be here, too. That's not my fault.

I sit at the dining table with him, and we play chess while everyone else chats in the kitchen. The loft still carries the aroma of omelets from my and Emma's breakfast this morning, and I appreciate it. It's like the universe is trying to remind me of good moments.

"How did your interview with Delilah go?" Henry asks.

"Not great. You were right. She was using me for her article."

"You should have listened. I never fail."

"I'm starting to wonder if you're right about everyone else, too. Gold, I can see, but I still think Killian's different."

"He's not. Trust me."

"There's something in my gut about him. He doesn't seem bad at all."

"Seem," he repeats. "You don't know who he is underneath."

"And you do?"

"Yes. As I said—I never fail."

"What about at chess?" I say, folding my arms on the table as a challenge.

"Games are in my blood."

I advance my queen forward on the board. "Your move."

He moves his knight and knocks over my rook. "Ha. Told you."

"Damn, kid, but the game's not over yet."

After a few more strategic moves, Henry says, "I'm glad you took a break from finding your parents."

"Yeah, I needed it. It was stressing me out, and I needed to take care of myself by hanging out with you. But I'm going to continue my search tomorrow."

"Phillip and Aurora are in town, I know it."

"Uh, Henry?" Mary Margaret says, walking over to us. "We haven't seen either of them recently."

"That doesn't mean we can't find them." Henry turns back to me. "You should go to Gold's shop and see if you can find anything that belongs to them. It's full of everyone's things from the Fairytale World."

"That's not a good idea, Henry," David says from the kitchen.

"Why not? It's a great idea," Neal says. Both Mary Margaret and David shoot him a look I don't understand. He doesn't, either, and he furrows his brow. "What? She could use a locator spell on the object. It'll bring her straight to them."

"Neal?" Mary Margaret says, stunned.

"No, it's okay," I say, raising my hand to signal it's okay. "I may not believe in magic, but it's still a good idea. If I find something that belongs to one of my parents, I could put up posters for a missing item. Whoever it belongs to will contact me to claim it, and they must be or know my parents. It's brilliant." I gaze at Henry in amazement. It's the perfect plan. Why haven't we thought of this sooner?

"Gold will want to make a deal with you. He does that to everyone," David says.

"If you go in the morning, he'll most likely be at Granny's." Again, David and Mary Margaret shoot Neal a look. "Why do you guys keep looking at me like that?"

"I'll go first thing in the morning. Great plan, kid."

"Yes. Great plan, Henry," David says, arms crossed.

Henry grins and sits up straighter. "I'm here to help."

* * *

I search the shelves and peer through the glass casings at Gold's shop, unsure what to look for. I don't know what belonged to my parents. Why did I think going into this blind was a good idea? Henry sure has a way of persuading people into doing crazy shit.

"I thought I heard something." Belle's voice makes me jump. She stands in front of the back curtain, concerned, and for a moment, I worry she'll call Emma. And then I remember—I didn't break in. "What are you looking for?" she asks.

"Something that might belong to my parents."

She nods, understanding, then says, "I may be able to help with that." She gestures me to follow her. "Come back here."

I take a few hesitant steps until I'm in the back room, acting as though I've never been here before. Belle describes it as fascinating and full of history. She takes the time to share what a wondrous thing it is for a place other than a library to contain hundreds of stories within its walls.

Some items and pieces of furniture have been moved since the last time I've been back here. A small pile of straw sits beside the spinning wheel, and spools of golden thread fill a basket on the other side. I shudder, reminded of Rumplestiltskin, the phrase, and how he killed Cinderella's fairy godmother.

Stepping further into the room with my arms wrapped around myself, my foot catches on an antique stool. My hand falls flat onto its surface, my eyes level with a bronze candlestick resting atop a short, round table. I pick it up, admiring its craftmanship, and acknowledge how these items should be in a museum.

"That's an excellent idea. I'll pitch it to Regina at the next town meeting—if you don't mind," Belle says, excited about another destination in Storybrooke where stories can be shared.

Setting the candlestick down, I agree without much thought.

"So what exactly are you looking for?"

"I don't know."

Belle appears to be working through the problem, gears churning in her head.

"I understand that's not much of a starting point. It's not a starting point at all, actually. Do you know Aurora?"

"I've never met her. But don't worry. We can still find something that belonged to her."

With a shrug, I say, "How?"

"Mr. Gold has an excellent record system. Everything here has its own information card about who it may have belonged to, where it came from, and its possible magical abilities." Sounds like a brilliant way to track down meaningful artifacts. This plan might work.

"Great. Where are those cards?"

"He keeps them up front. I'll go get them." Belle pushes past the curtain to retrieve the cards, and I gravitate toward the clothing rack where I found the pirate outfit as though it's a flame and I'm a moth. I skim through the clothes and discover a magenta cloak. Running my fingers over the soft fabric sparks a familiarity as if I've worn it before.

"It's yours, you know?" I look up, startled once again by Belle sneaking up on me. She holds a wooden box in the entryway, having tied the curtains back. "I, um, remember seeing the card for it a while ago when I was reorganizing them." Her words confuse me because if this cloak feels familiar and is allegedly mine, what does that mean for the pirate outfit? It felt just as familiar, but I can't place why or how, and I wore something similar in my dreams.

Killian thinks I'm a pirate from his crew, and he gave me the hat that goes with the ensemble, claiming it's mine. Is the outfit supposedly mine, too, like Gold said it was? But how could any of these clothing items be mine when I don't remember owning them? Why would I have them to begin with, and why would they be in Gold's shop?

I step away from the rack and let the cloak fall from my fingers. "Let's get this over with."

Belle sets the box on a workbench and opens the drawer. Hundreds, if not thousands, of tarnished index cards rest inside. They're grouped into alphabetical sections, separated by labeled dividers.

"Everything in this shop is categorized by object type," Belle explains.

"Where do we start?'

"It would be best to search through the clothing and jewelry sections first. Aurora is a princess. She must have had plenty of gowns and accessories that could have ended up here."

"Then let's get to it," I say, peering into the box's drawer.

We search for a while, with index cards scattered across the floor and the box almost empty. I'd check for how long we've been at it, but the nearby clocks are frozen in time or set to the wrong hour. And so far, nothing belongs to Phillip or Aurora.

As Belle continues taking the remaining cards out of the box, I return to the clothing rack and pull down the magenta cloak. I wrap it around my shoulders and let it envelop me in its warmth, hoping it might jog some kind of memory.

Nothing. Not even a vision.

"I'm sorry for wasting your time, Belle," I say, sitting across from her on the floor again. "I'm sure you have better things to do than this."

"Nonsense. I love to research and help people. It's what I do."

I watch as she continues to go through the cards and box with a hopeful smile. I can't believe I'm noticing this now, but her hair isn't as brown as I thought. Under this light, her hair appears reddish—on the brink of auburn. As I stare like a freak at her, my vision of her comes to mind. She was there with me. I was in trouble, and...she didn't help. Belle would most definitely help. The vision must be wrong. It contradicts the kind and generous woman sitting before me.

I get the déjà vu tug in my gut again and play with the silver clasp on the cloak. "Have we met before, Belle?"

"Uh—No. I don't think so." She moves through the cards faster, putting one after the other at the back of the stash in her hand.

"So we never hiked up the side of a mountain, then?"

"No...I would remember that." She goes back to the cards. "Oh, here's something." She hands one of them to me.

My face scrunches as I examine the worn photo glued to the card. "An antique necklace?"

Belle reaches over and points to a scribbling. "The ink is smudged over the name, but it clearly begins with an 'A.'"

I inspect the piece of paper. She's right. The name is illegible, but an "A" is the only letter still intact. "That doesn't mean it says, 'Aurora.'"

"No, but it could. I recognize the crest on the pendant. It's the royal symbol of the Moor, Aurora's kingdom. I've never traveled there, but it's supposed to be beautiful." The Moor. The book in the library and that couple said the same thing. Links. I like links.

"Where's the necklace?"

"It's around here somewhere. I'll find it." Belle stands with a newfound purpose and searches for it in the showroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

As I hold the card with the smudged name, unease fills my stomach. The possibility that this necklace could belong to Aurora is unsettling when it should be uplifting. It's as if this small piece of jewelry's a reminder of the past I'm being forced to remember and the life I could've had. It adds to the overwhelming uncertainty I already have about my identity.

Could this necklace truly belong to Aurora?

A twinge of sadness spikes at being unable to read the name on the card. It must be a sign that mystery will forever shroud my history. I just want to know who my mother is. I want to know her...and why she gave me up.

I pick myself up from the floor and join Belle in the showroom, still enveloped in the cloak. She searches for the necklace, and I'm filled with a strange relief each time she doesn't find it. I don't know why. I came here to find something that belonged to my parents. This is what I wanted. Isn't it? I thought it was, but everyone expects me to accept my life is a fairytale and that I have a past life filled with magic and adventure.

It's not that simple.

Their claims and expectations turned my desire to find my parents into an irritating game of "Will She Remember?" or "Will She Believe?" I'm playing some twisted version of "Cat and Mouse," except Life is the one thwarting me. Every time I'm close to finding my parents, I'm filled with resentment because I'm reminded of fairytales and how they're supposed to be real. I don't know if I'm ready to face the truth of my parents being in town, anyway, or if I even want to.

I take a deep breath and try to push these thoughts out of my mind. I'll deal with this eventually, but I have to take it one step at a time. I'll keep an open mind—how's that?—and see where this leads. For now, I need to focus on the present, as Mary Margaret keeps reminding me, and try to make sense of it all. I mean, it's not like Belle's gonna find this necklace.

"Here it is."

My heart jumps inside my throat as Belle uncovers the necklace from inside a glass casing and hands it to me over the counter. She lowers it into my trembling cupped hand.

I let the chain dangle over my palm as I examine the pendant. "It's pretty," I say. "The question is—does it belong to my mother?"

"There's only one way to find out."

We speak at the same time, saying two different things. I say, "Hang up posters," while Belle says, "Locator spell."

I stare at her, and she silences.

"Hang up posters, of course," she says, embarrassed.

"Yeah, I'm gonna make some. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Let me know if you need any more help."

On one hand, there's a flicker of hope that this necklace could belong to my mother and lead me to her. On the other hand, there's a sense of uncertainty and fear that it may not be hers and my search will continue to be fruitless. But I want to know what my mother is like and how she'd react if we reunited. Would she be happy to see me? Would she accept me as her daughter? Will I ever uncover the truth about my past and my parents?

These thoughts race through my head as I examine the necklace. Hanging up posters is the right thing to do, but a part of me wishes a locator spell was real, so it could make the search for my mother easier. But whether this necklace belongs to my mother will only be answered through action. And as Belle said, there's only one way to find out.

I leave the shop to make the posters, my journey to uncover the truth about who I am transitioning to the next chapter. Whatever lies ahead, I'm determined to find my mother, no matter what it takes.