The lounge nestles at the side of a lengthy corridor, furnished with only a coffee station, a boxy TV, a nondescript table, and chairs that have seen better days. The room wears an air of drabness, its walls painted in the color of chemical gloves. Antiseptic and illness fill the air, and the hum of fluorescent lights is enough to drive anyone insane. Patients and nurses shuffle in and out, some with anxious expressions, others weary and defeated.

On TV, a woman named Nova appears on Good Morning Storybrooke, teaching viewers how to fold towels into bears—as if I need the reminder—but her energy only makes the tension in the room more palpable, her voice droning in the otherwise quiet lounge.

My butt's numb, so I change my sitting position. I lean over my crossed legs and prop my head with my hand. My elbow digs into my thigh, but I don't care.

I hate waiting, especially when it's for something like this. They shouldn't have called if they didn't have the results ready.

"This is ridiculous. I'm the mayor. I shouldn't have to wait for anything." Regina gets up and strides to a nurse in the hallway. She argues with her. I don't know what she's saying, but her arms move around to get her point across.

"Anything?" I say when she returns.

"No." She sinks back into her chair. "This is not how this place should operate." As we talk, not one of us looks at the other. Not before, and not now. We both gaze straight ahead, pretending to care about folding towels.

"Are you sure they said they have the results?"

"Yes. I don't know what the hell is taking so long," Regina says, straightening her back, her hands smoothing over the fabric of her black pencil dress.

"Maybe they're trying to figure out how to tell me."

"No. This whole town is full of idiots." No comment there. "How did the lost item thing work out?"

I'm really starting to hate small-town gossip. "Not great. The necklace was my mother's, but she gave it to someone named Ashley."

"That girl is always losing things. Jewelry, shoes...babies."

I look at her in shock, but she's still facing the TV. "How much longer, do you think?" I ask, turning my head away again.

"I don't know. It's not like they have a ton of patients to take care of, so God knows what's holding them up."

From the seat beside her, I eye the deep gash on Regina's upper lip. I've always wondered about its origins but never had the nerve to ask. Her constant threats didn't make it any easier. Finally, I take the plunge. "How'd you get your scar?"

Regina sighs, not thrilled about the topic. "When I was young, I fell off my horse and cut my lip on a rock."

I wince at the thought. "That must've hurt."

"Barely."

This may be the longest conversation Regina and I ever had that didn't involve us wanting to rip each other's throats out. It's actually quite nice. We're not bonding per se, but talking's good, especially when it doesn't center around her threatening me.

I search for another topic to keep the conversation going and figure I might as well go with the most common in Storybrooke. "Could you tell me something about the Fairytale World? Everyone else has."

"I cursed it."

"Something else."

Regina reaches for the remote on the coffee table and changes the channel to Epic with another sigh. "Being an evil queen wasn't all it was cracked up to be."

"You're Queen Reg—"

"You can't let anyone know I'm here."

"You've run away?"

"My existence has become insufferable. Please don't make me go back."

"You have my word...Your Majesty."

"You...You did this."

"I couldn't let you abandon your people."

"I should slit your throat right now, so you don't cause anyone else the same pain you've caused me."

"You're evil. You're an evil queen!"

To regain my composure, I draw in deep breaths and slump forward.

"What the hell happened?" Regina demands.

"Wouldn't you—like to know?" I stand to defer any more of her questions and go to the coffee station in the corner. Pouring myself a cup, I try to tame the storm within.

"You think that's going to calm your nerves?" Regina questions, twisting in her seat as I shake the powdered creamer and get the white dust everywhere.

"No, but my hands need something to do." I tear open sugar packets, granules flying across the countertop, and I add what's left to my paper cup.

"You're making a mess."

"Seems like what I do best these days," I whisper under my breath.

Regina's phone buzzes, and she checks the text. "If you'll excuse me." She departs into the hallway, oblivious to my watchful gaze from the lounge's threshold. She stops at a corner to talk with someone, but I can't see who they are since they're around it. Whatever the other person tells her leaves her stunned, and she looks down, hands on her hips. I don't know what could be wrong. I hope nothing is.

But the shock from the vision persists. I struggle to make sense of it. It was a rush of emotions, from confusion to fear to anger. Regina's voice still echoes in my mind. It's lighter and daintier than usual. Kinder. Well, it was at the start of the vision. Her words cut deep, and I can't shake the feeling of betrayal. Like I've done something wrong. Maybe this is why Regina hates me so much. Because I sent her back to her unhappy life. The exact thing she's trying to do to me. I need to take some time to process what I saw, but I don't have the luxury because Regina comes back.

"What happened?" I ask her.

"Nothing. Mayor business."

After a couple of minutes, Regina and I stand in unison when Doctor Whale enters the lounge.

"About time. Well?" Regina says.

"I apologize for the delay. Hi, Bella."

"Hi, Doctor."

His solemn face already tells me everything I need to know, but he speaks anyway. "The results of your DNA test are in, and...I'm sorry. Your parents aren't in any known databases. We couldn't get names, addresses, or anything. It's like they don't exist." If my parents don't exist, maybe I don't, either. Maybe I'm an alien.

"How is that possible? They must have records or something. How could they live without a trace?"

"I can't explain it. It could be they don't want to be found," Doctor Whale answers, his eyes shifting to Regina.

What if my parents are in trouble? They could be part of the Witness Protection Program or worse. What if they're fugitives from the government? They could be hiding and moving all over the country. That could be where I get my badass side.

"If you'll allow me to say," Doctor Whale begins, "it's plausible your parents haven't been to the Land Without Magic or weren't affected by Regina's curse. Otherwise, they would be in the system."

My gaze swings to Regina. "This is who you hire as a doctor?"

"In my defense, he was the only scientist I knew."

"You could have had Doc do it," Doctor Whale says.

"Oh, please. He got his practicing license from an enchanted pickaxe. You call that a real doctor?"

"I'm not a real doctor."

"Hello?" I say, cutting them off. "Can we get back on track here?"

"Apologies," the so-called doctor mumbles. "It's possible your parents are still in the Enchanted Forest or another part of our world."

"So that's it?"

"I'm sorry." He shares a glance with Regina, then walks away with a bow of his head.

My parents aren't in Storybrooke. Unless they've developed a formidable talent for evasion and concealment, but I doubt that. How could two people avoid the government? By not having a baby to slow them down, that's how.

"What are you planning to do now?" Regina asks.

Despite my skepticism, I still believe my parents might be in Storybrooke. I bet they're in trouble and found this town to be the best hiding place. I have. They must've committed a crime. I have a Bonnie and a Clyde as parents. That's pretty cool, I guess. Not sure if that's better than how I imagined them, though.

What if Regina's behind all this? What if she told Doctor Whale what to say? They kept exchanging glances, and she wants me gone, after all. She's been terrible to me this whole time, and all of a sudden, she wants to sign for my DNA test? There must be records on my parents at the Town Hall—in her office. I need to have them. But breaking in? Emma will arrest me again.

Since when do I care about rules? What happened to my badass side? I couldn't have become less tough, could I?

I don't want to get hurt. I need walls. I need armor. I'm too vulnerable. Storybrooke wrecked my defenses. All that's left is me. The heart. The queen. The essence. Nothing's guarding me anymore. I have no protection...and no parents.

"I don't know," I say at last. "Excuse me." Dragging my feet, I hide behind a corner in the hall and fold my arms around myself. My body tips and leans on the wall for support while tears stream down my face. I don't want to cry. Not again. I bite my tongue to stop and hold it in, but my jaw spasms, wishing to let out a wail. I bite my tongue harder, then my lip, nails digging into my skin. Maybe the physical pain will drown out the emotional pain. Anything that'll prevent me from releasing the tsunami.

The world is dark. Cold. Empty.

At any moment, my legs could give out from under me. I'd collapse into a heap on the hospital floor, and a maid or janitor would sweep me away and toss me in the dumpster. I'd die in that dumpster. I'm already dying, but now I'm dying on the inside.

Life no longer has any meaning. Everything is one large void, and with each passing second, I sink deeper and deeper into it. It has me by the foot and pulls me in. It says I'll never be happy again. I'm alone.

Completely alone.

That's when I fail, and the sob breaks out of me. I hold my face and weep for how cruel the world is in never giving me what I ask. It never listens. It's made me the girl who dreams of things she can never have. No matter how hard I try, I lose, but this is a thousand times worse. I was so close, and now I'm farther away than ever. It's just not meant to be.

Soft clicks of heels come from behind. I whirl around with a gasp and face Regina.

This is so embarrassing! I must look like a complete wreck. I bet she can't wait to gloat about how she was right. I bet she's going to tell me to leave Storybrooke. I bet—

God! To be crying in front of my enemy! She knows I'm vulnerable. She knows I'm miserable. Enemies love it when you're those things and worse, so they can relish in it, maybe dance around in it, and push you down further. They love to be the ones digging the grave, but they'll never bury you. That means it's over.

"Go ahead. Tell me to leave Storybrooke. That there's no reason for me to stay."

Regina shakes her head. "That's not what I was going to say."

"Then what?" My voice raises with each statement. "My parents aren't in Storybrooke? I think that was made clear the last time."

"No," she asserts, resolute. "What you're going through...It must be hard."

"I wonder what gave that away," I shout, making a solid gesture at my tear-streaked face. I bet mascara's all over it.

"Would you listen?" she snaps. "I'm trying to be empathetic." Since when has she been empathetic? "No matter what, life is going to kick you in the ass, and most times, you're not going to want to get back up, but you have to. You know why? Because one day, your story will serve as someone's guide to survival." I did not expect that. Not from her. But I understand what she's saying.

"Like fairytales," I murmur.

A beat, then Regina says, "Where are you staying?"

"Nowhere. Although, my car should be ready by tonight."

"Why don't you stay with me?"

I lift my wide eyes to her. Has she finally taken pity on a lost girl?

"We have a spare bedroom, and it's yours...if you want it." It was uncomfortable for her to say it, but she said it anyway. Then, she does something more uncomfortable.

She raises and opens her arms with a disgusted look on her face.

Is this an invitation for a hug? I didn't know Regina was capable of hugging. I also didn't think she could help or be empathetic. Full of surprises, this one.

I cry harder and hurry into the embrace, resting my head on her shoulder. With a sniffle and a strained voice, I ask, "Why now?"

"Because you're miserable. And I also don't think you're capable of murder," Regina says, her hands on my back.

"How do you know I didn't do it?"

"Because I know what a murderer looks like."