I stretch and yawn, waking up to this glorious morning with sunlight streaming in from the window. A clean, floral scent emanates from my pillow, and I inhale. The familiar and comforting strains of "Only You" drift in from the living room, and my heart flutters with joy. The lyrics engulf me, and the soothing melody transports me to a place where I'm free and relaxed. I can't believe I let a single day go by without waking up to this song. How dare I wake early or sleep in and miss it? Damn you, Depression!

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I awake to utter contentment. It fills me with warmth and glee. No fear, no anxiety, no judgment—just me and the music. I smile and bask in the moment, allowing myself to enjoy the simple pleasure of being alive.

Visions, do your worst.

Moving briskly to the kitchen, where Emma makes scrambled eggs, I hum along to the song. "Morning," I chirp.

"You're different today," Emma comments.

"That's because I had a great time last night."

"I thought you'd be dead tired. We were out 'til one in the morning."

I open the fridge and find a brand new carton of chocolate milk. It has a note stuck to the front that says:

𝐸𝓃𝒿𝑜𝓎 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓂𝑜𝒸𝒽𝒶!

-𝒩𝑒𝒶𝓁

A larger smile forms on my face. No one's ever remembered a minor detail about me. I must be on top of the world today. Life has never been better. Who knew a carton of chocolate milk could make such a huge impact? It's the little things, I guess. They add up.

"I could've lasted 'til they kicked us out." I grab the carton and a mug, then pour myself some coffee.

"What're you doing?" Emma asks when I add the chocolate milk to my cup.

"Making coffee."

"With chocolate milk?"

"It's called a mocha, Swan."

"Duly noted." She takes the eggs off the burner with a bemused grin. After shutting off the stove, she sighs and leans her back against it, arms crossed. "Listen. Mary Margaret told me what you said."

I come back down to Earth and face her.

"We're both proud of how far you've come since you've arrived in Storybrooke."

I smile because I'm proud of myself, too. It's been quite a journey, and I'm still going. That's why I belong here. I've finally found a place where people care about me. I've found my family.

"I tried to leave town, too," Emma continues. "I didn't believe Henry when he told me about the curse and me being the Savior. I know it's hard to be open to all of this, but you handled it pretty well for your age. Much better than me, that's for sure." She grins.

"Thanks for saying that. Before Storybrooke, everyone treated me with such hostility. I always thought I must've done something wrong, but I never did. You guys haven't treated me like that here."

Emma angles her head, an ashamed expression on her face.

"Much," I say. "But it's okay. Henry's incredibly lucky to have you as his mom."

She gives a coy smile. "I'm sorry for not helping to find yours."

"That's okay. I always thought I needed my parents to be happy, but...I am happy. In fact, I'd like to stay in Storybrooke."

Emma tilts her head, weighing my decision. "You'd have to take that up with Regina. She's the only one who can give you citizenship."

"To stay here, I'd take it up with my foster parents. And that's saying a lot."

She exhales, then says, "Welcome to Storybrooke."

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else." I take a sip of my mocha, excited to see what my new life holds.

After draining the rest of her black coffee, Emma says, "Alright, I'm gonna head out."

"Before breakfast?"

She grabs a piece of toast from a small dish on the counter. "I'll take it with me." She walks to the door, saying, "Someone has to be at the station in case anyone reports another sighting."

"It's dead, Emma."

She looks back at me, her hand on the doorknob. "That doesn't mean there aren't more out there. Later." And she's gone.

I scrape the eggs off the pan and slide them onto a plate for Mary Margaret and David. Moving produce around in the fridge to grab butter for the toast, I reveal an envelope at the back.

It has my name on it.

My hand clenches around a jar of marinara sauce as I glare at the letter. I'm done playing this stupid game. Whoever's leaving me these notes has to stop. It needs to end. I'm not interested. They're threatening, not sweet, and I won't let them interfere with my good moments.

I snatch the envelope and rip it to shreds.

* * *

Granny's is not just a diner. It's a fantastic place to meet up with people. It's like a common room—a lounge. There's food, drinks, tables, chairs, friends, and music. What more could anyone ask for? I've been alternating my order to find out which is best, but everything's incredible. The chocolate chip pancakes, grilled cheese, French toast, and even the bagels.

Inside, Delilah sits in a booth, her hair in its natural, corkscrew state, and she wears a baseball shirt with long midnight blue sleeves. I beeline straight to her table.

"Hey," she says.

"How's your internship going? Now that..."

"It's going. I mean, I like it, but it'd be nice if they gave me responsibilities other than running errands and stalking people to get stories."

"They make you stalk people?"

"It sucks, but I do my best not to. Instead, I'll make myself a part of the story to get the angle of a witness."

I think back to my list and mind map. If I'm going to stay here, I might as well try to accept everything. But how? "What am I supposed to do?" I say.

"What do you mean?"

"I've seen some unexplainable things since I came to Storybrooke. Flying monkeys. Henry's book shooting...something at me. Bears that cuddle up with sixteen-year-old girls."

"I talked with Hortense. She's calmer now that she remembers me."

"How am I supposed to respond to that?"

She shrugs, then takes a drink of orange juice. The straw makes a slurping sound, and her shoulders rise until the glass is half empty. "Storybrooke's weird. Once you come to terms with that, everything seems normal."

Normal, my ass. "So I've heard. But what if what Henry and all of you said about magic is true? How do I find out what else is? What other secrets does Storybrooke have that I need to know about?" I give Ruby a smile when she passes by with a tray.

"That's a question for Regina," Delilah says.

"I'm not talking to Regina," I say, crossing my arms. I don't care how many times she's helped me. I still don't trust her. I bet the only reason she arranged the DNA test was to get me out of Storybrooke faster, and it almost worked. And the reason she cleared my name...I don't know why she did that. It surprised me, especially when she made the town riot against her instead. I'll never forget that. "I have to figure it out alone or with your and Hook's help. If magic is real, so could the fact that my parents are here."

"But what about the test results?" Delilah flicks her smudgy, black-lined eyes to a waitress who spills coffee on the counter when Floyd shouts an order.

"Screw them. My parents have to be in Storybrooke. I want to find them, but whether they're here or not...I'd like to stay in town."

Delilah's face lights up like a Christmas tree. "Like live here?"

"If you'll have me," I say, arms open.

"Yes, please. Then we'd get to hang out all the time."

"I have to ask the Nolans if they'll let me stay at their apartment first. And hopefully, Granny will give me a job here."

"That's a great idea. Granny's is always short-staffed."

"But I have to think up a plan for how I'd make it all work. And I need to figure out what I'd do if the system ever finds me here."

"They won't. I already told you."

"That's if magic exists. If it doesn't, they can still find me. I need to prepare and have a backup plan. Like, would I hide somewhere in town until they leave? Do I move around like an outlaw?"

"That won't happen."

"I hope not. I'll see you later." I point behind me with my thumb. "I have to get my breakfast."

"Café later?"

"Of course. I'd never say 'No' to that." I smile, then go to the counter as Granny scolds the waitress and cleans the mess she made with an old rag.

Since she's here, I should stay and keep Delilah company. It should, without a doubt, be a good moment. And we can work out more of the details about how I'm going to stay in town. She could tell me about the high school and its teachers, classes, and clubs. She could tell me all the teenage hotspots besides the café. Ah, living here's gonna be fun.

"Hey, Granny. Can I get a chocolate and a butter croissant warmed up, please? Oh—And throw in a piece of coffee cake to go. Mary Margaret loves that stuff."

"Of course she does. I make it from scratch." Granny tosses the dishrag into a bin.

"Thank you, but now that I have your attention, do you think hiring another waitress is possible? Me, for example?" I pop my leg up behind me and tilt my head with a smile.

"I've already got waitresses."

The waitress gives me an "I'm better than you" grin as she and Granny leave the counter. Granny buses a table, putting its glasses, plates, and utensils into the bin.

I say, "But you've only got one or two working a full shift, and it can get real busy around here."

"Thanks for the input, but I don't need another waitress."

"She doesn't need another waitress," the bitch says, passing me with the coffeepot.

"No one asked you."

Granny goes from the table to back behind the counter.

"What about a hostess?"

"People seat themselves," Granny says dryly.

"The kitchen! I can help cook."

"You can cook?"

"I can boil a pot of water. You know, for like pasta? And toast—I can make toast. Pancakes."

She looks at me with disapproval.

"I said I can cook. I didn't say I was a gourmet chef."

"Sorry, but I don't need extra help." Granny swipes her pad and pen off the counter and goes to take orders.

Sliding onto a stool, I glance down at my hands, my fingers fidgeting with an unused napkin on the grey countertop. There'll be other opportunities, as Delilah said. I could apply for a job at the café or the boutique. Jim's, even. Hmm...Maybe I could start my own business. A songwriting business. Perhaps Granny's needs a jingle. Or live music. There's no stage, but I could work with the jukebox's alcove at the back. A microphone stand and a speaker in the archway's center would look nice.

Oh, wait. That'll block the kitchen door. How would Granny and Ruby get in? Do they have to go into the kitchen? Maybe they could solely receive dishes from the service window on the nights I perform. And Floyd can cook without Granny's help, I'm sure.

Ruby sets a plate in front of me, pulling me from my thoughts. "Here you go, Bella. French toast just how you like it."

I offer a weak smile, grateful for the distraction. "That was fast." Wait. I didn't order French toast. And if I had, it did come out too fast. "Did you expect me to come here?"

"It's part of taking care of my regulars." It hits me—I've become a regular at Granny's. I've been a loyal customer for fourteen days, some of which I've returned for more than one meal. I've even been coming here to talk to people and relax my mind. And I'm not sick of it. I keep coming back...just like a local. "And nice try, by the way."

"Is she always that stubborn?"

"You haven't seen the half of it."

I look at Delilah over my shoulder, my heart yearning for normalcy and fun. "Thanks," I say to Ruby, planning to take my plate of golden, syrup-drenched French toast back to Delilah's booth 'cause she has to try this deliciousness. I want to embrace the moment and enjoy good company.

However, before I head over, Ruby says, "Someone left this for you." In her hand is another letter—a plain white envelope with my name scrawled across the front in black ink.

My heart skips a beat as I take the envelope from Ruby's outstretched hand. "Who was it? Do you know who left it here?" I ask, my voice trembling with anxiety.

Ruby's lips tighten into a fine line, unsure. "Granny said it was here on the counter earlier. She didn't see who left it." A wave of frustration washes over me. I've been receiving these mysterious letters for five days now, and I still have no idea who the sender is.

I stick the envelope in my back pocket and put a smile on my face as I slide into Delilah's booth. Out of sight, out of mind, except it's still on my mind with it being out of sight. I don't know what to do or who to tell. The sender could be anybody. It could be this girl in front of me, Granny, Ruby, Henry, Regina trying to scare me, Leroy, Gold, or someone I've yet to meet. Whoever's behind these letters, I'm going to find them and end their twisted game once and for all.