She tensed. Then breathed. Inside she could hear faint murmuring and the scraping of metal against hardwood, making her insides churn.
She hadn't been here since graduation, and even then the momentous occasion was overshadowed with the fact that no one was there to take her picture, shower her with flowers, or brag to their friends about how proud they were of her daughter. Her valedictorian speech was flat and distant, eloquently worded with all the right pauses and token memories, but her eyes were clouded as she stared out into the crowd where none of the faces staring back at her were familiar enough to call her own.
Her heart hammered in her chest. She couldn't do this. She wasn't grieving, Emma wasn't d—just not here right now. As soon as she turned around, a soft aged voice called to her from the doorway. "Mayor Mills."
Her back was rigid, and she thought if she stayed still perhaps the intruder would leave her alone, but against her better judgment, she straightened her coat, flipped her hair, and turned slowly. "Mr. Borelli."
"Please, here you may call me Marco. Are you coming inside?" She hesitated at the older man whose accented voice reminded her of Daddy and how patient and kind he had been. He noticed her falter and smiled. "Perhaps another time?"
She shook her head and took a step forward. "I suppose I can make time right now."
He smiled widely and held the door open for her before closing it behind them. Together they walked silently down the auditorium steps toward the stage where a circle of metal chairs were stationed in the middle, seats already occupied by who Regina believed to be regulars, though she didn't focus on their faces. Instead, the pattern of carpeted stairs that had always been a strange burgundy despite the fact that their school colours were black and red. She almost laughed at the ripped carpet that tore away from the edge of a middle step that had been there for as long as she could remember. Kathryn had met David tripping over the fabric. Her friend should have taken that fall as a sign for imminent doom.
The faint smell of coffee wafted in the air as they approached the stage, and when Regina looked up at Marco's proffered hand to help her up the steps, she could see the refreshment table placed just off to stage left. The urge to duck her head when the group watched her ascend was strong, but refusing to show weakness had been so deeply ingrained in her that she held her chin up and took the first vacant seat in front of her.
The group was small, only four in attendance and headed by Marco, who had taken a seat opposite Regina, his chair pushed outward just a little bit so he could better see the group. Two empty seats over to her right was a blonde man Regina had only seen in passing, both at Henry's daycare and when her mayoral duties had called her out to the forest where the lumberjack would demonstrate and explain how they were repopulating Storybrooke's forest after chopping down the trees for trade.
Three seats over to her left was a man whose head was cupped in his hands, his palms trembling in his dark brown hair. He sat up, and Regina frowned when she recognized him as Jefferson Hatter, little Paige's father. Henry's class had sent home a note notifying parents of Alice Hatter's death from a car accident. Regina had sent flowers as condolences but couldn't quite bring herself to ship the lasagna she had made over when she imagined the blonde woman in her casket.
The only other woman in attendance sat next to Marco, a dark-skinned woman a few years older than Regina herself, her face impassive as she stared straight ahead. Regina wasn't familiar with her or her story, but judging by the night ahead of her, she would soon find out.
"Thank you for coming tonight," Marco began. "The new faces here bring a smile to my face, not for your loss, but for your strength."
Regina flinched and cast her eyes downward.
"It's never easy, losing a loved one, and sometimes the journey requires more help than we're used to asking. But that's why we're here. For the sake of our newcomers, I'll start today off." Marco leaned back, recalling Maria, his wife he had lost to Alzheimer's twenty-five years ago. He was sterile, and she loved him. She forgot him, and he loved her. But not a day went by that he didn't miss her, think of her, pray for her.
Regina was familiar with the old man's tale, but as soon as the floor opened up to more speakers, she suddenly felt her palms sweat and avoided everyone's gaze like a student who hadn't done the homework assignment.
Jefferson was the next to go. Regina was vaguely familiar with the fact that he had been court-ordered to attend therapy sessions after he was found overdosed in his home. Paige was in the care of close neighbours, and Jefferson was still picking up the pieces of his life. He spoke briefly, saying how he was slowly making peace with the loss, but Regina had a feeling he was attempting to speed up his recovery in order to get custody of his daughter back.
Thankfully the lumberjack, Robin, he introduced himself as, began to speak as he leaned his elbows onto his knees. "I know I usually come back around this time. Marian's anniversary was two months ago. My wife, she's been gone for nearly four years now. It's just me and my boy. She died three days after his birth. Complications with the delivery. Roland never got to properly meet his mother. Sometimes we look at pictures together, but his face doesn't show quite the same recognition as it does with other people. He knows it's her though. Every year that's passed, I promise myself that this year I'll be able to spend her anniversary at home with Roland, remembering her, but the days leading up to it feel as if there's a brick settled on my chest. It's not fair to Roland since his birthday is right next to it, but we're doing our best."
Regina glanced up to meet his eye, knowing all too well the emotions the man was going through. He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it further before continuing.
"Roland started school this year. I almost didn't get out of bed on that first day because I knew Marian was supposed to be by our side, snapping all the pictures and embarrassing him. Roland breezed right through it, and he came home ecstatic, showing me all the drawings he did and pointing out new friends and teachers while we're out."
"What about you?" Marco interrupted. "How are you handling going through milestones with your son without Marian by your side?"
"I feel like I'm cheating her memory, to be honest," Robin explained.
"Why do you feel that way?"
"Because how can you be happy when your loved one is dead." Regina hadn't realized she spoke until four pairs of eyes were on her.
Marco smiled encouragingly at her and nodded his approval. "Regina, would you like to share now?"
Usually the brunette would scold anyone who didn't use her honorific, but here, she knew she couldn't hide beneath the mask of Storybrooke's Mayor. No power was held here, and she couldn't bark at anyone to get her out of share time. These people, they were, for lack of a better word, grievers like her.
"You don't have to," Marco quickly reassured. "Sometimes it helps the soul to just listen."
She shook her head and sat up straight, folding her arms over her midsection. "I suppose I can contribute."
Public speaking had been her forte since she was a child. Her twisting words charmed her teachers and seduced her classmates and made her adversaries fall weak. But her arsenal was failing her as the four members watched on carefully. With a shaky breath, she directed her speech to Marco who waited patiently.
"I assume there are no introductions needed," she began with the last strain of superiority she could muster before rolling her eyes at the older man's pointed gaze and conceding. "My name is Regina, and I lost my girlfriend almost two years ago." Her hand darted to the circle necklace dangling there as she rubbed the pendant with her thumb in slow methodic circles. "Emma. Her name was Emma."