A/N: So, the inspiration struck me for this a few weeks ago and I haven't had the time to expand on it until now. And when inspiration strikes, reigning it in is not the best idea. Please note: I am in final year of high school and as such, updates will no doubt be sporadic. That is to say, I may upload day after day and then there may be a gap. Just letting you all know now. As such - This is an AU 'What if?' story, in which 'What if Emma hadn't gone to jail? What if - she had kept Henry?'. No doubt the character's may seem quite OOC at times, please do not attack me over this. Also take note: I am an avid Evil Regal. Regina is and always will be my favourite character. As such, it may seem like I am favouring her. I probably am.

Chapter 1: The Build Up

enthralled, past particle, past tense of en-thrall (verb)

verb:
- to hold spellbound; captivate
- to enslave

For as long as she could remember, Emma Swan had been alone. Her entire life was just an endless abyss of loneliness, of isolation. Rarely did she let herself get close to anyone, nor let anyone get close to her. She was, after all, unwanted. When she was younger, still a part of the foster care system and still forced in to the dreaded line-up, Emma believed in fairytales. In happy endings. It wasn't until she was a teenager, still forced to stand in that line with the younger children who still had a chance, that Emma stopped believing.

Fairytales were just that.

Fairytales.

Being passed over constantly, being handed back after only weeks, being rejected and criticised, took a toll on the young blonde, and she would never forget those days. Even during those weeks she spent sleeping in a box outside some dingy restaurant, after she'd finally left the hell-hole she'd called 'house' for eighteen years, give or take a few months. Curled up in a ball, blocking out the sounds of street rats and passing cars, Emma would remember.

She would remember the creaky floorboards outside her bedroom, the small portions of food, the jabbing of tiny elbows and knocked knees. The foster house she had lived in didn't have much funding, there were at least twenty kids at one time, and only two guardians to look after them all. Most left quickly, the cute ones with the big smiles and hopeful eyes. Emma had been there the longest. Brought in as a newborn, a boy holding her in his small little arms. She never met that boy, for he disappeared just a few weeks after they arrived. Emma had always wondered -

'Who are you?'

- Her questions usually went unanswered, and she had little to remember him by. For eighteen years, Emma had questioned, and for eighteen years, Emma had waited. She was usually passed over. Her normally dirty-blonde hair rarely brushed properly, her baggy clothes and fixed stare, was usually a put off for the families that wandered through. It wasn't Emma's fault. She had just been in the business for too long.

And it was a business.

There were those in charge. The government appointed guardians that maintained the house, and the kids that resided there. Then there were the clients. The parents looking to start or expand their families, their own business'. And then, there were the employers. The kids. The ones who kept the house alive, or as alive as it could be. At eighteen years old, Emma had been Senior Manager. She knew the house, knew the rules, knew the system, like she knew the back of her hand.

That wasn't to say she hadn't been let loose a couple of times. She'd had four families throughout her life. One sent her back because they decided they couldn't handle a baby, it was too early for them and they weren't as prepared as they thought. Another sent her back because the mother had gotten pregnant. Emma was four and threw a tantrum, hiding under the bed until the father had to crawl under and pull her out, quite literally kicking and screaming. The third family had her taken from them, when it was made abundantly clear they only wanted the paycheck that came with her, not her herself. The fourth family - Emma had run from. Twelve years old, and she'd snuck out the back window. It wasn't that they were abusive, just that they were inattentive. She'd gone three days once without dinner, because the last time she'd tried to cook herself she'd burnt her arm on the grill.

This was why Emma hated to cook. This was why Emma knew the system. This was why Emma didn't care.

Fairytales were something children believed in. The idea that everything would resolve itself, with a kiss and a wedding and the words 'they lived happily ever after'. Emma didn't believe in them.

Until Henry.

Eighteen years old, finally free from the clutches of the system, Emma had packed her bag and walked out the front door, barely a glance behind her. She simply strolled through the gate and walked on, down the street, until she couldn't walk anymore. Luckily, she had a good friend she'd met whilst stealing small bars of chocolate from the corner shop two streets away. Neal, a boy who seemed to know a lot about running.

At first, running was perfect. She had all that she needed, even if it wasn't what she wanted. Neal was nice, he looked after on the streets and she did love him. Perhaps was even in love with him. But driving from state to state, stealing food and - keychains - was not the life she wanted. She wanted to be happy, and she was only - content.

When she found out she was pregnant, Emma sat on the bathroom floor of some motel Neal and her had broken in to. Climbing through the window and pretending it was still empty, that the room wasn't occupied. She sat on the tile floor, the stolen pregnancy test in one hand and an unopened bottle of scotch in another, also stolen. She had denied it, unable to believe that she had recklessly allowed this to happen. They'd stolen a box of tissues, for gods sake, why hadn't they stolen a box of condoms?

The denial was soon replaced by elation. She could finally have a family. A child to love like she hadn't been, and Neal. But that elation was soon replaced by resignation. There was no way that she, and consequently Neal, could raise a baby the way they were living. It would be impossible, and unfair. Especially to the baby. So, what did she do? Either she could find a way to better their lives, or she -

No. She wouldn't consider that. She would have to talk to Neal, most definitely. Before she decided anything.

As it had turned out, she never got a chance to tell him. Neal hadn't returned to the motel that night, nor the night after. Emma had climbed in to the yellow bug they'd stolen, driving around the town they'd crashed in. She'd found where he'd hung out, a friend he'd had at the time agreeing to help him find a good place to raid for food. Nick, as it turned out, knew where Neal was. Or rather wasn't.

Neal had run off, leaving Emma alone, broke, and pregnant.

At first, Emma had considered adoption. Giving the baby up. But she'd thought, long and hard, about the life her child could lead. She'd already lived it, the system, remember? She couldn't do that. She couldn't condemn her own child to the life she had had forced upon her. So - she tried.

Being so young, and being pregnant, did seem to have it's perks. She'd managed to scored herself a job waitressing at a diner just out of Talhasse, the place she and Neal had been heading for. It wasn't a very good paying job, but it was a job. That's all that mattered. And she'd made some friends. Joey, the cook. He flipped the food and called out corny jokes through the window the food would sit, waiting for girls like her to pick them up and cart them off to some passing-through customer. Jenny, a red-head older woman with a scratchy voice but never stopped smiling. She had been the one to offer Emma the job, the eighteen year old blonde having huddled herself and her three month showing belly in a booth in the corner of the diner. Two hours and a plate of pancakes later, Emma had a job and a place to sleep, the loft above the diner was free, so long as Emma worked off the rent.

Everything was - fine. Not perfect, but fine. Stable income, stable home - then Henry came.

Fourteen hours in labour, curse words she didn't even know she knew, and a tight hold on Jenny's hand - Henry Swan came screaming in to the world. For a split second, Emma saw light. Held in her arms, fitting just right, Emma was happy. Henry could be her 'happily ever after' - Henry was all she'd need.

And then -

Emma met her.

A/N: As you may have noticed, this was a 'Build Up' to the beginning of our little story. The - 'prelude', if you will.