Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time

I

Emma gently pulled her shirt over her head to inspect her stomach. Her fingers probed her abdomen, wincing when they landed on a particularly nasty bruise. No broken ribs. This time, a voice in her head mocked her.

Henry, her seven year old son, was sleeping soundly in his room. Turning, she walked into the bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as it would go. The hot water would relax her muscles and hopefully soothe some of the pain.

Sighing as she stepped underneath the water, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the cool tiles. Her body silently shook with sobs as her mind wandered to where exactly she went wrong. She couldn't figure it out. She thought this was exactly what he wanted. She'd quit her job. She was able to stay at home with her son. She didn't understand what exactly was wrong. She didn't understand what she did wrong to wind up here, with him.

But something was. And she couldn't deny it any longer. Shaking her head she finished showering and stepped out, wrapping the thick towel around her body tightly. When she looked at her reflection in the mirror she didn't even recognize the person staring back at her.

Gone was the fierce bail bondsperson who threw a man three times her size across a table after chasing him six city blocks in four inch heels, into a fancy restaurant. Gone was the single mother raising her little boy by herself. Gone was the woman who fought tooth and nail to keep her job even though she was marrying one of the biggest names in the oil industry, Walsh West, and he was determined to just take care of her. Gone was the woman who fought her way through and out of the foster care system and made a name for herself even after being utterly destroyed by Neal Cassidy.

Instead all that was left was the shell of woman. Left was the subservient wife of an oil tycoon who was probably fucking his secretary, Zelena. Left was the woman who spent her time worrying that her husband would possibly take his anger out on her son. Biting her lip, twenty-five year old Emma West made a decision. They were leaving.

They were leaving before he got back form work and they were never coming back.