Of course. She hadn't been kidding when she'd told Graham that Henry had been quiet since the whole argument had gone down. Who was she kidding, what argument? It had been an all out blood bath. Even she had walked away, and it wasn't like Emma Swan to back down from a fight. But she'd had to or she'd only be more angry, more hurt.
Sighing, she reached out, lightly touching the hair at the back of Henry's neck. Still baby soft, as it had been when she'd briefly touched her son before handing him over. "I don't know, kid," she admitted, her voice soft. "I know it isn't good. I do. And I've tried to forgive her and move past it, even when others can't." Her eyes closed and she dropped her hands back to her lap. She knew when she was angry she didn't want to be touched. Neal hadn't either. Odds were, neither would Henry. Though she had no idea how starved for attention he might have been growing up.
"I'm okay with people giving her a chance. It's when they tell me to that I get angry. I can't, Henry. You know that, don't you? I wish I could. For you, for your grandmother. I'd love to be able to just turn off the switch on all my anger but I can't." And it scared her. It scared her more to admit that to her son. She wasn't an evil, hateful person. She tried not to be.