This? Was being a mother. Because she physically felt her son's pain and she didn't know what to do about it. So when he sat back down, she ignored her instinct that told her not to, that he'd be angry, and wrapped her arms around her son, pulling him close and stroking his wet hair.
"Sweetheart," she murmured softly, "tell them what you told me. All of them. Regina, too. If they want to find any peace? They'll listen. They'll live and let live and maybe that's how we should have been doing it all along."
Gently she kissed the top of his head. "I love you, Henry. We all do. We never meant to hurt you, but I know you have been. You're too young to have to carry all of this on your shoulders." But he did. Every day. All the pressure of being the real savior of Storybrooke. Oh, it was on her to break the curse, fine. But Henry was the one who kept her sane. The one who made people see the truth. Their light, their hope in the dark.
And they'd all taken advantage of it.
"You're so much stronger than all of us, Henry. So very much smarter. And I'm so, so lucky to have you."