The wave of relief that rushed through her when he hugged her back was obvious. They were going to be okay. They had to be. She just didn't want him to push her away. He could be angry, furious even. Hurt, worried, anything. But she couldn't help him if he didn't let her in. The rest of the world could go jump off a cliff, so long as she had her little family.
"I was so worried about you," she admitted, pulling back to look into his big brown eyes. Neal's eyes. "I know you were upset. You needed some time to yourself. But let's make a deal, okay? You call me next time. We'll set a time and you can go off on your own. If you're not back by then, I'm coming looking." Because no one knew how much you needed to be alone sometimes like Emma did. Except maybe Neal.
"You're so much like your dad sometimes," she admitted quietly, stroking his wet cheeks with her thumb. "And that's a very, very good thing." Back then, she'd had that foolish optimism, that hope that Henry carried. Most people didn't know it. Most of them only saw the bitter and cynical woman who'd let the world fight against her. But for a brief moment she'd believed the world could be a beautiful place. And she'd spread that to Neal and, apparently in turn, to their beautiful son.