"Honey, we need to talk."
Santana's heart catches, and a hundred, a thousand things careen through her head, the upshot of most of them being, Shit, she's gonna leave me.
"What is it, Babe?"
"I know we talked about this, and I know all the points you made about independence and self-soothing and schedules and our own private time are valid…"
"Brittany?"
"…and I know you said she'd stop if I just let her work it out on her own…"
Guilty. She's guilty about something? She's fallen in love with another girl? What? How?
"…but she just kept on and kept on and kept on and I thought I was gonna explode, so…"
Alone. I'm gonna be alone.
"…so I—"
Oh. My. God.
"So I gave in. She's in our bed."
"Our bed? Brittany, how could you?"
"Yeah, I'm really sorry, but… she just got so happy and calm and cozy and stopped crying right away and fell asleep. It just seemed cruel not to."
"Brittany, are you in love with someone? I need to know."
"Santana? I'm not following you." Brittany's brow creased. "What's going on?"
"The girl in our bed—"
"—is our daughter."