There were a lot of things Santana Lopez hated.

Animals for one thing, particularly large animals that could kill her without a second thought. They were hairy and smelly and too high maintenance for someone with a busy schedule.

Her father for another. That one was probably higher up on her list of hated things actually. She didn't know the man, not even his name, and she didn't care. She didn't have to know him to know the story of how she'd come to be. Santana's mother, Maribel Lopez, was a loving woman who worked too hard for too little. She'd been so young when the man who was Santana's father came into her life, swept her off her feet, slept with her, and took off again. A young romantic blinded by the stars in her eyes, that's what her abuela said with all the scorn of an old Catholic woman who was angry with her daughter's life choices. And as much as she loved her mother, Santana quietly agreed.

For as long as Santana remembered, it had been only them. Her mother worked three part-time jobs while raising Santana on her own, something that she'd grown up both loving and hating about the older woman. While Santana had admired her need to take care of them both herself, she hated seeing her bust her ass for next to nothing. More, she hated how tired she was all the time and how hard she tried to hide it from her with a smile and a wave. Santana vowed that when she was old enough, she would make it so that Maribel would never have to work for anything again.

So that's what she did. She worked and pushed and broke through barriers until she became what she'd always wanted to be- a well-known and well-loved actress. It started with small side roles, little parts that earned her next to nothing. But she never settled, never said that was enough, and it wasn't long before she took Hollywood by storm. People respected her (or, you know, maybe feared her. Either way worked). More, she did a damn good job. There were so many awards lining her shelves now, shining statues that showed her accomplishments to the world.

She got her mother a nice apartment not too far from her own. Modest, but nice, and she didn't have to work three jobs to keep it. She didn't have to work any jobs to keep it. Everything was going just how she'd always wanted them to go and for that Santana was grateful. Life was good. Life was perfect.

And then her mama got sick.

/

"You look tired, mija." Santana gave her mother a quick smile, her shoulder lifting as she looked down between them at the hand she held. When had Maribel become so frail? Her fingers felt thin beneath Santana's and she was almost afraid she would break her even with just the gentle way she held them.

She looked up again only to find her mother watching her, smile warm despite how much older she seemed. It was like Maribel had aged ten years in two weeks. And yet she continued to comfort her daughter, continued to understand her in a way no one else ever had. There were a lot of people in Santana's life now, but she never let any of them get too close. Only her mama. She was all Santana needed. "I'm fine, mama. There's just been a lot going on."

Maribel gave her a sympathetic smile, her hand flipping beneath Santana's to give it a gentle squeeze. "The press, they've been bothering you, si? Not letting my poor girl sleep even though her mama is sick." Well, because her mama was sick, but Santana wasn't about to talk about the number of people shoving microphones in her face hoping to hear that Maribel's condition had worsened so they could get the scoop on her grieving. Bastards.

Santana lifted her mother's hand and pressed her hand to her cheek, a sigh escaping as the familiar gesture soothed her. "Don't worry about them, mama. I'm handling it."

Maribel nodded, smiling again as she patted her daughter's cheek lightly. "Of course you are. My Santanita always handles everything for herself." She was quiet a moment before sighing and pushing up slightly in bed, struggling to sit up despite Santana's protests. "Don't coddle me," she snapped. "I'm sick, but I'm not a weak old lady who can't even manage to sit up in bed." Breathing a bit harder, Maribel stealed herself and looked towards her daughter. "You can't do everything alone."

Santana shook her head. "I know, mama. That's why I do it with you, right?"

"Santana... I am sick. I think..." She sighed. "I think it is time you met your father." The young actress stared at her mother, uncomprehending. Her father? Why would she want to meet a man who didn't want her? "I haven't been completely honest with you about him."

"You told me he didn't want to be a father," she said slowly.

Maribel's eyes were wet and pleading. "Please try to understand why I did this. Please."

Her heart beating fast, Santana took a step back from the bed. "Did what?"

"Santana... He didn't know I was pregnant."