CHAPTER 1

Hi, I'm Finn Hudson. I met the love of my life when I was 15 but this isn't the point of this, the point is—I'm an asshole for not realizing what I had in front of me sooner. So, let's go back to the beginning of 2011, when—well, when everything fell apart.

They'd been fighting—like legitimately fighting, not bullshit fighting like hard out, actual cold slap in the mug, "I wanna piss on everything you own" fighting. Finn can't pin point when exactly everything went wrong, heck he thought everything was fine up until they had dinner and his wife for fifteen years had told him she'd slept with some guy that she worked with, it was bullet through the brain, heart and stomach.

That night, that night was meant to be a night for the two of them to get away. For the two of them to get their spark back, but apparently—she'd already found a new spark. One moment their both laughing and cracking jokes at the waiter's toupe, and the next moment she's telling him that she wants a divorce and that she slept with someone else, (like would you like a salad with that too, Honey?). Finn looked up at his wife, unable to say a word to her, his mind is all over the place, his heart is on the ground and all he can manage is a sarcastic laugh, "Are you fucking kidding me, Santana?" he cocks a brow towards her, "you must be shitting me right now, because if you're not—well…" he stands up, grabbing his coat, and his keys, looking at her once more before waiting for the valet boy to get the car.

Santana runs after him, well—power walks, (she's in stilettos and there's no way in hell was she rolling an ankle or ruining her shoes over him…), she's lucky she catches him before he leaves, she hasn't seen him this angry since well—period, she's never seen him this angry. She grabs his hand, she's not sure what she's doing but she knows she can't let him leave now, especially not with this temper, "Finn…" she whispers almost pleading him. He furious and she can tell, just by the way he's moving, being married to him for fifteen years and she just knows. When he turns to look at her, she's somewhat turned on but at the same time she's kinda sad, "honey…"

"No." he brushes her off, standing his ground, "don't you dare 'honey' me…" he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, "you have the nerve, to go out—need I remind you on our anniversary and tell me that you want a divorce and that you cheated on me?" he glared at her, because honestly, he doesn't know whether to be pissed off at her or to be pissed off at himself.

Santana chews on her bottom lip, looking up into his eyes, "shit…" she gaped, "that was tonight?" she mentally kicked herself as he nodded at her, she knew something else was on tonight and she also knew how much those sort of dates meant to Finn. "Ok, first up, keys…" she motioned, "there's no way in hell would I let you drive our expensive car when you're pissed off as shit…"

Finn rolled his eyes handing over the keys, knowing it was probably a good idea, "You know what, I would even be pissed off as shit if you hadn't just told me what you did." He shrugged his shoulders, getting into the car, "fifteen years…" he muttered.

They're in the car and he hasn't said a word to her since—he's just sitting there, staring blankly ahead and when he does that she tends to ramble and he's the only guy that's been able to do that to her. Every time a word comes out of her mouth, he tends to sink lower and lower into his chair—the more he wants to just open the door, jump out and to hope for the best.

"I slept with Matt Rutherford, I mean—I know it doesn't help, but at least I'm being honest…" she glances at him, chewing her bottom lip.

He shakes his head, putting his fingers in his ears like a four year old child, "lalalalala! Stop talking. I don't want to hear it. Lalalalalala!" he sings. God, he just wished she'd shut up. He didn't want to know who it was or how it happened, telling him who it was, is as bad as telling him what position they did it in and whatever the fuck else they did. He glares at her, threatening to jump out of the car if she didn't stop talking.

In which she didn't.

So he jumped out of the car, and that was the first time that night he remotely forgot about whatever—oh yeah, that's right. Santana fucked some guy named Matt Rutherford. He lays there, face down, on the ground with gravel in places gravel shouldn't be and he just thinks, "Where the hell did I go wrong?"

Santana presses on the breaks, hard. She's a bitch but she did love the guy at some point in her life, and she wasn't just gonna leave him on the street. She reverses slowly, taking extra care not to run him over. She parks the car, jumping out, "are you an idiot?" she muttered, extending out a hand to him.

"I told you to stop talking otherwise I'd jump." He stated blatantly, slapping her hand away and rolling onto his back, groaning. Clearly, he hadn't thought the jump through because he was in serious pain.

Santana looked at him, "look, despite everything, I care about you Finn, so whether you like it or not you're getting back into that car." She pulled him up in one swift movement (for a girl as small as her, well—she was stronger than she looked.)

Finn groaned, "Fine…" he mumbled, "I'll sign whatever papers, and I'll leave tonight—if you just shut up."

She nodded slowly, holding him as he limped his way back into the car, "ok…" she whispered, somewhat hurt, which she knows she shouldn't be because half (or maybe all) of it was her fault. Sue the woman for pursuing a younger man, it's not like she was getting any from Finn anyway, and—well, he just wasn't what she wanted or needed anymore… why are relationships so complicated? She thought.

So that's where that started, fifteen years of marriage and she wanted to get a divorce. I was straight up broken and when you've been in love with the same person for that many years, it's hard to just believe that everything can fall apart so quickly but—still, not the point, I'm still an asshole and the point is that, this doesn't even cover how much of an asshole I am. So, yes, the next couple of months were, different and they were hard.