Chloe's tugging on the hem of Quinn's dress, crying about something her kindergarten teacher told her about, something about the world ending, when the phone rings. Her daughter doesn't stop crying when Quinn picks up.

"Hold on, Mom." Quinn presses the receiver into her shoulder and grabs the five-year-old's hand. "Chloe Noa Hudson, please stop. Mommy is on the phone." The tiny blonde miniature Quinn pouts up at her mother. Quinn turns back to the phone. "Yes, hello?"

"Quinnie?" Her mother's voice is weepy and sniffly and Quinn can't help but roll her eyes skeptically.

"Mom, is everything okay? Is Dave alright?" Her mother's late-in-life second husband had been in the hospital two times already this year for back problems. Quinn knew her mother couldn't take another month of hospital life. There's a sniff from the other end of the phone.

"I just got a call from Ava Puckerman… Noah died in a car accident late last night." Quinn almost drops the phone into the sink, swallowing a thick lump in her throat. She thanks her mom for letting her know and hangs up as Finn walks into the kitchen, scooping up a still weepy Chloe and kissing her cheek.

"Who was on the phone?" Quinn turns, looking up at her husband for a very long moment. His eyebrows raise, but he's patient.

"Puck… died." Finn gives her a look of disbelief before his free arm, the one that's not holding their five-year-old daughter, is wrapping around her and pulling her into him and the tiny family hugs and even Chloe is patting her moms head and she doesn't even know why.

They drive up to Lima from their home in Columbus for the funeral. Finn and Chloe sit on either side of Quinn during the service while she scans the crowd for anyone from their high school days, from Glee club, from football, from Cheerios, anyone. When they're at the gravesite and the casket is being lowered into the ground, Quinn looks past Puck's mom's sobbing form to a car that's parked on the street just outside the graveyard. Santana sits in the driver's seat and Brittany in the passenger and Quinn watches them for a very long time until Santana turns and says something to B, who smiles and kisses her and they drive off.

Quinn doesn't see the Corcoran's until the service is over and everyone's turning to head back to their cars. Shelby stands with her arm around a skinny sixteen year old girl and Quinn's heart stops in her chest because there's no doubt in her mind that that is Puck's daughter. She has straight black hair that falls all the way to her elbows and Quinn stares at her so long that Shelby looks up and sees her and Quinn looks away quickly. But when she glances over her shoulder, the two Corcorans are both watching her and Quinn just wants to run. She picks Chloe up so she can tug Finn back to their car faster.

"Quinn Fabray?" Quinn turns, exasperated, to see a suited older man walking towards them. Finn automatically corrects him.

"She's Quinn Hudson now, actually." The man blinks up at Finn, who's got him by a good three inches, before he nods, turning back to Quinn.

"My apologies… You are Quinn Hudson, though? Ava pointed you out to me." The man gestures to where Puck's mom is shaking hands and receiving condolences. Sarah stands next to her, stone. Quinn nods to the man.

"Yes, that's me. Can I help you?" At her affirmation, the man starts digging around in his bag.

"Yes, my name is Larry Gregson and I'm Noah Puckerman's lawyer. I have a few things for you." Quinn glances up nervously at Finn, gives her a shrug and a reassuring hand on her back. The man pulls out a key, offering it out to her. Quinn takes it. "Mr. Puckerman has chosen to leave his house and everything in it to you, as stipulated in his will." Quinn blinks.

"He what?" Larry Gregson checks his bag again before looking back to her.

"I'm just the lawyer, Mrs. Hudson. The address is on that key ring. There should be a letter there waiting for you, also per the orders of his last will and testament." Quinn shakes her head.

"You… You're sure? Like he wrote that in his will and everything?"

"Yes, so legally the house belongs to you now. I have to go, it's been a pleasure meeting you. Under cloudy circumstances, I suppose." And Larry Gregson nods to Quinn and Finn before turning on his heel, heading back to Puck's mom.

Finn pulls up into the driveway of the house.

"Where are we?" Chloe kicks her church shoes against the base of the back seat impatiently. Finn turns around to give his daughter a reassuring smile.

"Mommy's just gonna go in for a bit and take care of some stuff. Then we'll go back to grandma's and have dinner, okay?" Chloe smiles back at her dad before she looks to Quinn.

"Are you sad about your friend dying, mommy?" Quinn keeps her eyes glued to the house, licking her lips nervously.

"Of course I'm sad, sweetie. But don't worry about me, okay?" She turns, smiling weakly at her daughter before she unbuckles her seatbelt. "I'll just be five minutes." Finn reaches over and squeezes her knee.

"Take all the time you want." Her eyes find his and he nods encouragingly. Quinn takes a deep breath and climbs out of the car.

The house is messy and there are still dishes in the sink and there is a ridiculous checklist on the refrigerator that only says Milk, Fuck that girl who works at the travel agency, Pay electric bill. Quinn walks through the house quickly before she remembers that there was supposed to be a letter waiting for her. She finds it on the coffee table, a manila envelope with her name scribbled on it. She settles onto the couch and opens the envelope carefully. Inside are a few pages of loose leaf paper, a letter clearly written in Puck's blocky, boyish handwriting.

Dear Quinn,

You're supposed to get this letter at my house. Like, I specifically told Larry to leave it for you on the coffee table. If he didn't do that… well, I don't know what I'll do because if you're reading this letter, I'm dead. I guess I'll see him in hell.

So, yeah. I'm dead. If I have any luck at all, it was painless and badass. And if it wasn't badass, can you like tell people that I died saving orphans from a burning building or doing stunts on my bike or something? I mean, obviously everyone is Lima is gonna know the truth but when you go home to Columbus (that's where you live now, right? Columbus?), tell everyone you were at the funeral for a friend of yours who died jumping through a hoop of fire or some shit. I trust you.

I miss you, Q. I guess that's why I decided to leave the house and all my junk to you because I know you don't need money and you're married to Hudson by now probably, well last I heard you were engaged and knocked up so congrats on that I guess. Hopefully Hudson won't ruin your baby. He doesn't have the handsome genes that I do. But, yeah I miss you. And I know you probably don't think of me that often, which is okay cause I don't think about you like every second of the day and I get tail pretty regularly, but I guess by leaving you my house I'm kind of forcing you to think about me. Pretty clever, right?

I hope you saw Beth at my funeral. Shelby probably took her. It was Shelby's idea, writing this will and shit. I made sure Beth got a little something, so don't worry about that. And don't think I'm fucking Shelby either, gross. She's hot but she's Beth's mom.

Beth is so amazing, Quinn. I really wish you were here to spend more time with her. She loves to draw like you used to and I take her for rides on my bike. Shit, don't let anyone read this, Shelby doesn't know about that. I love her so much and she does these little things that remind me of you and… fuck, Q, I miss you so much. Whenever I'm around her I just wanna call you up and thank you for even having her in the first place.

I know this is a weird time to say this, but I just remembered I had the best sex dream about you the other night. Fuck, it was so hot. We were in the back of my truck, the one I had in high school, and you were riding me just like you used to and your tits looked fucking amazing. Goddamn, Hudson is stupid but he's a lucky guy. I know you're probably rolling your eyes, but you're the one who said no to marrying me. I'm not mad though, so don't worry.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy the house. I mean, it's a piece of shit but you can probably fix it up and sell it or whatever. Or you don't have to… you know, whatever you want.

I miss the way you smell. I forgot to write that earlier. But yeah, I miss it. Like hairspray and laundry, all sexy and shit.

I really did love you,

Puck