Hey there! So, I just finished finals and felt like I needed to write something. I decided it'd be interesting to write a one-shot from Santana's mom's POV. For those of you who read the start of Socially Unconventional, don't worry I'm going to start that one up now that I've got a 3 week break! Senior year of college is ROUGH. For now, I'm just throwing this up. I wrote it real quick and didn't have time to look over it. The Spanish is lacking accents and probably accuracy haha but I felt like it was necessary so SORRY I'M NOT SORRY.

Enjoy!

3 Ash

I already knew. Like it wasn't obvious? The way she looked at her was proof enough – like she'd jump in front of a bus for her, a bullet, off a freaking cliff. And then every touch she gave to her was so delicate, something so different than everything I've ever known from her. She's hard and cold and can tear anyone down to absolutely nothing with just a few words, including me. I've taken it though, because I know I haven't been around much and she's grown so bitter because of it. But when she's with her things are different. There's a light in her eyes, an ease in her step. It's like suddenly breathing looks more natural for her.

Not to mention the sleepovers. I'd do anything to erase the things I've heard, the memories of the banging headboard and the "silent" screams - my daughter, of course never knowing when to shut her mouth. Those, not something I'd ever wish to have discovered one midnight snack too many. However, it was the words that came with it that made me smile, not knowing if it was wrong or not to do so.

I held my water in my hand on the way back up the stairs, passing her bedroom. After the loud moan I heard, I rolled my eyes and began to walk more quickly in hopes to get out of this incredibly uncomfortable situation as soon as possible. That was until what I heard after, that made me stop in my tracks.

My daughter's voice was wavering. It sounded so broken, but so hopeful at the same time.

"I… I love you, Brittany. So much. And I am so sorry for not being able to express that in front of everyone…. I want to, I want to so bad I just…"

I could tell she was crying from the way she choked out the words, barely above a whisper.

"Shh babe it's okay, I know. I love you, too. Whenever you're ready, I'm ready."

I stood in silence for a second; soaking in what I had just heard before the sounds of lips meeting and sheets rustling broke through the air. I decided that I was officially intruding on a moment that I shouldn't be (nor did I in any way want to be) a part of. The words floated through my mind though, as I pieced together the meaning.

This whole time, I had thought it was just some physical phase they were going through. I mean Brittany's just… such a friendly person I figured it was just a few moments of weakness and teenage hormones. But love?

That's the moment it all clicked. Of course they were in love; the pinky links; the foot rubs that too often turned into shin rubs, thigh rubs, then God only knows what; the innocent winks they'd throw each other across the room; the mysterious missing hands that found their home somewhere under the kitchen table during dinner. How could I not realize how much more there was to it? That wasn't sexual desire, that was longing and genuine want and need. That was love. It always has been.

So as I sit here at the same kitchen table that has hidden their love for years and look into my daughter's tear-filled and terror-stricken eyes, I can't help but wonder how I let it get this hard for her; how I let my work come before my daughter's obvious cries for help; how I didn't tell her it was all going to be okay so much earlier.

"Mom… mami… madre… I-I… "

"I know."

She looks bewildered, exhausted, confused. She simply looks up at me with furrowed eyebrows and tilts her head in a way that makes her look like a lost puppy and I force myself not to smile because of it.

"Wh-what?"

"I know, mija. I know about you and Brittany."

I watch as she breaks down completely in front of me. She's shaking and it's breaking my heart into pieces.

"But I-"

I don't let her continue for fear it will break her… break me… break us. Instead, I wrap my arms around her and pull her head to my chest the way I did when she was a child and I forgot how complete I feel when holding the one person I love more than anything in this world; my baby.

"Esta bien, mija. Amor es amor y te amo. Always. Esta bien."

I stroke her hair and whisper these words to her. I rock her back and forth until she begins to relax in my arms. I pull back and cup her cheeks in my hands, wiping the tears away in the process.

"I love you for everything that you are. I am so proud of you for the beautiful young woman you are growing into. I'm so sorry I haven't been there. I'm here now, mija. Lo siento, Santana. I'm here now."

I don't hear a response – merely feel the impact of my daughter pummeling me with a hug I know neither of us ever want to let go of. In this moment I know that, even when she let's go of me, I will never let go again.