Letter Thirty

It's been a month, and it still hurts, it still hurts so fucking much, but today Sam is able to think about repairing the hole in his wall.

The hole is in that slim stretch of wall between the nightstand and the headboard, the first place his fist landed from his perch on the edge of the bed. He knows it can be filled in easily, and painted over, but he feels a bizarre fondness for this hole. Maybe it's because this is the first trophy of his own fierce anger, which he never even knew he was capable of, or maybe it's just that it seems patently unfair somehow that there are things you can fix so easily, and others you simply can't.

He is only thinking about this at all because he has reached the last letter, marked neatly as such on the outside of the envelope—the word Thirty, written out in Quinn's lovely, elegant printing that verged on the edge of cursive. This one, he realizes, he has actually seen her write, hunched over in her hospital bed with her blonde hair falling between them to hide her words.

"What's that, babe?" he'd asked, his voice warped and wobbling, because at that point, he knew in his heart that she was leaving him.

She smiled up at him, still so incredibly beautiful, even though LAM had stripped her cheeks of color, thinning her lips and dulling the shine of her eyes. "Later," she mouthed, since the oxygen mask over her face prevented easy speech.

Sam knows now what took her from him, knew what she had struggled with in secret for over three weeks. Lymphangioleiomyomatosis, or LAM, is a lung disease which is often misdiagnosed as asthma, and slowly crept through his wife's lungs.

At first, it was things that Sam doesn't hate himself for overlooking—shortness of breath, coughing. In the end, she was coughing up blood, and fluid accumulated around her lungs.

She collapsed while he was at work, and by the time he'd reached the hospital, she was already hooked up to several machines that were laboring to keep her alive. The first thing she did when she saw Sam was smile at him, and it almost took his knees out from underneath him.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice cracking. "Why didn't you tell me, Quinn?"

Quinn just shook her head, clasping his hands between hers with a pleading expression on her face, which spoke volumes. Not right now, it said. Not now.

So he held her hands, and spoke with her doctors, and asked Judy to bring the kids to see their mother.

Upon seeing her, Lily burst into tears, hiding her face in Judy's neck. Chris's lower lip trembled dangerously, but he didn't cry. Quinn gathered them onto the bed with her, and it was the only time Sam saw her break down, tears creeping from the corners of her eyes to drip off her chin and into her children's hair.

After they left, she raised her hand and fit her palm precisely to the contours of his cheek, as if they had been made for each other, for this touch. This gesture was just as eloquent as the expression on her face has been earlier.

I love you.

I'll miss you.

I'm so sorry.

She slipped into a coma four hours later, and by the time the sun set, she was gone.

Today, Sam buys spackle and paint. He fills in the hole and paints it over before he notices that the color he chose and the color of the wall is ever so slightly different, standing out form the original color like a bruise that has not quite faded yet.

It's fitting.

When his tools are put away, he places a few calls to a select group of people. He asks them to bring a few things, though specifically what they bring is up to them. And then he goes into the living room, where Chris and Lily are watching cartoons.

"Hey, guys," he says, and they look up at him, their sweet little faces shining like beacons in the light from the television. "What do you say we go visit Mommy?"

By the time they reach the cemetery, the rest of them are already there. Puck and Rachel stand with their son, who is a carbon copy of his father but has the high-flying dreams of his mother. Brittany and Santana, with their own children, twins Elias and Elena. Judy.

The rest of them, their beloved glee club, could not make it, but Sam knows they would be here if they could. The thought alone is comforting.

He has his guitar slung across his back, and Lily on his hip. Chris clings to his right hand.

"Ready?" he says, and they all nod.

They reach the headstone, and Rachel moves forward first. She tucks a playbill from Wicked against the headstone. "It was the first play we saw when she came to visit me," she says quietly. "I—I thought it was fitting. She was my Galinda."

Santana and Brittany have brought a joint gift, a picture of the three of them, their arms slung around each other's necks and their smiles as wide as the sky. Brittany is crying too hard to speak, so Santana says, "You can't break up the Unholy Trinity, Q. Not ever."

Judy is empty-handed except for the tiny gold cross, its chain entwined around her fingers, which she presents to Sam. "For Lily," she says, and then: "I couldn't choose just one thing. Too many memories. Too much life."

She lays her hand against the headstone and smiles bracingly at Sam. "Your turn."

Sam pulls his guitar forward and begins to play, to sing, though his voice is choked.

Never knew I could feel like this, like I've the sky before…want to vanish inside your kiss, every day I love you more and more.

Rachel starts laughing and crying at the same time, wrapping a supportive arm around Sam's waist. Puck bites his lip viciously, but he embraces Sam too, layering his arm on top of his wife's.

Listen to my heart, can you hear it sing, telling me to give you everything? Seasons may change, winter to spring, but I love you until the end of time. Come what may, come what may, I will love you until my dying day.

By the time he nears the end of the song, everyone is touching him somehow—the Puckermans hold him, the Lopez-Pierces each have a shoulder. Judy has her hand along the back of his neck, and the children hold on to his legs.

There's no mountain too high, no river too wide. Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side. Storm clouds may gather and stars may collide, but I love you until the end of time.

It feels like it's raining, the way their tears are soaking into him. He's crying too, but there are only a few chords left, so he finishes.

Suddenly, the world seems such a perfect place…come what may, come what may, I will love you until my dying day.

God, it still hurts, it still feels like some ax has torn his body apart, like someone has ripped something vital away from him and left him battered and bleeding and begging for salvation. And yet…it's a little better. Not much, not enough to fix this, because nothing can really fix this, but it's a tiny step to a place where he and his family, his blood family and his glee club family, can even begin to heal.

With their arms around him, their gifts to Quinn fluttering in the breeze, it's enough to convince him that someday, things will be okay.

/

Dear Sam,

This will not be a letter as much as it will be a list—a list of things I want you to remember, that I beg of you to remember, even though it is incredibly selfish of me to ask this of you.

Remember our first wedding anniversary, where you thought it would be romantic to bake for me, and bring me dessert in bed. Remember how you burned the cake so badly you set off the fire alarm, and we ate it anyway. Remember how sweet it was.

Remember when you asked me to marry you, I hit you so hard you almost dropped the ring, and I said, "What took you so long, Evans?"

Remember the way I looked at you the first time you introduced me as your wife.

Remember the fact that Chris's first word was "guitar", and I laughed and accused you of brainwashing our son.

Remember the day we watched our children sleeping, little Chris holding baby Lily, and you said, "This is all I've ever wanted." Remember that I said, "Me too."

Remember the first time we made love after the accident, and I was afraid of what you would think of my scars. Remember how you kissed each and every one of them and told me I was beautiful. Remember my smile, because it meant I believed you.

Remember the stranger who stopped us on the street and told us what a beautiful family we have.

Remember when we moved into our house, the house we made together, and how you kissed me in the doorway. Remember how you told me this would mean we'd always be in love and be happy here. Remember how right you were.

Remember how very, very much you mean to me. Remember that will never change, no matter where I am.

Remember this pain will not last forever.

Remember that we will be together again.

Remember me.

Remember us.

Love always, Quinn