Quinn was released from the hospital the next Monday, at the beginning of spring break. She was startled to see all of glee waiting for her to be wheeled out by Puck and Rachel and her mother, all holding flowers and balloons and smiling as much as they dared— even Finn was there, standing awkwardly beside Mr. Scheu with a bouquet of hydrangeas and slumped shoulders. Quinn knew that both Brittany and Santana at least had spring break plans—they'd bounded into glee cheerfully one afternoon in Thursday, announcing that they had just bought plane tickets to Los Angeles for the break—and hadn't dared consider that anyone might change their plans for her.

"Hey, Quinn," Artie said shyly, wheeling himself forward. A shoebox rested on his legs. "We wanted you to know that if you need anything, we're all here for you. Anything at all."

"Thank you," Quinn whispered. Yet again, tears stung her eyes as she took in the sight of her teammates, all foregoing their spring break—and one of the first glorious days of spring they had had—to be there for her release.

Artie ducked his head, flushing slightly, as he so often did. He picked up the shoebox and held it out to her. "A care package," he said by way of explanation. "We put it together as a group. We hope that it might help you feel a little better."

Quinn pulled the lid off the shoebox. Inside sat a stack of DVDs—all comedies—and two books—the two sequels to Wicked—and a handheld Nintendo with a dozen games, a bottle of what looked like very expensive body wash, what looked suspiciously like Santana's lucky hair scrunchie and Brittany's favorite Beanie Baby—a skunk that she had taken pity on at age six because none of the other children wanted a Beanie Baby that looked like roadkill—and a simple card. Picking up the card, she silently read the inscription written in Santana's familiar hand.

We've got your back, Q. Just call.

Scattered around the card were signatures, Rachel's gold star shining brightly in the sunlight. Quinn blinked, looking up at all of them.

"Thank you," she whispered again. "Thank you all so much." She felt her mother's hand resting on her shoulder, squeezing gently. This was the first time her mother had been exposed to the other members of glee, and Quinn suddenly felt extremely concerned that she approve.

In Quinn's mother's car, Quinn looked over at her mother uncertainly, hands folded in her lap. "Mom," she said after a long hesitation.

"It'll be good having you home, sweetie," Mrs. Fabray said. She fiddled with the radio. "I told your father that he could either come to terms with the fact that he never should have kicked you out, or he can sleep in the garage."

"Mom," Quinn said again. "I… I've been staying with the Berrys."

"But you can come home now," Mrs. Fabray said, a soft smile on her lips.

"Could you…" Quinn paused, gathering her courage. "Mom, their house has been home to me for months. My things are there. Could you please… can I go back there?"

Mrs. Fabray looked over at her, a wounded look in her eyes. Quinn looked away, focusing her gaze on her lap once more, staring at the stark contrast of the white bandages around her splint and the black material of her sweatpants.

"Please," Quinn whispered. "I'm sorry, but they gave me a home when I didn't have one. I'll be more comfortable there."

After a painfully long silence, her mother sighed. "You're right, I guess," she said dejectedly. "I guess we don't really get to just grab you back up." She reached over and clasped Quinn's hand gently. "I'm glad you found a home there."

"Me too," Quinn said, squeezing her mother's hand.

Silently, Mrs. Fabray drove Quinn to the Berry's house. Rachel bounded out the front door the moment they pulled into the driveway, as if she had been waiting at the window for them to show up, even though there had been no talk of it happening. She made it to Quinn's door before Quinn could even unbuckle her seatbelt, bouncing on the balls of her feet and carefully helping her out of the car.

"Hey," she said quietly, a smile gracing her lips as she wrapped a gentle arm around Quinn's waist.

"Hey," Quinn said, just as quietly. She leaned against Rachel, letting the shorter girl support her weight as they walked slowly up the sidewalk. Rachel's parents stood by the front door, welcoming her back with sad smiles and gentle hugs. Her own mother followed hesitantly, introducing herself to the Berrys as Rachel helped Quinn up the stairs to her room.

"I didn't think you would come back," Rachel admitted as she settled Quinn onto the bed, moving to take off the blonde's shoes.

"My mom was going to take me home," Quinn said. Her eyes drifted up to the familiar ceiling, her head tipped back. "I asked if I could come here." She brought her eyes back down, a moment of uncertainty flashing before her. "It's okay with your dads that I came back, right?"

"Of course!" Rachel said. "They kind of love you. You're apparently far easier to handle than I am. And you do the laundry, so Daddy doesn't have to." She eased a blanket up over Quinn, who forced a smile; the comfort she had felt from the glee club's support and her mother's understanding was fading, pushed back by the nagging pain in her chest, the ache in her stomach where Sarah Noelle Puckerman had once been.

Quinn had a steady stream of visitors over the afternoon. Her mother came and wished her goodbye, kissing her forehead and saying she'd be back the next day, perhaps with her father, and that her sister was flying in from New Mexico as soon as she could. Puck stopped by, his eyes still bloodshot and shoulders slumped; they sat in silence until his mother called and asked him if he could pick up his sister. He, too, kissed her forehead before leaving. Brittany and Santana and Rachel sat with her most of the afternoon, the three of them doing whatever they could to keep Quinn's mind off of the miscarriage; they planned a day-long movie marathon for later in the week, inviting all of glee and conspiring on how to whip the boys in a girls-versus-guys Rock Band challenge. One of Rachel's dads checked on her every half hour or so.

Quinn was drifting off to sleep shortly after dark, George Winston's familiar piano chords echoing around the room, when Rachel poked her head in to check on her. "Sorry," Rachel whispered. "Didn't mean to wake you up."

"You didn't," Quinn said. She turned her head to face Rachel. "Do you think… could you maybe…" Her voice trailed off and she bit her lip. "Can you stay here tonight?" Every time she was alone, her thoughts returned to the child she'd never get to meet and her chest pinched almost more uncomfortably then her abdomen; her throat would close up and air would refuse to inflate her lungs, mental and physical pain creeping into every inch of her body. It was only when she was in the presence of others, with the distraction of conversation or companionship or—even better—contact, the kind she would never be able to have with her daughter, that she could find a way to redirect her thoughts. Her mother had stayed with her every night at the hospital since she woke up, sleeping in a chair next to her bed and gripping Quinn's hand or stroking her hair until she cried herself to sleep.

"Of course," Rachel said softly. "Let me go change and I'll be right back."

"Thank you," Quinn whispered.

A minute later, Rachel returned in sweatpants and a t-shirt and slid into the bed next to the blonde. Quinn curled up at Rachel's side, fingers clenching tightly to the material of her t-shirt, and let herself be lulled into sleep by the feeling of Rachel's hand rubbing gently up and down her back. For the first time since the previous Thursday, she didn't cry herself to sleep.