It goes off without a hitch. The closing on the house. You drink a lot of champagne afterwards. In the kitchen of the empty new place. Santana orders takeout, and you eat it on the floor. She lays out the blanket from the trunk of her car, and when you're finished, containers tossed off to the side, she lowers you down. She lowers you and she slips your dress over your head. She slides off your stockings, and she kisses you everywhere, in your new home. You see stars, as she makes love to you. Slow. Burning. Absolutely everything. You feel her smile all over your body. You tangle your hands in her hair, and you tingle. The sheer joy in her everything. The joy you feel too. It just. It makes your lovemaking better than ever before. And you can't wait. You can't wait until you actually live there. You can't wait until this is your real life.

She's so busy with work, with getting ready for the dinner, that you have to put off the move for a few weeks. But you pack. She thanks you over and over again for doing so much work. With flowers. With kisses. But you don't need her thank you's, you tell her. You're anxious to move, too. And you spend a lot of time over there, you and Otis. You get used to the hugeness of the space, comparatively. You walk around with your eyes closed, learning it in darkness. You sign for furniture deliveries, because much of what you have already, you're donating. You paint there, as the place is wired for new doorbells and smoke alarms and kitchen timers. The electrician. He's deaf too, and it's Otis who alerts you that the sounds are working as well as the lights. When it's all done, it feels more like home. And Santana, she meets you there after work. She drives boxes over, and the two of you unpack what you can together. She kisses you over and over, and again, you both vibrate with excitement. It's all real. It's all real. The dreams. They're not just dreams anymore.

Her dinner, it goes off without a hitch, too. Carson is there, to help this year. His family has fallen on better times, but like Santana's mom, his parents don't want any of them to forget what it's like, when they weren't. So he helps. He and his brother. And he shows you and Santana how he's learning to speak. He's proud of himself, and you're proud of him, too. You're proud of him, and it makes you think of the conversation. The one you'd had with Santana. On her birthday. You haven't spoken about it since. But. The way she looks at you, when you're speaking rapid sign with Carson. It makes you think maybe, maybe, she's thinking about it, too.

It's the night before you're set to move. You're both doing the last of your last-minute packing. She's in the living room, winding up connection cables and wrapping the television in bubble wrap. You're lying on your stomach in the bedroom, pulling things out from under the bed. When your fingers hit the spine of a book. Your stomach turns to lead. It's a photo album. One you'd taken from your parents' house. One you'd long forgotten was in your possession. One that had been buried away beneath the bed for years. You swallow hard as you pull it out. You don't want to look. You hate looking at this. But. You're. You're compelled. Almost. To turn the dusty pages. You don't realize you're crying. Not until Otis nudges your cheek, and you hold him close to you as you go through this. The seventh year of your life. Jessie, all pudgy with her baby fat. And your mom. Beaming with pride at her girls. The last days before she stopped being proud of you. It hits you hard. It doesn't often, but when it does, it makes you feel some sort of twisting, aching physical pain. You're lost in the pages. In the pictures. And you don't notice the flicker of the lights that tell you Santana has entered. Not until she's kneeling before you, concern written all over her face.

Sweetheart. What's the matter? She signs it to you, and then she presses a palm to your cheek. She wipes away tears with her thumb. You just shrug, and you think, you think, she sighs, sad, when she sees what's in your lap. Oh, Britt.

"It's fine. It's fine." You sniffle. "It's done. It's over. I'm fine."

It's okay to cry, Brittany.

Her face, it's soft, so soft, that you can't control the sob that breaks free from your chest. You can't control the way you completely break down, falling into her open arms. Wetting her hair with the river of tears that streams from your eyes. You ache. You ache, suddenly, in a way that. That you haven't. Not since last October. Not ever. She holds you so tightly. She rubs your back. She kisses the top of your head. And Otis. He keeps his head on your shoulder. They're your whole world. Your wife and your dog. And. And that thought, it. It just. It makes you cry even more. It makes you cry for a long, long time. It makes you cry until there are no tears left. Until your head hurts and your throat hurts and your whole face is swollen and red. Until your body is completely limp. You cry until you're all cried out. And Santana, she holds you still. She whispers things, you think, though you can't hear it. She whispers her love words. Because she knows. She knows. Even though you can't hear them, it doesn't make them any less true.

"Thank you." You can feel the scratchiness of your voice in your throat, and you lift your head up to see that she had been crying with you. She had been crying, because she feels your pain. Inside her own body. The same way you feel hers. When she's hurt. Or sick. Or sad. She feels it. Because she loves you so hard. So completely. "I just. I took this when I moved out. I. Maybe I was being spiteful. I just. I didn't want her to have it. I—"

It's okay, it's okay. Take your time, she tells you. She knows you struggle with your words. With your feelings. And she's patient. Always patient.

"I needed to have this for only me. Because. Because she made the choice not to love me anymore. And. I. I needed her to not have the pictures of the last time she did. She shouldn't get to. I haven't looked at them in a really, really long time, until now, but I wanted to have them."

I understand. She nods, and she twists her hands in her lap. And if you ever want me to look at them with you, you know that I'm here, Sweetheart.

"I think. I think maybe I need that. I have. I have a few pages left. But they're the hardest ones. I'm sorry. I know we have a lot to do tonight. It's just. I—"

Hey, you don't have to explain. We're moving out of this place you've lived in for nine years. And you don't like change, but you're taking all of this so well. So if you need to stop and get a hold on things, that's okay with me.

"I love you so much." You find yourself blinking really quickly. Her eyes looking into yours, that fire in them, it just, warms you, especially when you think of all the coldness you've encountered. Even married almost a year, you still latch onto that, you still, surround yourself in the great love she gives to you. And it's your turn to cup her face, to kiss her. To drink in all of her love. Because it helps you, more than anything, when you feel yourself struggling. And when you pull away, you show her the pictures in the album. "This. It's my first day of school. The month before. Before I fell in the pool."

Look at you, Britt. She smiles at you, for you, tracing her pointer over the picture of you at the bus stop. You were almost as cute then as you are now.

"Santana." You blush, and she shuffles beside you, so she can hold you.

She doesn't let go. Not while you show her the school pictures. The pumpkin picking. And then. That day. You remember how excited you'd been. Putting on your costume. They'd had a costume contest every year, and. You were sure you'd win. It didn't matter that it was just a costume from the party store. To you, it was the very best. Those red and white boots. Your tiara. The fact that you really had your own Lasso of Truth. You were just. Beside yourself, really. And you were ready three hours before the party. Running around the house. Saving your stuffed animals. Saving Jessie. The tears, they spring to your eyes again, when you think about it. You cry, and Santana kisses your temple. Santana hugs you to her body. Santana doesn't tell you that you're being ridiculous, or that you shouldn't feel. She lets you get to the very last picture. You. With your mom, dressed as Catwoman, and your dad as Superman. And Jessie, strong willed even at a young age, as a princess. You close it, you have to, and Santana holds you again. Only for a minute, until you suck in as much air as you can, and you straighten your back.

I think, Britt, that you proved that day, and every day since, that you're a real super hero.

"Santana."

No, I mean it. I'm in awe of you all the time. And I hope you know that.

"Thank you, for just. For how you are with me. Santana. I know you've been worrying about me adjusting to this move. And. I've been totally fine, and excited. This. The book. It's just hit me hard. Because this kid right here—" You run your finger over that little you. The before you. "Her mom believed she'd be successful, whether it was art, or dance, or rocket science. Her mom believed she'd marry the love of her life. That she'd buy a house. That someday she'd— maybe she'd be a mom. I just. I wish she'd stuck around long enough to see that the little girl that appeared the next day, that stranger in her life. That she could do all those things, too."

And you did.

"I did. We did. We both just. Did a lot with what we had. I know it's been a year, and I should. I should be totally over this by now."

Brittany, there's no timeline for things like this.

"I guess. Part of me, just. Expected one of them to show up, or something, at some point. And we're moving now. So it feels like, what's that expression? The one about coffins?

The final nail in the coffin. She purses her lips, unsure what to say, and you run your thumb along her cheek.

"I can't wait to start this new chapter of our lives tomorrow, really. And I'm not going to let them put a damper on this, just like I didn't let them put a damper on our wedding. They have my phone number. I haven't disappeared. I was just having a moment."

Have all the moments you need, Sweetheart. It doesn't put a damper on things for me either. I'm all done in the living room. Do you want me to help you finish up in here, and then we'll go to bed here for the last time?

"Yeah." You nod, and you fall into her again. Just, needing her embrace once more, an embrace she's happy to share. "Yeah that sounds good. I think I really tired myself out crying like that."

You fall asleep so much faster than you'd expected. Santana, she can always tell when you have a headache, and she massages your scalp, she runs her fingers through your hair. And just when you feel yourself slipping off into sleep, she pulls you into her arms. She kisses your lips, and she holds you close. When you wake up in the morning, you're feeling better. You feel the excitement that had waned a little reignite by the fire in your wife's eyes, and you make coffee, while Santana pours the cereal. You're bringing the table with you, one of the few pieces of furniture you're taking, but still, it feels strange, sitting there having your last breakfast with Santana, here in the place you'd had your first. The walls are bare, the remaining boxes, they're stacked neatly by the door, and Otis, he sniffs around. You think he realizes what's happening, but still, he's trained to be aware of his surroundings, and you know this confuses him a little.

At nine, the movers arrive, along with Jonas, whom Santana had roped into helping. They work quickly, loading things into the truck, and you hang behind a bit while Santana gives them direction. She feels it too, you know she does, the strange sense of nostalgia, and just for a moment, she comes up behind you, standing on her tip toes, resting her head on your shoulder, hugging you tightly. You don't need words, you're both just saying goodbye to your first home together. You walk the floors. Though you have until the end of the year, you'll really have no reason to come back. And once you're sure you're finished, you pull her by the straps of her overalls— since she'd designated them as moving clothes— and you kiss her. You kiss her one more time, before you lock the door behind you, and Otis leads the way out to the car.

The grin on your wife's face, when she pulls into your new driveway, you're sure it will be burned into your mind forever. It's even more than just crinkle eyes and dimples. She looks like she's actually glowing, at the sight, her hand, it tightens where it rests on your thigh. This place, it's been yours for two weeks, this house, but, now you're never going to another home. Now this is where you'll stay, maybe forever. And in her eyes, in her smile, in the rosiness of her cheeks, you witness it. You witness her truly seeing her dream come to fruition. Even more than you saw at the closing table, when they'd first handed the two of you the keys. She gets out of the car, and you see her, you see her take a deep breath, before she comes to your side. Before she takes your hand. Before she leads you and Otis to walk through the door.

You're glad that you've already done so much in the weeks before this final day. You're glad that most of your unpacking, it's just the absolute essentials. Because it goes quickly. Santana, she orders pizza for Jonas and the delivery guys for lunch, and after that, they leave. After that, it's just you, and your wife, and your dog. In this big new space, hanging your clothes in the two separate closets in your bedroom. It's more space than you can even imagine, really, with your old bedroom furniture set up in what will be the guest bedroom. Or really, Maribel's room when she visits. And the third bedroom, it's just a storage space for now, but you both know what it'll turn into, eventually. When nearly all of the unpacking is done, you see a question forming on Santana's lips, as they turn up, in a sort of wry smile, and you kiss her, because when she does that, it's just. It's too cute for you not to.

"What?" You ask her, and she gestures to the window.

Snow. She signs. A lot of it. Did you notice?

"I did. Earlier, when I was putting the silverware away. I'm glad we got everything moved over here when we did."

I was thinking. She shimmies her body a little, and she kisses your nose, taking your hands how she does. She's really. She's just too much to take sometimes. When she's being like this, and your heart, it races. Your heart, it just, adores her, with all it has. That maybe you wanted to go get a Christmas tree?

"Tonight?" You raise an eyebrow, and when you look at the clock, you realize that it's only five-thirty.

Well. She goes the lip biting thing she does. The one when she tries to pull her big grin back inside. But her eyes, they sparkle and crinkle. Her dimples, they don't go away, and your smile grows bigger in response. We have to go out to get something for dinner anyway, unless you want to share that one leftover pizza slice.

"I definitely don't. All this unpacking has me really, really hungry. And. I want to get our tree."

Look at all the space we have for a big one. She hops up and down, pointing to where you'd stacked the decorations when you'd unpacked, and you pull her into your arms. You just. You want to hug her. You want to hold her close. Because her happiness, it makes you feel so incredibly happy. Her excitement, it runs through your veins, constantly, and you bury your face in her neck, you breathe her in. And you sigh, truly content.

You bundle up, hats and coats and gloves, and she fumbles with the keys a little, getting used to how they feel in the lock. She links her arm with yours, leaning into you, and Otis, he sticks by your side, cautious about the icy sidewalk. You just grab soup and sandwiches for dinner. Santana is too excited to sit still for that long, and you. You're excited too. You want to get the tree inside so it can settle overnight, and you want to have a fire in that big new fireplace. So you can lie on the couch in front of it, Santana in your arms.

It doesn't take long to find a tree. Without the space constraints that you've had at Christmases past, you can go for anything you want. It's you who finds it. A fat Fraser with strong branches for the heavy ornaments. When she jumps in your arms, expressing her approval, you spin her around. You spin her in the snow, and you just, you feel like you're at such a contrast to where you were last night. Your eyes, they're still a little swollen, but, everything else aside, you have everything you could ever want. With this girl. This exuberant, fire-eyed girl. With your new house. With this sense of security. One you've never had before. You're okay. You're more than okay. And though you know, you know, the ache somewhere deep in your chest, it'll find its way to the surface sometimes, it isn't pervasive. It doesn't fill your every waking moment. Because your wife, who kisses you in the snow. Your wife, whom you have dozens more plans for the future with. She does. She does, and that means more than anything else in the world.

"Should we get this one ready to go home, Santana?" You put her down, and her cheeks, they're rosy and bright under the multicolored lights.

Yeah, Sweetheart, let's go have our first night it our new home.