The style of this story is quite different from how I write usually; it reflects my mood quite well. I hope you enjoy it.

Yours Truly

"Quinn, baby, I'll be fine, I promise."

Famous last words. Words that hold no meaning. How can anybody promise anything like that? How could she know that she'll be fine? It's not possible.

"You can't just promise something like that so easily!" I can't stop myself from whimpering. "How do you know what will happen? I-I still don't get why you have to go!"

"It's national duty, Q," Santana says regretfully, placing one warm finger beneath my chin to lift my head up. Her beautiful mocha eyes are sparkling too, and judging by my blurred vision I would imagine myself to look the same, if not worse. "I'll have Mike with me, if I can't keep myself safe he will. I'll be fine. I promise."

"Y-You promised me you would withdraw," I weep. How could she do this to me? "You promised. Santana, we're about to start a family. You said we were going to settle down."

"I know, and I'm so sorry," Santana whispers, leaning in closely to kiss a tear off my cheek. It's therapeutic in a way I guess, because her warmth makes me feel better. But that still doesn't fully eclipse the disbelief, anger and sadness I feel. "It's only six months, Q. I'll be back in no time."

She crouches down and trails kisses down my body, eventually ending at my stomach. I'm only eight weeks along; there is no bump. But it is still amazing to think there is another life living inside of me.

"I'll be back to see this gorgeous beauty, Q, I promise."

I sigh as she stands back up to full height. She's about as tall as me, so we're perfectly eye level. "Promise me this will be the last time?"

"I'll quit after this, this will be my last deployment, I promise," Santana whispers, leaning in close and pressing her lips lightly against mine. "We will move to the countryside and raise our family away from all the noise, away from everyone, okay? And," I feel a small curve of her lips against mine. "We'll have mind-blowing sex because we won't have to worry about anybody hearing us."

I can't stifle the giggle that escapes my lips. "O-Okay," I concede. "J-Just please stay safe out there? I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too," Santana sighs into my lips. Her scent is so nice. "I'll send you letters as much as I can, okay? And I'll be fine, I promise."

Too many promises that have no backbone.

"I love you, Santana," I whisper as I feel a hot tear against my cheeks.

"I love you too, Quinn," Santana echoes, guiding me backwards so I lie with my back against the couch, her straddling me, never breaking the kiss.

And there, she makes love to me for the last time before my world comes tumbling down.

Santana has been in Afghanistan for three days now and I'm already missing her. I can't shake the constant worry that is in my system because hello, my love is in constant danger while I'm at home, feeding myself and my baby doing jack shit.

I miss her warmth in our bed, how I have to fall asleep and wake up without her by my side.

I miss our sweet kisses and the light conversation we would have in the morning.

I miss our daily walks in the park.

But it's okay. She said it would be the last time. When she comes back, and she will, we can start our family and live our life happily ever after.

Hopefully.

I'm casually reading the morning newspaper with a warm cup of coffee when I receive something through the post.

And it warms my heart.

Dear old Quinn,

I promised I would write to you, and I delivered! I hope you're doing okay.

I'm doing great, actually! Mike is in my platoon so we are able to stick with each other at all times. He's actually writing Brittany as I'm writing to you. I can bet that Brittany is going to come running to your house in like thirty minutes because she wants to know if you received mine.

We're just setting up our camp and spots right now, it has been pretty quiet so far. It shouldn't be any different through this six months, we're not actively in war so please don't worry! We're just supervising, I guess, I won't be in the front line anyway. I'm as safe as if I was at home!

I can't wait to see you again next rotation when my deployment is over. And then I will see that gorgeous baby come out of your sticky vagina.

Okay, that sounded better in my head.

Don't worry about me! I love you lots.

Yours truly,

Santana

I feel my lips curve into a big wide grin when I finish reading. It is so sweet of Santana to send me something like this. If she's not a frontline troop, then maybe I'm worrying for nothing. She'll be fine! She will quit the military and we will have our lady baby! I just sincerely hope that nothing would happen during her deployment time so that she's not in any kind of danger.

But then I'm too naïve.

"Quinn!" I hear somebody shout and I turn my head to see Brittany waving at me exuberantly, one hand on her bike handle. She pulls over at my front lawn and jumps off before the bike has even stopped.

The bike continues to roll and crashes against my fence, denting it.

"Oops," Brittany claps a hand to her mouth and sends a grimace in my direction. "I'm so sorry, Quinnie, I'll pay for it!"

"It's okay, Britt." Sometimes her enthusiasm causes things like this to happen. I don't blame her though; it's just her personality. "So, what brings you here in such hurry?"

Brittany seems to remember what she came here for, as her face brightens up instantly and she beams from ear to ear. "Look at what Mikey sent me!" she enthuses, holding an envelope in her hand. "Did Sannie send you one too?"

Santana was right. Damn, she's perceptive, and that's one of the million and one reasons I love her.

Santana continues to diligently send me letters that never fails to make me smile for four months after that, and through that time my baby bump has steadily been getting bigger. My appetite is growing with every day, and now I think I eat double the amount I used to a year ago. It makes sense, I guess; I'm feeding for two.

Pregnancy is such a bitch though. Sometimes I would wake up feeling like my stomach is on fire and I would puke everything I ate out into the toilet. Sometimes I'm less lucky and I puke onto the bed.

When this started to become a regular occurrence, Brittany stayed with me to pull my hair back when I throw up. It's nice of her; she doesn't need to do it, but she does. She is genuinely such a good friend, somebody I need in my life.

But then a letter comes from Santana, and for the first time it doesn't make me smile.

Dear old Quinn,

I know you told me to stop calling you that, but tough. Haha.

Okay, that is lame. The thing is, um, maybe I won't be back in two months' time. There have been complications with the army and now there's a bit of… conflict.

Don't worry, Quinn. I will still be fine, I promise! Mike has been keeping me good company and we'll protect each other.

But yeah, soon all of this will be over and I'll be with you again.

I want to write more, but I have to return to my post now. Days are very busy now, the enemy isn't very happy.

Yours truly,

Santana

"What do you think this means?" Brittany whispers from next to me as she sets down her letter from Mike as well. "Do you think they're in trouble?"

"I-I don't know," I feel an unpleasant lump rise in my throat and I feel sick again. Santana talked about conflict. There really can't be anything else other than… no, I don't want to think about that.

"Either way, they'll be fine," Brittany whispers, sending a brave smile and wrapping me in an embrace. "They're strong, they'll be fine."

I can only pray. I have never felt so useless in my life.

That is the last letter Santana sent me.

Brittany hasn't been receiving letters either and we are both worried. But since Brittany has always been the optimistic one, she keeps me sane and I cannot be more grateful for that.

I can tell she is incredibly anxious too though, so we started sleeping with each other.

Shut up, not like that, of course. She misses Mike's warmth and I miss Santana's, and the bed feels too empty anyway. Plus, Brittany is a wonderful person to vent and talk to in the dark.

Even though I threw up on her more than once due to my morning sickness, she still brushes it off and puts up with me. She is an incredible friend.

"No news is good news," she would always say when I dejectedly slip into bed at night after having not received a letter from Santana.

It's a mantra for self-convincing. It works at first, but I'm not so sure anymore.

I'm six months pregnant and I'm stressed out. I'm pretty sure it's not good for the baby. It keeps on kicking me.

We wait in painful silence for a two more weeks before something arrives in the mail.

A lone letter, addressed to Brittany, who had told Mike that we were living together so he directs his mail to my address now.

No letter from Santana, but one from Mike.

What the hell does that mean?

"It's yours," I whisper forlornly, handing the oxidising envelope to Brittany's hands, who takes it nervously, ripping open the seal.

Brittany reads for a while, and I pay attention to how her expression changes.

At first, it was pure, unadulterated excitement that she is finally receiving a letter from her significant other after weeks of silence. But then that quickly morphs into confusion, then fear.

"What is it?" I press, because I am dying to know. "Brittany, what did Mike say?"

"U-Uh…" For the first time since I have ever known this girl, Brittany was at a loss for words.

"Tell me, please!" I can't control my voice. "What did Mike say?"

Brittany was still gaping wordlessly so I tried to rip the letter from her hands. But she snatches it away.

"Quinn," she whispers. "T-Trust me, you don't want to read that."

"Why not?" I demand, feeling anger and desperation surge in my system. "Give it to me, now!"

I lunge forward to snatch the piece of paper from Brittany's hands. Brittany put up a valiant attempt to stop me, but when I am angry and determined, nobody can.

And I read.

And then I cry.

Brittany was right, I didn't want to read it. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

Santana has been taken hostage.

Brittany tries to comfort me but I push her away.

Brittany holds my hand as I push with all my might the darn baby whose head is as big as a watermelon. It hurts so much.

I'm surprised I even have the energy to give birth. Finding what happened to Santana drained me both emotionally and physically. My pillows haven't been dry for months, I bet it's still damp.

I'm screaming. I have never felt this much pain in my life before.

But I endure it. It's nothing new, it's all I felt since I read Mike's letter.

Is Santana even alive? It's been four months since that letter, and neither Santana nor Mike is back from deployment. They've been in Afghanistan for eight months now.

Through the haze of the pain that comes with labour, I cry with grief. Maybe I have to raise this child alone now.

Maybe Santana really is gone. If she is, I have no idea what I am going to do with myself. I have no idea.

My salty tears mix with my sweat as my hold on Brittany's hand turns into a death grip, as an extremely painful wave of contraction hits me.

Fuck.

"Shh, shh," Brittany tries to reassure me as she gently strokes my hair with her free hand. "It will be over soon, you're doing so well."

"Shut up!" I scream at her, voice laced with adrenaline. "Stop saying stuff like that, this will never end!" I groan. "You suck, you suck, you suck!"

Brittany says something in reply but it hurts too much for me to hear what she said.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably just a couple of hours, the baby comes out. It's a she. And the love I feel for her is so immense I can't do much but burst into pathetic tears again.

Her name is Ruby, a name Santana suggested had the baby been a girl.

The thought of Santana makes me cry harder.

It's surprising how strong my tear ducts are.

Mike comes back when our baby is three months old.

Without Santana.

I remember how it happened. He drove over to mine and knocked on our door. It was a surprise. Brittany opened it and when I heard a loud scream, I thought Brittany was being assaulted. But when I got to the front door I saw Brittany peppering Mike with ecstatic kisses, hugging him so hard his bones were probably going to snap.

I'm happy to see Mike back, safe and sound, I really am.

I want to be happy for Brittany, because she got her significant other back.

But I don't feel any happiness. I feel deep resentment and jealousy, so intense my blood feels like it is boiling.

Ruby senses my distress and starts to cry. And I have to bob her up and down to try to stop the tears. I love her. I want to be a good mother to her. I have to be.

I plant a kiss to the top of her forehead. She has Santana's beautiful mocha eyes. We made sure to get a donor who had Santana's physical characteristics. She genuinely looks like both of us.

I thought it was perfect, how we could get a child that looked equally like us. But now, every time I look at her, I think of Santana and how she will probably never come back.

I should never look at my child and feel like crying. But I do. And I hate it.

Mike tries to comfort me and cheer me up when I slump on the sofa, defeated. He says that she is still considered to be alive, so no CNO has come knocking on my door yet.

But it doesn't work.

Brittany looks at me with sad puppy eyes. And for the first time in my life, I feel hatred towards those innocent baby blues.

"Quinn, you need to eat," Brittany gently urges me as she pushes a plate of bacon, mashed potatoes and baked beans towards me. She has now moved away from where I live to be with Mike and once again, I am lonely in our empty house.

I push the plate back towards her. "I'm not hungry."

"Please," Brittany pleads. "You haven't eaten in days, it's not good for your health. I made your favourite!"

"I said I'm not hungry," I reply, with a bit more bite now.

Brittany pouts her lips. "You need to stop being such a grinch," she huffs. "Santana will find her way back to you, I promise! Now pull yourself together and eat the food I spent so long preparing because I didn't want to burn your kitchen down!"

I don't know what she said that made me so angry. Maybe it's the I promise bit.

God, how I hate that phrase. Why the fuck do people make promises they can't keep?

"You can't promise anything," I growl. "Santana is probably dead now, she's not coming back. But of course you won't know how that feels."

"I do know how you feel! And Santana is not dead!" Brittany shouts, anger rising in her usual buoyant self too. "God, do you have to be so pessimistic?"

"No you don't know how I feel! And can you stop being so optimistic?" I snap back. "Look Brittany, sometimes the world is not all sunshine and rainbows. You need to be realistic. The world is greyer than you think it is."

"It's not!" Brittany insists.

"Oh yeah?" I raise an eyebrow challengingly. "Then why the fuck is Santana still in Afghanistan, probably rotting in a cell? Huh?"

"She's strong, she'll find her way out, I promise! Look at Mike, he's back! Santana will be soon too!"

And the I promise slur again. Fuck my life.

"Oh yes, of course you can say those things because your prince is back in your castle above the clouds," I snarl.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Brittany frowns.

"What it means," I growl. "Is that you need to get one simple fact through your thick head, Brittany. Santana is not coming back because nobody is going to help her, because they're too self-absorbed and isn't going to care about a fucking woman at war. Nobody is going to save her, nobody fucking cares!"

"I care! Quinn, I promise Santana is fine, I just know it!" Brittany shouts in frustration.

The word promise makes me do something I regret. It pushes me over the line.

Please believe me when I say I'm not like this usually.

"Fuck's sake, Brittany, stop making damned stupid promises that have no meaning!" I scream, and at the word meaning I slap Brittany's left cheek. Hard.

Her head gets thrown to the left with the exertion of my slap, and she slowly turns her head to look at me with a wounded expression, a hard, red mark on her left cheek.

I feel like I just killed a puppy.

That expression Brittany has right now – I can't. My anger instantly dissipates and I feel so much guilt.

"B-Britt…" I gasp out after a few seconds of pure, stark silence. Brittany is still staring at me, cerulean blue eyes glazed with unshed tears, with so much hurt it makes my heart ache immensely. "I-I'm so sorry…"

I start to cry. I'm the most pathetic person to exist on this planet.

"I-It's okay," Brittany whispers, leaning forward to hug me, cradling my head in her chest as I break into hysterical sobs. "It's okay, Q. You'll be okay."

I'm not so sure about that.

Ruby is 18 months old now and is able to walk. She's so beautiful, her skin is pale like mine but her hair and eyes are both brown like Santana's.

Santana. Still no news about her. Nobody has come to inform me of her death, but I haven't heard from her either.

My resentment and sadness has now bubbled down to a vague sizzle. I still miss Santana to no end, and maybe this is denial, but I think she's still alive.

It just that people say you can feel it when your significant other dies. I haven't had that feeling yet. So I'm still holding onto the hope that Santana is still alive, however unlikely that could be.

The only person that is keeping me sane is Ruby. God, I love her so much. I just wish that Santana could be here to see when she first crawled, when she grew her first tooth, when she first walked.

And her first words too. I taught her how to say "bacon" before how to say "mama" because I need some kind of humour in my life.

"Quinn, are you even listening to me?" Brittany says from the other side of the table.

I snap my eyes up to meet her gaze which was overflowing with excitement and happiness. I swear she has not looked that excited before in my life.

"What?" I say.

"I think that I found you a very special date," Brittany grinned. "She'll be meeting you at six. I'll take you there, okay?"

Brittany's words make me angry. "What date?" I demand. "I'm not over her, you know. I'm still married."

I remember how Brittany was so supportive of Santana and I's relationship. She was our bridesmaid. And now she is suggesting I find somebody else? And matching me with someone else too?

If I'm not with Santana, then I'm with nobody.

"It doesn't have to be a date," Brittany shrugged. "Just to get to know somebody new. You need somebody else in your life, Quinn. You don't have to see her again. It doesn't have to be serious. Please, she could just be a friend if you want. And plus, you can eat some good food!"

I can tell, based on Brittany's expression, that she is not going to give in, no matter how hard I try to resist. So I just give up. It's not like this "date" is going to turn into anything anyway.

"Is there going to be bacon?" I ask because why the hell not humour her?

Brittany seemed to be surprised at my response. "Well, yes!" she got over her shock and beamed brightly. "All the bacon you want."

"Alright then."

And now, I am waiting for my "date" to show up. Brittany had sat me down in this extravagant restaurant with candles on the table, and then ran away, giggling for whatever reason I don't know.

My "date" is now thirty minutes late. God, what the hell was Brittany thinking? If this person can't even bother to show up to the "date" on time, how on earth could she be the match for me?

I huff out some air and decide to leave. There's not much point in staying. This has been such a waste of time.

I grab my bag and am about to make my way out of the chair when a voice stops me.

"Wait, don't go!"

I freeze. I can recognise that voice from anywhere.

I whip around to the source of the voice and there I can see the most beautiful woman with tan skin, mocha eyes teary and leaning against a set of crutches.

My brain is short-circuiting. I cannot believe it.

"S-Santana?"