I do not own Glee.

Regrets.

I lift up my arm, still heavy with sleep, and wrap my fingers around the thick white plastic. Lifting it up and over, the hanger comes free of the rack, it's contents barely rippling with the motion. I take it in my hands and place it flat on the bed, surveying the outfit as if it were my opponent in battle. Just looking at the stiff polyester made me ache in the pit of my stomach. I could feel the wider set of my hips, extra flab of my stomach, the marks that had not dimmed with promising creams and ointments. It made me feel ugly, disformed, and I almost threw the whole idea down the drain. It was too much, too soon. But, my mother's voice rang through my head, I had promised.

With a heavy sigh I slid off my oversized pajama shirt and snapped on a bra before peeling the thick red and white shirt off the hanger, one shoulder at a time. I lift it, pushing my arms through their holes, then ducking my head in. Gripping the bottom edge, I force it down to my hips. The fabric sucks me in, an uncomfortable reminder of the changes of the last year. I had promised.

I unpin the matching skirt next, pull the zipper down and step into it, one leg at a time. Holding my breath, I pull them up, surprised when they glide relatively easily over my hips. Sucking the breath tighter, I pull the zipper, but it sticks inches from the top. Suck the breath in tighter, bite back the tears, and pull again. It zips, but I can no longer breathe. I want to rip it off, to forget this moment ever happened, but there's that voice again, reminding me. I had promised.

Promises. What do they mean, anyways? I had promised to stay pure until my wedding night. Yeah, right. So much for that. I had promised myself that I wouldn't fall for any of Puck's ploys – and look how great that turned out. I had practically promised Finn that he was the father of the baby, when I knew it was a lie. I had even promised Terry Shuester my baby girl, but then her husband had to go find out her whole psycho plan.

I glanced at the calendar. I still had two months.

You know what?

Fuck promises.

Fuck this stupid, too-tight uniform.

Fuck my stupid life.

Ever since I had given little Beth away, I'd been hurting. A deap, painful ache that burrowed in the pit of my stomach. The kind that brought tears to my eyes whenever I saw a little girl with her mother. And Puck's eyes; the anger, the blame, behind them were punishment themselves. I had convinced myself that this was for everyone's good – Beth would grow up in a family that loved her. Puck and I could go out separate ways. I could go back to who I was, and thrive, and move out of the stupid town.

But what happened when the uniform no longer fit? What happened when I had changed so much that I no longer recognized my old self? When talk of fashion and grades and cute guys bored me?

Finally, I realize that I cannot change what had happened. It had shaped me, for better or worse. But without Beth, I was missing a piece.

I rip off the uniform and throw it in the trash, pull on a cotton dress that skims forgivingly over my hips and punch in the number of the adoption agency.

"Hello," I say, as soon as someone picks up the phone, "my name is Quinn Fabray, and I want my daughter back."

A/N: probably a one-shot, maybe more. Depends on reviews. What do you think? Certainly no updates until September – I'm gone all summer.