Dear Anna,

I'm in my sixth month of pregnancy now. It's frightening to know that I'll be a mother in a mere three months. I'm afraid of what the future holds for me, but also, surprisingly enough, somewhat excited.

Santana doesn't leave my side unless she absolutely has to because Herr Eberhardt is home. She developed a new hobby recently—she'll have me sit in her lap, and she'll wrap both of her arms around my belly, caressing it with her delicate hands. She'll place her chin on my shoulder so that her mouth is right by my ear, and she'll whisper everything that I am to her. Kind, beautiful, intelligent, perfect… She'll whisper for hours how much I mean to her and how her life before she met me seems so meaningless compared to what it is now. She'll tell me stories of her childhood, and fairytales, and softly sing me songs that her mother used to sing to her in Spanish. It's her hobby—but it became my favorite pastime.

It means so much to me, because the bigger my belly grows, the more I think that I am no longer beautiful. Santana crushes all of those feelings with her gentle words. She thinks quite the opposite; it excites her to see me pregnant, because, according to her, she can look forward to meeting another person who is just as perfect as I am. When I pass my hands over my stretch marks, utterly disgusted by them, she quickly leans down and kisses every one of them, saying that they're a blessing because they mean that the baby is growing. Every time that I try to even think something negative about myself, she refutes that thought with her loving words. It's like a tower of building blocks, the type that have the alphabet on them. Santana spends all of this time building up this tower, spelling comforting words that describe me, and putting them one on top of the other, building up my self-confidence. And every time that I almost knock this tower aside, she catches it, careful not to let it fall to the ground, because it's what makes me strong, and that's all that she cares about. And she continues to build this tower every day, completely relentless and determined. Determined for it to reach up all the way through the sky and to the heavens, so tall that I'll never have a negative thought about myself again.

I've thought about you a lot lately, Anna. How you used to call me Mami when you were very small, and how enjoyable it was to help to raise you the way that I did. I keep thinking about my child, wondering if it'll be the same. Wondering if I'll even have the chance to raise it, or if my husband will take even that option from me. If I lived in another world, without this vicious war and wicked hatred, then maybe I would be more optimistic about having this baby. If I lived in another world, where its only parents would be Santana and I. What I wouldn't give to live in such a world.

Love and miss you beyond words,

Brittany

I stared at the words that I wrote for a few moments before looking up. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Santana was standing in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest. Her coy smile widened into a cheerful grin, and she uncrossed her arms and began to make her way to my bed, where I was sitting. Her hair was to her ears now, and the girl in the photograph that I had seen, so different from the Santana that I knew then, was starting to come back. She sat beside me on the bed and wrapped her arms around me, leaning her head into the crook of my neck. I embraced her with my right arm as her hand glided down to my belly. She pulled up my shirt until it was just below my breasts and began to caress my skin with her gentle hand. She hummed into my neck, and I could feel the soft vibration against my skin. Her hum slowly turned into a throaty chuckle, and I giggled as she grazed her fingers a little too quickly against my belly, tickling me. She leaned up her head and kissed my neck before sitting back to look at me. I couldn't interpret her smile; it was sort of mischievous with a hint of delighted. Suddenly, she clapped her hands together and said, "Let's rub lotion on you."

I chuckled as she jumped off of the bed and trotted to the restroom. After a few moments, she returned with a purple bottle of lotion in her hand. She raised it up before her and declared, "Femme Unique: Honeysuckle Fragrance."

I beamed at her as she made her way back to the bed. She gently pushed my arms up so that she could pull my shirt off, and then proceeded to remove my brassiere as well. She licked her lips as my breasts were revealed before her, plumper than ever because of the pregnancy. Her lips pulled up into that mischievous smile again, and she delicately pushed me back so that I'd sit with my legs straight before me. She climbed on the bed, put one knee on either side of my legs, and flicked open the cap of the bottle of lotion. She lowered herself onto my legs, which were still covered by my light green skirt, and squeezed the bottle so that some lotion would fall into her hand. She brought the lotion up to her nose and smelled it, as if making sure that she would like this smell on me. After a few moments, she raised her gaze back to me, smiling from ear to ear. She leaned forward and lowered the lotion on my belly as her neck craned to me and her lips met mine. Her hands began to rub the lotion across my belly, and I chuckled softly at her gentle touch.

Her tongue grazed against my lips, and I opened my mouth to allow it entrance. It slipped between my lips, and I lightly sucked on it, earning a quiet moan from her. After a few more minutes of this cherished intimacy, I had to break out of the kiss to release the laughter that I had been holding back because of Santana's tickling fingers. My laughter triggered her laughter as well, and for a moment we just sat there and giggled until it was out of our systems. Then Santana grabbed the bottle of lotion again, and squeezed some more into her hand before climbing off of me and hurrying to sit behind me. She wrapped her arms around me and began to rub the lotion across my upper chest. She sat close enough for me to lean into her, and I let my head fall back on her shoulder. Her hands glided down my upper chest to my breasts, and I closed my eyes as she rubbed the cool lotion on them, squeezing gently and occasionally grazing her fingers against my nipples. I craned my neck back so that I could kiss the bottom of her chin, and she bent down to place a soft peck on my lips.

Santana's hands traveled down my arms and to my hands. She raised my hands before her and, after examining them for a few moments, asked, "Where is your wedding band?"

I motioned to the nightstand beside my bed, where the ring sat. "I don't wear it unless he is home. I am not his wife when I'm with you."

"Hm." She kissed my ear gently and leaned her head on mine. She was quiet for a few minutes, and I could almost feel how her mind was churning with thoughts. "Brittany?"

I leaned my head back so that I could look at her. "Yes?"

She was silent again for a few moments before dropping her gaze to me, taking in a deep breath, and asking, "If we lived somewhere else, in another time…would you marry me?"

Her eyes were somewhat fearful as she looked down at me. Frightened of my answer, frightened of rejection. I let my lips stretch into a wide smile and said, "Of course I would."

"Really?" Santana seemed relieved and tightened her arms around me.

"Mhmm." I closed my eyes again and let her engulf me into her chest. "Don't you remember? When we live in our fantasy world, we'll be married by the King himself."

She chuckled quietly above me and buried her nose in my hair. I could feel that something was still bothering her, so I asked, "What's wrong?"

She breathed into my hair, her arms protectively locked around my baby and me. A few moments passed before she answered. "When are we going to run away?"

I opened my eyes but kept silent. I had been thinking about this for some time now. I regretted that we waited this long, that we didn't have a way or the courage to escape before. Now it seemed almost impossible to do something so dangerous when I was so far along in my pregnancy. And once I had my baby…even if I was willing to leave it behind, Santana never would. We would have to wait years for the child to grow old enough for us to leave, and who knows what would happen by then?

Santana rubbed her forehead against the back of my head. "It's never going to happen, is it?"

I twisted my body in her arms so that I could face her. Her eyes, as dark as the bottom of the ocean, seemed so despondent and desperate. She licked her lips, and I could see how hard she was trying to hold back her hopeless tears. And I couldn't blame her for it. She had been stuck in this house, without any fresh air, for over six months now. I couldn't imagine how much she longed to leave, to not be in this constant state of fear, of what if he finds me? And I knew how much I wished for her to be in safety as well. The stress of being found out was almost crippling to both of us.

I stroked my thumb across her cheek and leaned in for a soft kiss. What could I say to her? Lie, tell her that we'll find a way somehow, sometime soon, and that it'll all be okay? I didn't know what our fate was, what her fate was. I didn't know if we had a day to still be together or a year or a lifetime. Everything was so fragile. Our entire world could break with a simple thud from downstairs that sends him searching for the source of the mysterious sound, or a foolish little slip of the tongue. We both knew that escape in my current state was not an option. But would it ever be an option?

I drew out of the kiss and wiped the tear that had slipped down her cheek with my thumb. "No matter what," I lifted her chin with my finger, "no matter what, Santana, I will always be with you."

A sad smile formed on her face, and she was about to speak when Ora dashed into the room. "Girls!"

We both turned around, and Santana quickly picked up my shirt and spread it across my chest to cover my bare breasts. Ora seemed short breathed, and she quickly said, "He's here, right now. Santana, you need to get to our room before he enters the house."

Santana flew off of the bed and out the door, leaving me behind. I hastily stood up, fixed my brassiere on me, slipped on my shirt, and hurried after Ora, through the hallway and down the stairs. Herr Eberhardt was standing in the living room, quite aware of the ruckus that we had been making. His eyes were hard and heartless as he watched us make our way down the stairs. I put my hand on my belly to try to calm down my baby, who started kicking inside my womb, as if aware of my anxiety. I tried breathing in deeply to relax myself, hoping that it would relax my baby as well. I glanced at the door that lead to the basement. It was cracked open, but I assumed that Santana had made it since there was no sign of her. I shifted my gaze back to Herr Eberhardt.

He eyed me judgmentally for a moment before ripping his gaze off of me and marching to the dining room. I made sure to soundlessly close the door to the basement before following him reluctantly. Ora was setting up the table for our meal, and she glanced up at me for a moment, silently asking me if Santana made it to the room. I nodded briefly and took a seat across from Herr Eberhardt. I raised my gaze back up to him, but quickly cowered under his glare. He never failed to make me feel worthless.

Chaim entered the dining room from the small door that lead to the kitchen, two grand dishes in his hands. Before he had the chance to lay them on the table, Herr Eberhardt suddenly stood up, a murderous look in his eyes, and made his way to me. Ora and Chaim froze in place as he gripped my left arm and brought my hand before him. His eyes bore holes into me as he said, "Where is your ring?"

My breath caught in my throat. I cursed myself for leaving the ring on my nightstand. "Um—"

Herr Eberhardt pulled me out of my chair, his grip on my upper arm tightening. "What if some Nazi officials were to visit our house, and see my wife without her wedding band?" he uttered dangerously.

I gulped anxiously and quietly whimpered at the death grip that he had on my arm. My baby kicked relentlessly in my belly.

"What is your excuse?" he growled.

"I—" I tried my best to hold back my tears. His grasp had made me lose all feeling except utter pain in my arm. I took in a shaky breath as my eyes jumped around the room in search of an answer. "The—the swelling."

Herr Eberhardt breathed heavily for a few moments before muttering, "What?"

"I—" A few tears cascaded down my cheeks. "My fingers swelled—because of the pregnancy—the ring was too tight."

Herr Eberhardt looked completely disgusted. He was quiet for a few seconds, but then he tightened his grip more, if that was even possible, and started shaking my entire body with each word that came out of his mouth. "Revolting—I've never been so disgusted with anyone—my child better come out like me and not like you, you—repulsive, worthless nothing."

He let go of my arm, dashed out of the dining room and out the front door, slamming it behind him. I heard his automobile rev and drive off. I fell back into my chair and let the tears stream freely down my cheeks, my right hand caressing my left arm. I sobbed miserably, leaning my head down. Blood was starting to flow back into my arm, and the pain was more powerful than ever. I glanced at it and saw a very obvious bruise in the shape of his hand. I felt like my baby was suffering with me, the way that it was kicking inside me. I felt like the tower of nourishing building blocks that Santana had so diligently built was carelessly knocked aside, leaving me wounded and vulnerable. I felt repulsive and worthless, just as Herr Eberhardt said.

The comforting arms that I loved so much slipped around me and a gentle kiss was placed on top of my head. "What happened?"

Through my tears, I explained to her how I had forgotten my wedding band on my nightstand, and my excuse for doing so, his reaction and his harsh words. She passed her fingers over the bruise on my arm, and then began to pace back and forth across the dining room. Ora and Chaim, who were frozen in place the entire time, made their ways to the table and sat in two wooden chairs, shaking their heads.

Santana continued to pace back and forth, her hand pulling her hair back in agitation. "He could've seriously hurt you—how dare he—you're with child, for God's sake—"

It was like he was physically hurting her by hurting me. She looked entirely lost and so very furious that there was nothing that she could've done about it. She kept licking her lips and then biting her lower one, her hands pulling at her hair. Suddenly, she turned to me, a look in her eyes that I had never seen before. "We have to leave. Now."

"Santana—" I began, only to be cut off by her panicked rant.

"You don't understand, Brittany. That man could kill you. He doesn't care what happens to you. He could—" She dropped to the floor, unable to take more of this pressure. She began to half-sob half-pant hysterically, in utter terror of the thought of him killing me.

I made my way to her and sat down on the floor beside her, embracing her caringly. "He won't hurt me as long as I'm carrying his child."

"And after?" She raised her petrified and swollen eyes to me. "What happens after, Brittany? After you've served your duty, after he doesn't need you anymore?"

I brushed my fingers through her hair. "His name and his image are everything to him, San. He won't want to ruin them by killing his wife, or by killing me and passing it off as suicide. It'll make him look weak, and that is the last thing that he wants."

She held onto me desperately, as if I was about to run away and disappear from her life, and sobbed into my shirt. I leaned my head on hers, and decided that although I was physically and mentally hurt at the moment, although my tower had fallen and broken to pieces, it was now time to build her tower, and to spell with those building blocks the positive and comforting things that the future might hold for us.