"The kids are here" Santana said apologetically as Quinn stepped inside the door to Tanya's huge apartment in Manhattan. "It's Drew's weekend but he has the flu."

"It's fine" Quinn began but her voice drowned in the shouting of two boys sword fighting their way across the living room.

"Anthony, please, we're inside" Tanya called from the kitchen. "Try to stab your brother without yelling."

Of course it was no coincidence that Santana had invited her for dinner just a few days after the talk that Quinn and Puck had. That was the problem with sharing your best friend with your ex. Or the benefit. Quinn didn't mind. It was nice to leave Lima for a little bit. And she had never been in an apartment this nice before. Even the city seemed softer and less loud. She had hated living here so much during the last year and now she couldn't remember why.

"Sorry about them" Tanya said, greeting Quinn with a smile. "It's Drew's weekend but…"
"…he has the flu. It's fine" Quinn smiled and hugged Santana's girlfriend.

They sat down around the dinner table. The boys ate hot dogs and the women ate a vegan dish that tasted like summer. They drank white wine and watched the sun set over the city through the huge panoramic windows. This place was nothing like the Bushwick apartment. When it was dark, Tanya took the boys to bed. When she returned, her hair was loose from the bun she had been wearing before and her blouse was wrinkled.

"How come kids never want to sleep?" she sighed, sitting down again and reaching for her glass. "God, I wish Drew was well. We had so much planned this weekend that we have to cancel."

"It's fine" Santana said, shrugging.

"How often are they with him?" Quinn asked. "Your ex?"
"Too often I think sometimes. And sometimes I think not enough" Tanya smiled.

Santana twirled her wine glass round and round. She said nothing and that meant more than if she had. The old Santana had snarled something about annoying children, about sticky fingers and boys climbing into their bed late at night. But she didn't. Not in front of Tanya anyway.

"I babysat my daughter alone for the first time" Quinn said because she had no one else to tell.

"That's great. How was it?"
"Scary. And nice."

"That sounds like perfect description of what it's like to be a parent" Tanya smiled softly.

Santana kept twirling her glass with the tips of her fingers. Quinn watched her intently, waiting for the sound of glass against wooden floor. It didn't happen. Tanya took the glass from her and carried it out to the kitchen together with the dirty dishes.

"I still can't believe you live in this place" Quinn said.

"Me neither. Sometimes I step into the elevator and I'm like what am I doing here?" Santana sighed. "And then I remember that I basically still make minimum wage entertaining elderly couples with my sweet voice and I feel that I'm worth it."
"And then you unlock the door and get knocked off your feet by two kids?"

"Basically. If they're not glued to their iPads."

"I don't know what is harder to wrap my head around, you in this huge apartment or you as a stepmom."

"Hey" Santana said, pouting. "I've always seen myself as an excellent evil stepmom. Think Cinderella, without the mice and the weird pumpkin."
Quinn laughed. It was nice to laugh. And not difficult. Her body was warm with wine and nice food and friends who cared about her.

"You like them though, don't you?"
Santana shrugged.

"Sure."

"Or do you just love her?"

"Both. I mean, in the beginning, I just put up with them because I love her. Then I liked them because they're hers, you know, and how sick would it be if I didn't love her children."
"And now?"

Santana shrugged again. She looked relaxed, her face soft in the moonlight. Quinn wanted to apologize for the past year. For being cold and distant, despite Santana's every try to cheer her up. She had never stopped trying. Never stopped shaking her shoulders and yelling her at her to get over it. Never giving up.

"I feel better" Quinn said.

"I know. I can tell."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you're eating again. And laughing."

"Yes. Despite everything."
"Yes, despite Puck not wanting to be with you" Santana said harshly.

Quinn nodded. There was nothing wrong with blunt honesty. It was better than denial.

…

Hours later she sat on a plastic chair and spoke with a policewoman. Her blood still pulsed violently inside her. Nothing seemed real. Or maybe it was too real. Reality had finally caught up with her, for real this time. She had escaped it all for too long; lived in some kind of fantasy with the love of her life and her dream job. She should have known that it wouldn't last forever.

"I don't know anything" she whispered. "I just knew that she didn't want me to film her at her house, because her father probably didn't want her to do the documentary. That's what she told me. I didn't think it was that strange… I mean…"

Her voice trailed away. It was because of her. Because of her stupid idea. Because of her hubris. Because she thought that she could help someone. Instead Alisha lay in a hospital bed with a broken nose and a concussion.

"Thank you" the policewoman said and Quinn stood up.

Her legs almost didn't carry her weight. She felt heavy and weak. Puck was suddenly beside her. His eyes were still dark with rage. She wanted to take his hand but they were curled into fists.

"She doesn't have insurance" he told her, sound unattached and cold.

"I'll fix it" Quinn whispered, turning on the spot, heading for somewhere where someone would help her do something constructive.

She couldn't bear standing around, without helping, with the guilt pulsing in every vein of her body. She had to move. He grabbed hold her wrist.

"Stay" he begged or ordered.

She couldn't tell.

"I have to do something."

She pulled herself free. He followed her. She wished that he wouldn't. He was so angry. At her. Probably. At least a little bit. He knew the motive of the beating. He knew how much she had messed up. Now worse than ever.

"Will you stand still for one minute?" he growled, frustrated with her.

"No."
"She'll be fine."

"Then stop looking at me like you might hurt me."

He stopped. She walked away from him. It wasn't fair. She knew that he would never hurt her. Not with those curled fists. Never. But she didn't want him to look at her. His gaze made the shame burn with an intensity she couldn't stand.

"Quinn!" he called after her, too loud in the early morning.

She ignored him. She had no idea where she was heading. The corridors seemed endless and identical. She passed nurses and patients and windows and windows and windows. Her shoes made a monotone sound against the floor. She felt just like she had after she had signed the papers, all those years ago, signed away Beth to someone else. She had walked the corridors then too. Filled with guilt and sadness and hopelessness. Exactly like now. And she was falling, she could feel it. She was falling down again, down the same road of nothingness and fear.

"I'm losing you" he whispered as he finally caught up with her. "Aren't I?"
She stared into his face. She loved him, so much. But not as much as she hated herself. She pulled away and this time he didn't follow.

…

"Did you think he would choose you?" Santana asked as they sat in Quinn's bed in the guest room.

"He didn't choose either of us. Not me and not Karen" she replied, not responding to the question intentionally.

"I know… But did you think he would choose you?"
Quinn exhaled. The room was dark. Santana's leg was smooth against hers. Tanya had gone to bed and given them a few more minutes together, to process and move on.

"He kissed me. When I came back from Paris. He kissed me and I thought… It felt like it meant something, like he was telling me that he loved me."

Her words seemed futile and weak; the hopes of a little girl. She didn't know how to explain how it had felt when he had held her tight and kissed her on the doorstep of her house.

"He never said that he didn't love you" Santana acknowledged.

"I know. That almost makes it worse."

"How come?"
"I love him and he loves me and here we are, pretending that the other one doesn't exist" Quinn whispered. "Move on. We tried that. I tried it for a year, look how well I did."

Santana snickered. Quinn envied her, envied the love she shared with a woman, a love that was unconventional and unexpected and effortless. A love that didn't seem to mind two children and different backgrounds and ex-husbands.

"Maybe it's the baby thing" Santana suggested.

"We didn't even talk about it."
"He probably thinks that there is nothing to talk about."

Quinn didn't say anything. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark and her head was clearing up from the wine. She still couldn't see Santana, but she could feel her and hear her breathing.

"Is there something to talk about?" she asked imploringly.

Quinn sighed.

"I don't know."
"You don't know? That's kind of a big step."

"Is it?"
"Yes."
"I spent the day with Beth. Did I tell you?"

"Yes" Santana replied softly, because Quinn had retold the story at least three times.

"She's perfect. I know that's a lame thing to say, but she is. She's smart and kind and I know Shelby's to thank for most of that. But…"

"But?"
"She's always reminded me so much of Puck. How she looks and the way she acts. Everything she got from him. Except now, now I see myself in her too. The way she talks or maybe just says something or thinks. I see little pieces of me in her too. Me and Puck, together."

"She's your kid."

"Yes. Mine and his."
"Are you sure you're not thinking like this because you miss him and would do anything to have him back?"

Quinn slipped down under the covers. She closed her eyes for just a second. She could fall asleep any second, she could feel it in every limb.

"Why do people decide to have kids, San?" she asked.

Santana slid down to a lying position too. It felt like a sleepover, the ones they used to have in sixth grade in Quinn's bedroom. Brittany would sleep on the floor, because she liked it, and Quinn and Santana would share the bed and fight for the covers all night long.

"I actually have no fucking idea."
"Come on."

"I don't know, Q. Because they want to move their relationship to the next step? Because they're bored with each other? Because you're supposed to?"

"Yes" Quinn agreed. "Maybe all those things. Or maybe because you love each other. Don't you think that's a valid reason?"
Santana didn't reply. They lay in silence for a long time. Quinn fought to stay awake.

"What are you going to do now?" Santana asked at last.

"I'm going to get my job back. Move to Boston again, get my own place and collect my old things from Puck's apartment."

"Good."

"I have no idea how to do it, though."
"Oh, who the fuck knows?"

They fell asleep side by side on the guest bed. When Quinn woke up again at four, Santana was gone.

…

Quinn sat with her head in her hands in the hospital cafeteria, almost asleep, almost in tears, almost hopelessly lost. It was lunch time and the tables around her were filling up with other people, but she didn't even notice. The smell of badly cooked meat and French fries didn't reach her nose. She was focusing on breathing, in and out and then in and out again. Every time it took more effort to fill her lungs with air. That was why she didn't notice that someone was talking to her until Puck shook her arm.

"Quinn!" he said loudly, his voice in octave too high. "Quinn, Alisha's gone. Have you seen her?"

Puck and a new doctor, one with gray hair and tired eyes, stood in front of her. She tried to understand what they were saying. Alisha was gone? How?

"What?" she stammered.

"I was on the phone with the insurance company and when I came back to her room, she was gone."

Suddenly every sound and every smell of the cafeteria hit her and she felt sick. Her eyes began to water with the chock of her senses starting to function again.

"I haven't seen her" she almost whispered.

Because she had been sitting here. Alone. Instead of being with Alisha. Once again, she had messed up. And once again, the consequences were major.

"I'm calling security" the doctor announced, pulling out a phone and dialing three digits.

He walked away from them, speaking quietly into the receiver. A quick look at Quinn and Puck and then back at the wall. He felt bad for them.

"Why didn't anyone stop her?" Puck asked, outraged and worried.

"She wasn't here by force."

"She had a concussion! A broken nose that needed surgery. What is going to happen now?"

"Do you blame me?" she asked boldly.

He wrinkled his eyebrows, like he was thinking about it or how to lie or what she was talking about. For once, she couldn't tell what he was thinking. The panic she felt and his rage were building a wall between them. She was blind and deaf again.

"Come on" he mumbled. "Come on."

She didn't know how to come on right now. He did blame her, and she didn't blame him for that.

"You still blame me for Beth too" she said flatly, though this was not the time or place to discuss it. "For what I did."

"Quinn" he groaned, frustrated.

"I don't need you to hate me for it. I hate myself enough."

He sighed. She craved for him to lie to her, just once, just there and then. She wanted him to tell her that it was all fine, that she had acted wisely and that Alisha's beating was the cause of someone else's stupidity. He didn't. He just looked at her. And she felt the bond between them snap.

"I have to go" she said, standing up and accidentally knocking over the empty cup of coffee.

"Go where? Alisha's missing. We have to call the police or…"
"I have to go."

She turned around and headed for the huge glass doors. Her heart was beating her in her chest along with every step. She needed to get out, get away, or she would implode.

"Where are you going?" he called after her.

She didn't respond. Her pace quickened and so did her heart rate.

"This is the last time, Quinn. I'm not going to chase after you again."

The double doors swung shut behind her and she was completely and utterly alone.

…

For the first time as a costumer, Quinn stepped into Al's Diner in Brooklyn. Shona looked up as the bell on top of the door chimed. A smile spread across her face as she made her way towards Quinn on the always sticky floor.
"Hey girl, what are you doing here? Please say you want your job back, the new girl is useless."

"Sorry. Just wanted to say hi."

"Oh well, good for you, honey. You were always too good for this place."

Quinn sat down at a table and ordered a large fries and a coke. She watched Shona go in to the kitchen and yell to Paul to get the fuck working. She had had her baby three months ago, Quinn remembered. She looked tiny again.

"Here you are, sweetie" she said, placing the plate in front of Quinn and sitting down opposite her.

Shona was in her mid-thirties, had four kids and a deadbeat husband. She was the one who had taught Quinn the ropes three minutes after Al had hired her. Nice and tough and the old men loved her hips and tipped her well.

"You had the baby" Quinn said stupidly.

"Yeah, a little boy.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

Quinn took a fry. She had lived all year on these unhealthy pieces of potatoes. It had probably ruined her heart, but at least kept her alive.

"You back in the city?"

"No. Just for the weekend. I think I'm going to move back to Boston."
"Boston… Never been there."

"I used to live there. Before... Before I came to work here."
Shona nodded. She waved at a couple at the door to sit wherever they liked. Al's was never crowded.

"I heard Jessie quit" she said.

"Yeah, moved to Los Angeles, do you believe it? All she ever went on about was being on Broadway and then she moved across the country."

"And Paul's useless as usual?"

"Yep. And Al's still a moron. Life here doesn't change much."

Quinn looked around at the faux leather booths and sticky tables and counter filled with donuts. At Shona's uniform that was too revealing and itched. She remembered how the windows were always dirty with a mixture of fat and fumes from the cars outside,. She remembered working night after night after night, almost tired and never happy.

"I'm probably the worst waitress in the world" she said.

Shona laughed.

"No, honey, you haven't met the new girl yet. She hasn't gotten an order right since she started here, but Al knows her daddy so she'll have to stay."

"I'm going to get my old job back. Not this one, the one I had before."

"Good for you, honey. What was it you did? Movies?"
"Documentaries."

Shona tilted her head and smiled. She had a mom-smile. Kind and gentle and comforting.

"And what about the boy?"

Quinn looked down onto the table. She had never spoken about him. Never. Not a word. This was not a place where you opened your heart. This was the place where you complained about bad tips and Shona muttered about her kids and Jessie made them watch her dance audition for Annie ten times in a row.

"Who?" she asked stupidly.

"Was there no boy? We always thought so, me and Jessie."

Quinn opened her mouth and then shut it again. She could talk about it now. It didn't hurt as much.

"There was one" she confessed.
Shona grinned vindictively.

"I knew it."

"How?"

"All those men, nice men, who gave you huge tips and smiled at you but you never noticed, never even looked them in the eye. I always thought that someone had broken your heart so badly that you were hurt for good."

"It was me" Quinn said. "I broke my own heart."

"I'm sorry, honey. But you look happier now. Have you found someone else?" Shona asked hopefully, stealing one of Quinn's untouched fries.

"No. I'll never find anyone else."

"You don't know that. You're young and beautiful and have your entire life in front of you."

"If I can't be with him, I don't want to be with anyone else. I'd rather be alone" Quinn said, with too much force. "There's nothing wrong with being alone."

Shona pursed her lips slightly. She didn't want to be alone. She fought so hard to keep her family together, to make it work with her husband and keep her children neat and clean. To her, Quinn was giving up.

"Who says you can't get him back?" she asked, not saying anything of what Quinn knew she was thinking.

"He did. He told me."

"Why did he do that? Did you ask? Beg? Plead?"

"No, not really."
"Have you?"
"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not good at begging."
"Then just explain to him why he should be with you. Girl, haven't you seen any romantic movies?"

…

"You're a fucking train wreck, did you know that?" Santana hissed or screamed or shouted.

She handed Quinn a cup of too hot coffee so forcefully that the liquid spilled onto Quinn's lap. When Santana was angry, she was angry. And Quinn loved it. She relished in being yelled at and shoved through doors and handed cups of coffee that spilled onto her thighs. She deserved all of it.

"Yes" she replied meekly.

"You left him? In the hospital? Just like that?"

"Yes."

Santana shook her head vigorously and left the room. Well, not the room, since the Bushwick apartment only had one room with bookshelves that split the room into sections. Santana went back into the kitchen section and Quinn sipped at the coffee. It burned her tongue. She licked at the soreness, felt it sting and hoped it could sting forever. Kurt and Rachel had disappeared as Quinn had knocked on the door. She could see the fear in their faces, no one wanted to be around when Santana got pissed.

"People would kill to get what you had. And you just left him?"

"I...I-"

"And he just let you go? He's a fucking idiot too."

Quinn couldn't see her but she could hear Santana rummaging through cabinets in search of something. Probably a dagger to stab Quinn with.

"You have been in love since you were teenagers, no, don't deny it, you have. You had a baby together. You lived together forever, literally forever. Everyone thinks you're about to get married or something, and instead, you break up?"

Quinn didn't reply. She sipped the coffee and closed her eyes and tried to cry. She couldn't. She hadn't been able to yet. Not while leaving the hospital or finding a cab or getting on the train to New York. Her eyes were dry.

"I'm so fucking pissed at you. Because who has to take care of the both of you? Me!"

"I don't need you to-"

"And the apartment, Q? You own that together, right? Is he going to live there? Are you going to sign everything over to him? You had a life together and now it's just over?"

Quinn couldn't think about the apartment yet. She couldn't think of their joined accounts at the bank or all the things they had bought together and not even about how she still had his wallet in her purse because she had taken it from him when they drove to New Haven. All she had was going to be cut in half. Just like her heart. No, she couldn't think about that.

"You fucking idiot" Santana cursed one of more time, appearing finally behind the bookshelf.

She was carrying to glasses and a bottle of whisky. She poured them a glass each, full to the brim. Quinn drank. Her throat burned and her tongue stung and her heart ached.

"You fucking idiot" Santana mumbled softly.

And Quinn cried.