When Santana decided to call it a day and let Holly take over, she felt a sense of dread wash over her. In a few minutes, she was going to drive back home, where she'd be alone with her thoughts, and she'd have to stop herself, yet again, from calling Brittany.

She'd been doing a lot of thinking since Thursday and admitted to herself that she may have overreacted. Although discovering the truth had certainly hurt—especially since she'd thought that she and Brittany were trusting each other again—she felt she should have approached the confrontation a bit differently, perhaps with a more open mind and certainly with more time after her initial reaction. She had said things she didn't mean, and she wished she could take them back.

For starters, she had never considered their relationship to be poison. After mulling it over, she now recognized how delicate Brittany's situation had been. Exposing herself as Susan would most likely hurt her career. Of course, Santana would never divulge the information to anyone, but she understood Brittany's reluctance to confess.

Still, Brittany had put them both in this situation, so she wasn't blameless either.

That was exactly why Santana desperately wanted to talk to her, but something was pulling her back; she loved her so much that she was ashamed of how rashly she had acted on Thursday.

"Santana?"

When she heard Kurt's voice, she turned around to see him standing right behind her, holding a large envelope. She frowned curiously, "What's that?"

He paused cautiously. "I don't know exactly. Brittany wanted me to give it to you."

"Brittany? Britt was here? Why didn't you tell me?"

"She didn't want to disturb you. She gave this to me and left right away."

Santana's face fell. "Oh." Why hadn't she stayed? They weren't exactly on good terms right now, but Santana could have made something quick for her...she knew how much Brittany liked cheese-stuffed jalapenos and deviled eggs.

"Here," Kurt said, extending the envelope. She took it and nodded her thanks, hesitating for just a moment before she walked to the storage room.

There, she sat against a wall and opened the envelope, eager to see what it contained. She frowned at the first paper, the one with her restaurant's name on it, but her eyes widened when she realized it was Brittany's review. Quickly, she looked at the other paper.

A letter.

She wasn't sure if a chilly, crappily-lit room was the best place to read it, but right now, she couldn't give much of a damn.

Santana,

These past few weeks, we've rebuilt something I never imagined would happen again. When I broke up with you three years ago, I thought I was setting my heart free. I knew what we had was much too fragile to ever grow. We had sex—amazing, mindblowing sex—but we also had tears, fights, and hearts that ached day after day. I know you felt it too; being in love with each other was exhausting.

Do you remember the day we met? I was on a date with the most self-centered girl in the world, and you were the waitress with the wicked smile. You flirted with me so shamelessly that at one point, my date just got up and left. I only noticed five minutes later...you and I had gotten into a passionate discussion about food. The light in your eyes, Santana...it was the most captivating thing. I knew in that moment your dream was Adjacent. You drew me in so quickly, and I know I had the same effect on you. It was so easy, you and me. The aspiring head chef and the aspiring writer.

We both made it, and I'm so proud.

But...with my dream came a big secret. Susan Spite was initially my boss's idea. Shelby had just hired me, and I was over the moon. I couldn't believe the opportunity, especially after feeling so stuck at Culi Mag. After a few weeks of writing blurbs for different sections of Cuisine, Shelby told me she needed another food critic. Jesse St. James was great, but he was a known face and wanted to do other things as well. She needed someone nobody would know, a fresh writer with an anonymous face, someone that would focus all their energy on going from restaurant to restaurant and come back with a myriad of things to write. I knew the minute she said it: that's what I wanted to do. It was perfect for me. I couldn't believe it! I'd get to stuff my face and write about it? Crazy.

Susan Spite isn't just a random persona; she's my whole job. People in the business look up to her, respect her, trust her words. My words. I never meant to lie to your face, but then I realized there was no way around it. If someone around you were to know...someone I couldn't trust...then I can't even imagine what the repercussions would be. People would recognize my face, and they'd know Susan the minute she stepped into their restaurant, bar, or café. I could never do my job the same way. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?

It's crazy, you know, words are usually my thing. But with you...my hands can't stop shaking, and the pen keeps slipping from my fingers. I trust you, I trust you with my heart and with this secret. I know you're angry at me for making you feel so vulnerable, and that was never my intention. That night when you knocked on my door, drenched and tired, you looked so overworked, I almost blurted out the truth right then. I'm so sorry, honey. I never meant to make you feel that way. You told me you needed me, and I knew then you were asking for comfort, not for an ugly piece of truth. Everything just happened so quickly after that...

I want you to talk to me, yell at me again if you need to, slap me silly with a dead fish, I don't care. Just tell me how I can fix things. Now I'm the one telling you—I need you. I need you back in my life. I thought breaking up with you the first time was hard, but this? This is killing me. I was so wrong. We have changed. We have grown. We're not those two dreamers anymore. We're not reckless or naive. I loved you hard and foolishly, but now I love you with everything I have. You were with me before, but now you're a part of me. Does that make sense? It's different, you know—we never talked too much about the future together. Maybe it's because we knew our relationship wouldn't last, or maybe we just didn't think that far ahead. But now, it's all I can think about. Please don't give up on us.

Love,
Brittany

P.S. I walked into your restaurant that first day knowing I would love your food, and each time I went back, you proved me right. There is not one word in that review that I don't mean, and I hope you can understand it was never meant to hurt you in the first place. And, for what it's worth, I think you're an amazing chef.