The last three months passed in a whirlwind for Brett and Santana. Between preparing for the baby and finally getting the keys to their new home, life had felt like it was moving at double speed. Just two weeks ago, they'd walked into their very own house for the first time, keys in hand and hearts brimming with excitement. It had been a stressful process for Brett, far more so than he'd anticipated. Santana had thrown herself into nesting mode with the intensity of a hurricane, insisting that everything be perfect for the baby's arrival. As a result, Brett had barely had a moment to breathe.
The pressure only mounted as the deadline grew closer. Santana's parents had graciously flown down to help, sensing Brett's frazzled state. Together, they painted the nursery, built the crib, and assembled all the other baby furniture while Santana oversaw every decision with military precision. Brett had naively thought that once the house was in order, once the last piece of furniture was in place, the walls painted, and the baby clothes folded—Santana would finally relax.
He was wrong.
Brett was suddenly jolted awake by a sharp jab to his ribcage. "Ow" he mumbled, confused and groggy. He blinked in the dim light, trying to figure out what had just happened. "Get off me, Brett," Santana hissed, her voice tight with frustration. Brett frowned, still half-asleep. "What? What was I doing?" he asked, his voice thick with tiredness. "You were touching me," Santana snapped, her arms rigid by her sides as she shifted uncomfortably. "But…you asked me to spoon you?" Brett said, now fully awake and thoroughly baffled. Just hours ago, she had specifically asked for him to hold her close. "Well, I don't want that now," Santana retorted, her voice clipped. "So move over." Brett sighed deeply, but he didn't argue. It was better not to, especially when Santana was in one of her moods. He slowly rolled to the other side of the bed, giving her the space she demanded. He stared at the ceiling, listening to her restless breathing beside him.
He loved her, that wasn't the issue, and he knew how much she loved him. But ever since the pregnancy had progressed, Santana's moods had become unpredictable. One minute she'd be cuddly, asking for affection, and the next, she'd recoil as if his touch was unbearable. He tried to be understanding—he knew pregnancy hormones could be brutal, but it was starting to wear him down.
The next morning, Brett woke up to find the other side of the bed empty. Santana was already up, and he could hear her moving around the kitchen, likely preparing her breakfast. He dragged himself out of bed, threw on a T-shirt and some sweats, and headed to join her. In the kitchen, Santana was leaning over the island, eating a bowl of cereal. Her face was pale, her hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head. She looked tired, her eyes puffy from a sleepless night.
"Morning," Brett greeted her, leaning against the counter as he reached for a mug to pour himself some coffee. "How'd you sleep?" Santana didn't look up from her bowl. "Barely," she muttered. "The baby was kicking all night, and I couldn't get comfortable." Brett nodded sympathetically, though he didn't know what to say. He could tell by the tension in her voice that she wasn't in the mood for idle chit-chat. He took a few cautious sips of his coffee, hoping that the caffeine would kick in and make the day feel a little less daunting. "Santana," Brett started gently, breaking the silence. "I know things have been really overwhelming lately, but we're almost there. The house is ready, the baby's room is perfect, and we have everything we need. Maybe it's time to relax a little, you know? Enjoy these last few days or weeks before the baby gets here." Santana finally looked up from her cereal, her eyes narrowing at him. "Relax?" she repeated, incredulous. "How can I relax when I'm the size of a whale, I can't sleep. I don't even know if I'm ready, Brett." Brett took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. "I get that. But we've done everything we can. You've done everything you can. It doesn't have to be perfect, San. We'll figure it out as we go."
The following day, Brett arrived at the airport, feeling the weight of sleepless nights, long workdays, and the emotional rollercoaster of Santana's late-stage pregnancy. His mind was buzzing with a hundred thoughts at once, but one thing he knew for sure was that Quinn's visit couldn't have come at a better time. Santana's due date was just days away, and while he loved his wife dearly, her mood swings had been intense.
As Quinn came through the arrivals gate, pulling her luggage behind her, she immediately zeroed in on Brett and grinned. "You look rough," she teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. Brett laughed, though it came out more tired than amused. "Thanks, Quinn. Always appreciate the honesty," he replied, reaching for her bags. He could see her inspecting him closely, no doubt noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the way his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. They made their way through the bustling airport and out to Brett's car. As they packed her luggage into the trunk, Quinn tilted her head at him. "So, how's everything going? Ready to be a dad yet?" Brett groaned as he got into the driver's seat. "You'd think I'd be ready...I'm not sure anyone's ever really ready. I mean, we've got the house, the nursery's set up, we've got all the baby gear—but Santana..." He trailed off with a sigh, his mind flashing to the emotional hurricane that had taken over his normally composed wife. Quinn raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to the story. "Santana what?"
Brett started the car, glancing at her with a sheepish look. "She's...well, let's just say her vicious tongue is well and truly out. The mood swings are real, Quinn. One minute she's asking me to spoon her, and the next, she's kicking me out of bed. It's like walking on eggshells." Quinn let out a soft chuckle. "Hormones, Brett. You'll survive."
"Yeah, I know. I love her, I really do, but I'm just warning you, it might be best for you to stay at Mom's. Santana's not in the best mood right now, and I don't want you to end up in the crossfire." Quinn rolled her eyes, waving off his concern. "I've known Santana for years. She's fierce, but I can handle her. Besides, I want to see the new house."
Brett grinned as they pulled onto the highway, heading toward their new place. They walked into the house, and immediately, Brett could feel the tension in the air. Santana was lying on the couch in the living room, her pregnant belly making her presence known even from across the room. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and she looked up when she heard the door open. The second she saw Quinn, though, her expression hardened.
"Quinn," Santana said bluntly, her voice tinged with irritation. "Why are you here? You can't stay here. I don't want you here." Quinn blinked, taken aback for a moment, but she quickly recovered. "Nice to see you too, San," she replied, her tone light as she gave a small laugh. She glanced at Brett with a raised eyebrow, as if to say, This is what you meant, huh? Brett sighed internally. He'd tried to warn Quinn. "Told you," he muttered under his breath, though not loud enough for Santana to hear.
He walked over to the couch and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in foil from Jersey Mike's. "Roast beef and provolone, just like you asked," Brett said with a hopeful smile, handing the sandwich to Santana. He hoped this small act of getting her favorite sandwich would help ease her mood. For a brief moment, it seemed like it worked. Santana smiled at him, accepting the sandwich and inspecting it. But the moment was short-lived. She looked up at him with wide eyes, her lower lip quivering. "You forgot my pickles," Santana said, her voice cracking. And then, out of nowhere, she burst into tears, sobbing into the sandwich as if it were the gravest offense in the world.
Brett froze, staring at her in alarm. Quinn's eyes widened in shock, her mouth slightly open as she watched Santana unravel in front of them. "What…do I do?" Brett mouthed at Quinn, feeling completely out of his depth. Quinn shook her head, biting her lip to suppress a laugh. "Hormones, Brett," she whispered, echoing her earlier comment.
Santana continued to sob, clutching the sandwich as though the absence of pickles had ruined her entire day. "I was so looking forward to the pickles," she wailed, her face buried in her hands now. "Why didn't you get me pickles, Brett?" Brett moved closer to her. "I'm sorry, babe. I can run out and get you some right now if you want," he said gently, rubbing her back in an attempt to comfort her. Santana shook her head, still crying. "No, it's too late. The sandwich is already ruined!" Quinn, at this point, was holding back her laughter so hard that her face had turned red. "Brett, you monster. How could you forget the pickles?" she teased, trying to lighten the mood. Santana shot her a glare, though her tears were still flowing. "This isn't funny, Quinn!"
"I know, I know," Quinn said, raising her hands in mock surrender. "I'm sorry, San."
Brett continued rubbing Santana's back, feeling completely helpless. "Look, I'll get the pickles. I'll get you whatever you want. Just say the word."
Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Santana's sobs began to subside. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed. "I don't know what's wrong with me." Brett gave her a soft smile. "There's nothing wrong with you. It's just the pregnancy, the stress, everything. It's okay to be upset." They sat there in silence for a while, the earlier tension in the room slowly dissipating. Quinn pulled out her phone as Santana took a tentative bite of her Sandwich, even without the pickles.
Quinn lasted one full day. After one particularly intense evening when Santana snapped at Quinn for "breathing too loudly" during a movie, Quinn finally threw in the towel. "Okay, that's it," Quinn had said, her voice half-laughing but weary, as she gathered her things. "I love you both, but I think I'll stay at Mom's for the rest of my visit."
Santana, who had been lounging on the couch, merely shrugged. "Fine by me," she said, without so much as looking up from the television. Brett had shot Quinn an apologetic look, but his sister had waved it off. "It's okay, I get it," Quinn whispered to Brett, leaning in to give him a hug before heading for the door. "I'll see you when the baby comes. Call me if you need anything."
Brett nodded and watched as she disappeared, leaving the house quieter but somehow more tense than before. Everyone, it seemed, had made the same decision. Santana's parents had been similarly burned by their daughter's hormone-fueled moods during their visit to help with the nursery. After a few too many biting remarks and stressed-out sighs, they had opted to stay at a hotel, offering to visit once the baby arrived and Santana was, hopefully, a little calmer.
And so, for the last two weeks leading up to Santana's due date, Brett had been on his own, navigating the minefield of emotions that had become their home. He couldn't entirely blame her, being nine months pregnant in the middle of summer in Miami was no picnic.
One evening, after another long day of Santana pacing the house and Brett doing his best to stay out of the way, he finally reached his limit. They were sitting in the living room, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Santana had her feet propped up on the ottoman, rubbing her swollen belly absentmindedly as she stared blankly at the television. Brett glanced over at her, feeling both helpless and desperate for some kind of resolution.
"We need to get this baby out," Brett blurted out suddenly, breaking the silence. Santana turned her head slowly to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "Excuse me?" she said, her tone sharp, though not as biting as it had been earlier. Brett sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean it, San. I can't keep watching you be so uncomfortable, and I'm losing my mind over here. Let's do something. Anything. Let's try to start labor." Santana blinked at him, clearly taken aback by his sudden outburst. For a moment, Brett wondered if he had said the wrong thing, if maybe this was going to be another trigger for her to snap at him. But instead, to his surprise, she nodded slowly, her expression softening. "Fine," she said, exhaling a long breath. "Let's do it. I'm ready to meet this baby, too."
Brett felt a wave of relief wash over him, grateful that, for once, they were on the same page. He had read a million articles and heard all kinds of advice about natural ways to induce labor, but he hadn't wanted to push the subject with Santana until she was ready. "Okay," Brett said, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. "What should we try first? Walking? Spicy food?"
Santana chuckled, though it was a tired, half-hearted sound. "Let's try them all" she said. "At this point, I'm willing to do anything."
And so, that night became the start of their mission to kickstart labor. Brett, determined and a little nervous, pulled on his sneakers and grabbed Santana's hand as they headed out for a walk around the neighborhood. Santana waddled beside him, her belly so big now that it looked like it was ready to burst. They walked slowly, hand in hand, the warm Miami evening air thick and heavy around them. "Do you think this will work?" Santana asked, glancing up at Brett as they made their way down the street. "I don't know," Brett admitted, squeezing her hand. "But it's worth a shot. Plus, it's good to get you moving."
After their walk, they headed back home, where Brett ordered takeout from a local Indian restaurant. "Spicy food is supposed to help, right?" he said, as he set the bags down on the kitchen counter. Santana eyed the containers warily, but she nodded. "That's what they say," she said. "Let's hope it does something, because I'm over this pregnancy."
They sat down at the table, and Santana took a cautious bite of the curry Brett had ordered for her. After a moment, she nodded, approving of the heat level. Brett watched her, half-expecting something miraculous to happen the moment she swallowed the food, but of course, nothing did. They ate in silence, Santana occasionally wincing as the baby kicked inside her, clearly as restless as she was. "Well?" Brett asked after they finished eating, watching her closely. "Anything?" Santana rolled her eyes, though there was a small smile on her lips. "No, Brett. I don't think spicy food is an instant magic trick." He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Worth a shot."
After dinner, they moved on to the next item on their list: bouncing on an exercise ball. Brett had bought one a few weeks ago, after reading that it could help move things along. Santana perched herself on the large, inflatable ball, bouncing gently as she watched TV. Brett sat beside her, occasionally glancing over to see if she was feeling anything different. "I feel ridiculous," Santana muttered after a while, bouncing with a bored expression on her face. "You look cute," Brett said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. She shot him a withering look. "I'm nine months pregnant, Brett. Cute is not what I feel right now."
A full week past her due date, and still, the baby showed no sign of arriving. Santana, at this point, was beyond frustrated. The attempts at inducing labor naturally, spicy foods, walking, bouncing on the exercise ball constantly all day everyday had all failed miserably. And now, as they sat in the car, driving to yet another doctor's appointment, her mood was as dark as the storm clouds brewing over the Miami skyline. "Nothing is smooth with us and babies, is it?" Santana sighed, her voice tinged with exhaustion as she glanced over at Brett in the driver's seat. She shifted uncomfortably, her swollen belly making it difficult to sit in any one position for too long. Brett cast a sympathetic glance at her, his hand resting gently on the steering wheel as he navigated the familiar route to the doctor's office. "We had to have help to make the baby," she continued, rubbing her belly absentmindedly, "and now we're probably going to need help to get it out too. This baby is happy staying in me forever."
Brett chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, though he knew how worn out Santana was. He reached over to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, maybe the baby's just taking its time to make a grand entrance. You know, just like you always fashionably late." Santana shot him a tired glare, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "If I could roll my eyes any harder, I would."
As they pulled into the parking lot of the clinic, Santana let out a long breath as Brett parked the car and quickly came around to help her out, a habit he'd developed over the last few months as Santana's mobility became more and more limited. "Thanks," she muttered, leaning on him slightly as they made their way inside. Every step felt like a monumental effort at this point, and Santana was just grateful that this appointment was at least air-conditioned.
Once inside, they were quickly shown to an examination room, and Santana settled onto the table, her feet dangling off the edge as they waited for the doctor. Brett stood by her side, offering silent support, his hand resting on her shoulder.
The doctor arrived a few minutes later, greeting them with a warm smile before getting straight to business. After checking Santana's vitals and going over the usual questions, the doctor turned to her with a more serious expression. "Well, Santana," she began, her tone gentle but firm, "you're now a week past your due date, and while everything looks healthy, we need to start considering our options. If labor doesn't start naturally in the next few days, we'll need to talk about scheduling an induction."
Santana nodded, though the thought of being induced made her stomach twist with anxiety. She had hoped for a natural labor, something that would just happen on its own, but it was becoming clear that this baby had its own timeline. Brett squeezed her shoulder again, offering silent reassurance. "I know it's not what you wanted," the doctor said kindly, "but sometimes babies need a little encouragement to come into the world. The good news is that you're both healthy, and that's what matters."
Santana sighed, rubbing her belly once more. "I know. It's just… it's been such a long road. I thought this part would be easier." The doctor nodded sympathetically. "Every pregnancy is different, and unfortunately, we can't control everything. But I promise, you're almost there. And once your baby is here, all of this waiting will be a distant memory."
After a few more minutes of discussion, the appointment wrapped up, and they were sent on their way with instructions to return in a few days if nothing happened. Brett opened the car door for her once again, helping her in before climbing into the driver's seat himself. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Santana let out another long sigh, resting her head against the window as they drove.
"You okay?" Brett asked after a few minutes of silence, glancing over at her. Santana nodded, though she didn't look away from the window. "Yeah, I'm just… tired. Tired of waiting, tired of feeling like this. I'm ready, Brett. I just want this baby here." Brett reached over and took her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I know, babe. We're almost there. Just a little longer."
That night, as they lay in bed, Brett decided to give it one last try. "You know," he said, his voice teasing as he ran a hand lightly down her arm, "I've read that sex can help start labor…" Santana's glare was immediate, sharp and unyielding. "I couldn't think of anything worse right now" she snapped, grabbing his hand and pushing it off her thigh. "Seriously, Brett." He held up his hands in surrender, laughing quietly. "Alright, alright. I had to ask." Santana rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. "We'll wait a few more days" she said, settling back against her pillow and wait they did.
Another day passed, then two, and still no sign of baby. The anticipation was becoming unbearable, and Santana had had enough. She felt like a ticking time bomb, moving through the days in a state of exhaustion and frustration. Brett, too, was worn out, though he did his best to stay positive, offering words of encouragement, little jokes, and back rubs whenever Santana needed them.
But even his patience was wearing thin. Their lives had been put on hold, and the endless waiting, combined with Santana's daily discomfort, had turned the last few weeks into a blur of anxiety and uncertainty. She was now having doctor's appointments every other day. Each one felt like a cruel routine, with the same updates, the same check-ups, and no progress. The baby was perfectly fine, nestled inside her, happy to stay put. But Santana was done.
"Let's hope today's different," Brett had muttered as they got ready that morning, his voice laced with weariness. Santana had simply nodded, too tired to respond. She didn't even allow herself to hope anymore.
But today turned out to be different.
Sitting in the sterile, clinical room, Santana was only half-listening as the doctor performed the usual checks, taking her blood pressure, measuring the baby's position, and listening to the heartbeat. Brett stood nearby, rubbing his temples and gazing out the window, lost in his own thoughts. Then, in a calm, collected tone, the doctor spoke up, pulling them both back into the present moment.
"I think it's time we get this baby out."
Santana blinked, unsure if she'd heard correctly. Brett's head snapped toward the doctor, his face a mix of shock and confusion. "What?" Brett asked, his voice incredulous. "When?" The doctor smiled gently, understanding their disbelief. "Tomorrow," she said. "We'll induce labor tomorrow morning. I want you to arrive at the hospital for 8 a.m."
For a moment, the room was completely silent. Santana and Brett stared at the doctor, trying to process what she had just said. Tomorrow? Tomorrow they would finally meet their baby? Santana's heart began to race as the realization hit her. The end of the pregnancy, the waiting, the pain —it was all coming to a close. But with that realization came a rush of nerves, like a wave crashing over her. She looked at Brett, and his face mirrored her own shock.
The doctor continued explaining the details of what would happen during the induction, what to expect, how the process would unfold but Santana barely heard any of it. Her thoughts were racing too fast, her emotions swirling too wildly.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, everything would change.
They thanked the doctor, and before she knew it, they were walking out of the office and heading toward the car, their steps slow and measured, as if the weight of the moment had physically slowed them down. Neither of them spoke as Brett opened the car door for Santana, and she lowered herself into the passenger seat, her mind still reeling.
Once inside, Brett sat in the driver's seat for a long moment before turning the key in the ignition. The soft hum of the engine filled the silence, but still, neither of them said a word. It wasn't until they were halfway home that Santana finally broke the quiet. "Are we ready?" she asked, her voice quiet but filled with apprehension. "Are we ready to be parents?"
Brett tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He had been thinking the exact same thing, but hearing Santana say it out loud made the question feel more real, more pressing. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice low. He glanced over at her, seeing the uncertainty in her eyes that mirrored his own. "But we're going to be parents tomorrow." He paused, taking a deep breath. "We're actually having a baby."
Santana let out a long sigh, resting her hands on her belly. The baby moved slightly beneath her touch, as if reminding her that it was still there, waiting. "I don't feel ready," Santana admitted softly. "I thought I would, but now that it's here…" She trailed off, staring out the window at the passing scenery. Her voice was filled with a vulnerability that Brett rarely heard from her. "I get it," Brett said, his tone gentle. "I feel the same way. It's… a lot."
"Do you think anyone ever really feels ready?" Brett asked after a while, breaking the silence. "Like… I don't know. I feel like no matter how much we prepare, it's still going to be this huge, life-changing thing that we can't fully understand until we're in it." Santana considered that for a moment, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on her belly. "Maybe not," she said quietly. "Maybe it's just one of those things you figure out as you go." Brett nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. "Yeah, maybe."
As they pulled into their driveway, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden light over their new home. They stepped out of the car and made their way inside. The house was quiet, the nursery just down the hall, waiting for its occupant. Brett turned to Santana as they stood in the entryway. "We're going to be okay," he said softly, his hand finding hers. "We'll figure it out. Together." Santana looked at him, her eyes softening. "Yeah," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "We will."
The rest of the evening passed in a strange, dreamlike blur. They ate dinner together, though neither of them had much of an appetite. They double-checked the hospital bag, made sure everything was in order, and laid out their clothes for the next morning. Every action felt weighted with significance, as if they were preparing for a monumental event, because, in truth, they were.
As they climbed into bed that night, the house felt quieter than usual. Brett wrapped an arm around Santana, and for once, she didn't push him away. "I can't believe this is it" she whispered in the dark, her voice barely audible. Brett smiled, though she couldn't see it. "Me neither."
Tomorrow, they would become parents. Tomorrow, their world would change forever. And as nervous as they were, there was a growing sense of excitement and anticipation mixed in with the fear.
They were ready. Or as ready as they could be.