Prompt: The exact moment(s) that two best friends fell in love

Characters: Quinn & Beth.

Words: 712

For sixteen years, Quinn had been positive she'd known what love was. Love was her mother, telling her not to eat another Toaster Strudel before school in second grade because "she wanted to feel good about herself, right?" Love was her father, speaking her name with pride in his voice, connected with a string of accomplishments, ("straight As this year", "lost forty pounds", "got her braces off", "her nose healed", "cheer captain at school".) Love was Noah Puckerman agreeing to sleep with her on a fat day. Love was Santana swearing not to tell about their ridiculous pact they'd made in middle school, to starve themselves into Coach Sue's good graces. Love was her parents calling her Quinn, not Lucy, and letting her transfer schools.

Love was everywhere and nowhere.

Until, she saw Beth.

Labor had been hell. Mercedes had been there. Her mom, even. Puck, too. But Quinn didn't even register their presence. All that mattered was the seizing of pain that came fast and sharp and too long. All that mattered was getting her out. She had been certain giving that last - God, that sixth - agonizing push that she would not want to see her daughter.

Quinn was giving her up. She was firm in that. There was no way she could raise a baby, give her any kind of life. Be sure she grew up healthy and safe and loved when Quinn couldn't remember the last time she felt any of those things, really. In a way, this was the best gift she could give her daughter.

But then Beth was there. Not a part of Quinn anymore, and she expected it. She'd thought she wanted it. But now that it was true, all she felt was empty and in pain.

"Do you want to hold her?" a nurse asked, aware of the circumstances and that Quinn and Puck planned to give her up.

Quinn planned to say no. The word was inside her, and she was sure she would say it until it was actually out of her mouth. And it wasn't what she meant to say at all.

"Yes," she gasped.

Just like that her arms were full, and her heart was breaking. This was her daughter, her girl, who Quinn had to believe was meant to be in this world. Quinn just wasn't meant to be her mom. Quinn looked into those eyes - God, those eyes - and just knew.

Love was a feeling beyond words and description. Love meant something so big and pure and positive that Quinn would do anything and everything in her power to make sure Beth was loved and taken care of the way she should be.

Later, when she stared at the papers, Beth asleep in her basinet beside the hospital bed, Quinn had asked to be alone. So no one could see her tears. So that not even Puck or her mom or Mercedes could see the emotion that poured out of her. God, no one told her it would be like this. No one told her that getting pregnant and growing as big as a house, and going into labor at Sectionals was going to be the easy part. No one told her that giving up her child would feel like a death. Quinn sobbed quietly, so she wouldn't wake the baby who would grow up in someone else's family, and she thought about all they shared. So many moves and nights staying up late with Quinn reading aloud from textbooks so Beth could grow up to be smart. Every time Beth ever made a slow roll inside her, or pressed her tiny hand to Quinn's insides. She thought about all this and so much more as she signed her name on the line:

Lucy Q. Fabray.

"This isn't because I don't love you," Quinn whispered to the sleeping baby, around the tears in her throat. "It's because I do."

And when Shelby Corcoran came to take Beth home, Quinn stood straight and strong, her eyes fixed ahead. Love wasn't what she thought it was after all.

Love was an ache. And love was a hole.

Love was growing up overnight, and realizing that the world was bigger than just you.

Love was letting go.

The End.