The steady beat of Kanye West's 'Gold Digger' echoes through the basement studio as Shelby Corcoran leans over the ballet barre. She forces herself to breathe steadily- in through the nose and out through the mouth- while trickles of sweat stream down the sides of her face. When the pounds of her heart begin to return to a slower rhythm, she reaches across for the sweat towel and dries herself down. She grabs her phone, still lying in the cup holder of the treadmill and skips a couple of songs, eventually landing on some Ariana Grande. Unconsciously humming along softly, she opens the camera app to snap a picture of her workout stats.

It's not her best, but she didn't sleep well last night. Somehow, her double bed felt emptier than usual, not at all helped by the thumping bass coming from one of her neighbour's houses. She isn't quite sure who on her suburban street would have the time or inclination to throw a party on an October Wednesday night, but she didn't bother to call the police with a noise complaint. The flaming bag on her porch the last time she did that was a great deterrent.

Heading through the glass door into the rest of the basement that doubles as an office and music room, her phone vibrates with an incoming text.

Morning, Sunshine. Hope cardio this morning was fun. Eat a good breakfast. -L

A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips. She taps out her reply whilst climbing the spiral stairs back up to the ground floor, taking them two at a time and using this to stretch out her aching muscles.

Afternoon, Hotstuff. Don't I always? -S

Finally making it up the second flight of stairs and back into her bedroom, she slips off her sweaty workout gear and pads into the ensuite. She leaves the shower to run for a second and connects her phone to the bathroom speaker, setting her showering playlist to go.

Twenty-five minutes, shuffling into a pencil skirt, and a face of make-up later, Shelby holds a cup of frozen pineapple up to her eye-level. Deciding the measurement is right, she tips it into the blender, secures the lid and hits the 'start' button. Carole King blares through the speakers, barely audible over the roaring blender. She hopes last night's noisy neighbours can hear all this, it seems a shame to her to not keep the party going in the early morning.

She pours the green smoothie out the blender and sits it down on the counter next to her mug off coffee, fresh from the Keurig before snapping a picture. Where You Lead begins to play and she sways her hips to the beat, carrying both cups round the counter to the breakfast bar where her laptop is already open and waiting. She flicks through her schedule for the day- nothing particularly special, but it's good to be prepared anyway- and alternates sips from both cups. Her eyes flicker away from the laptop screen only when her phone buzzes with another text.

Coffee and a smoothie isn't a proper breakfast. -L

She rolls her eyes, though they're sparkling with amusement, and sets her mug down so she can reply.

Do you have my house bugged?- S

She hasn't even closed the screen before three dots appear showing the imminent response.

No you're just very predictable. Take a protein bar with you to work. -L

Shelby smirks, thinking of the protein bar she's just put into her work purse.

Yes, sir. Now don't you have anything better to do than to harass me about breakfast?- S

Nope- this lecture is very boring. The guy giving it isn't as cute as you. -L

You're lame. Focus. -S

Yes, Miss Corcoran. Have a good day at work. I'll call you after your appointment. -L

I'll answer. Love you. -S

Love you more. -L

Shelby slides her phone back across the table with a small chuckle. Glancing back at her laptop screen, she sees she only has five minutes to pack her stuff and leave the house. She quickly chugs both the remaining smoothie and coffee, the combined taste in her mouth almost making her gag, before rushing back up the stairs to brush her teeth.

She arrives in her office next to Carmel's auditorium forty minutes later, holding another mug of coffee poured from the machine in the teacher's lounge. She would usually make herself one from the nicer machine in her own office, but she got roped in to a discussion about the upcoming AP literature exam with one of her fellow English teachers. Throwing her purse under her desk, she sips the bitter, but thankfully not completely atrocious coffee. As she's turning on her desktop to print out lesson plans for that morning, there's a knock on the door.

"Come in," she calls, not breaking her gaze from the screen.

The door opens to reveal a scowling Jesse St. James, backpack slung over his shoulder and sunglasses still on, despite the fact it was a little overcast that morning.

"Shelby," he says simply, slumping down into the chair on the other side of her desk. If either of them were being honest, it would basically just be known as Jesse's chair. He sat in it more than anyone else, often swinging by her office before homeroom or during the lunch hour. But Shelby doesn't much like acknowledging to herself that her closest friend at her place of work is a sullen, cocky sixteen-year-old.

"Morning, Jess," she says, still focussed on the computer. She glances over the plan she's made to discuss ideas of regret in Frankenstein with her juniors. Hopefully they'd be more coherent on this than when they'd tried to look at what constituted monstrosity last week and she'd had to send to of them out because they wouldn't stop making monster noises. She could dream. She hits print and hears the machine whir to life behind her. "What's up?" she asks, finally turning to address Jesse.

"Rehearsal was appalling yesterday," Jesse says.

Shelby scoffs. She knows it's not an attack from Jesse on her own teaching abilities, but she has to be a little exasperated at Jesse's constant need for perfection. It even rivals her own. "Right."

"You need to find a new female lead who can match my clearly superior vocal talent," he says without a hint of sarcasm.

"Want to magic one up for me?"

"I'm serious."

Shelby picks up her coffee mug and moves to the printer, watching as it churns out her handouts for class. "What's wrong with Andrea?"

"How long have you got?" Jesse says, cocking an eyebrow. He takes a deep breath, clearly about to start listing everything he finds insufferable about his female co-captain.

Shelby quickly raises a hand to stop him. "Put up with her for Invitationals and I'll see what I can do before Sectionals."

Jesse pauses, considering this. "Can I do the solo?"

"For sectionals?" she asks and Jesse nods in confirmation. "Only if you're super nice to me for the next month." She winks at him, which he returns by poking his tongue out. "Come on, or we're both going to be late to homeroom."

Shelby quickly gathers the handouts, tucking them under her arm, and ushers Jesse out of her office. Once she's locked the door behind them, they begin to walk back to the main area of the school. Jesse is talking a mile a minute about his ideas for his solo, while Shelby simply takes gulps of her coffee, nodding occasionally.

They reach his homeroom and she sends him on his way with a firm glare that says it's time to stop asking whether the VA budget can accommodate a crane which would suspend him above the audience. She smirks to herself once he's trudged into the classroom. That boy is really something else.

"Ah, Miss Corcoran. Just the woman I was hoping to see," a voice calls from behind her. She comes to a halt in the corridor and spins on her heel. It's James Weatherby, the assistant principal. Shelby's face immediately hardens, she's hated the man ever since he started working at Carmel two years ago. Or rather, has hated him from the minute he started hitting on her, which was about thirty seconds after he first walked into the teachers' lounge.

He must only be in his mid-forties, but he's already almost completely bald, with a pinkish head that usually glistens from sweat. Shelby can't even take it as a compliment that he's interested in her; it's too revolting to think about.

"James," she says curtly, ready to turn back around and carry on to her own classroom. She's found the best way to deal with him is just to ignore him. Hopefully he'll get bored soon. Although his persistence over the last couple of years would suggest otherwise.

"So we've had an emergency transfer," he says, walking towards her and very much invading her personal-space bubble. His pungent cologne floods her nostrils. "Freshman girl from McKinley. Family reasons."

"Okay," Shelby says slowly, she's not quite sure what this could have to do with her.

"I've arranged for her to be in your homeroom class. You know, because you're a welcoming and friendly member of the Carmel team," James says with a lewd smile.

Shelby resists the urge to roll her eyes. She's well-aware that that statement is pretty much the complete opposite of her reputation as a teacher. Not that she really cares, she produces results and her students respect her. She doesn't need to be 'welcoming'. James has to have done this simply to have an excuse to talk to her.

"That's fine," she says. She can deal with sorting out a transfer student. It won't throw her off too much if she moves the VA prep she was planning on doing in this period into the time when her sophomores are doing a quiz later instead. "I should get going."

James grins again and pats her arm gently. "Thanks, Miss C. Knew I could count on you."

Shelby nods and quickly strides away from the man. She might have to burn this blouse now. A shame, she really liked it.

She enters her classroom and the assembled group of freshmen all seem to jump a little. Usually she would be pissed that she got lumbered with this age group- too much drama. But the way she can basically call them to attention, strike fear into their hearts by just walking into the room never fails to bring a smile to her face.

"Morning, guys," she says, slipping into the office chair behind the desk and quickly starting the computer so she can take attendance.

"Hey, Miss C," a couple of the bolder ones call back to her.

Taking another sip of coffee, she casts a look around the room, trying to spot the unfamiliar face of the new transfer student. She doesn't see anyone she doesn't recognise. But then again, it's only the third week of school, most of these kids' faces are unfamiliar.

"Sophie? Can you come here a sec?" she calls, as the computer slowly chugs to life.

A blonde girl, sitting a couple of rows back immediately jumps to her feet and hurries towards the desk. She looks like she's racking her mind to think of anything she could have done to get on Miss C's bad side, clutching her hands nervously in front of her.

"Y-yes, Miss Corcoran?" she eventually stutters.

Shelby grins. Most of this intimidation will wear off over the next couple of weeks as they realise she's not actually as scary as the rumours suggest, but for now she relishes in it.

"I was wondering whether you'd be able to do me a favour?" she asks, and Sophie instantly relaxes a bit.

"Sure," she says.

Out of all the kids in her front of her, she trusts Sophie the most. Purely because she's proven herself talented and dedicated enough to earn a coveted spot on Vocal Adrenaline. Shelby only has a couple of freshmen in her squad each year, and they usually work their way through the ranks to become her leads when they're upperclassmen.

"We have a new transfer student joining us this morning. I was hoping that you'd be able to show her around a bit. Make her feel-," what were James's words? "- 'welcomed' and 'accommodated'."

"I can do that," Sophie says, nodding, clearly eager to please.

"Perfect, thanks. I assume she'll be here soon."

On cue, there's a tentative knock on the classroom door. Sophie turns, and blocks Shelby's view of the door for a second.

"Um- Miss Corcoran?" a soft voice says, just as Shelby scoots the office chair back, ready to flash a welcoming smile at the new student. "I'm Rachel Berry. I'm your- uh- transfer student."

Shelby swears she feels her heart stop dead in her chest for a minute. Rachel Berry, hovering in the doorway, in a blue sweater and a black and purple plaid skirt, has thrown a dagger straight into her chest. Shelby falls from her chair to the floor. The dagger-wound opens wide and her heart rolls right out of her ribcage and down into the space below the desk. Blood gushes rhythmically from her open wound, then from her eyes, her ears, her mouth. It tastes like salt and regret. The bright red shame of her past soaks the classroom floor, flooding between the desks and staining her students' shoes. Her heart spasms on the floor like a dying fish.

But, of course, none of that happens. To everyone else, all that happens is Shelby smacking her knee on her desk as she jumps suddenly to her feet. Nobody even notices that. Shelby stares at the girl for a second, or maybe it's longer, she isn't sure. She stares until Sophie coughs lightly, and she finally notices that both girls are looking at her with confused and expectant faces.

"Sorry," Shelby mutters quickly. She desperately swallows, trying to invite some saliva back into her completely dry mouth. She takes a shaky step forward and is surprised that her feet actually manage to carry her. "Sorry, yes. Hi."

"Hi," Rachel says quietly from the doorway.

Shelby tries to smile, but her lips get stuck on her dry teeth. "Come in, come in." Rachel hesitates for a second but steps inside. "Uh- this is Sophie," she says, pointing vaguely at the blonde girl, her eyes never leaving Rachel. "She'll show you around today."

"Hey," Sophie says warmly, waving at the girl.

Rachel smiles and nods her head.

The two girls exchange a few words but Shelby can't hear them. She can't hear anything except her own blood swirling around her head like a summer storm. This can't be happening. It just can't be.

Except it is. Because Shelby knows that she would recognise those big brown eyes anywhere. They've haunted her dreams for the last twelve years. Even the smile is the same. Bigger now, of course, toothier than the smile of the two-year-old toddler she used to hold in her arms. But it's the same.

Rachel Berry can't be standing in front of her.

But she is.

Her daughter is standing in front of her.

Shelby isn't sure whether she wants to run to the girl, to engulf her in a hug, to plant a thousand kisses on top of her shining brown hair, or whether she just wants to run.

"Miss Corcoran?"

Sophie's voice pulls her from her thoughts. It has a tone which suggests that this isn't the first time she's said Shelby's name.

"Hm- sorry," Shelby says again, turning to look at the girl. "What did you say?"

"I just asked whether you were going to take attendance."

"Right- attendance." She forces herself to walk back to the desk. Each step feels heavy, like she's walking through glue. She clicks the mouse a few times to wake the computer up and brings up the registration screen.

She glances back and sees Sophie walking Rachel to a spare desk. As she calls out the names, stumbling over Rachel's of course, she keeps looking back at them. It's as if she's expecting Rachel to disappear any moment. That, or she's going to wake up in her bedroom probably drenched in sweat and immediately schedule an extra therapy appointment to talk about her returning nightmares.

But instead she gets through the list of names, wishes her students a good day, and with one final look at her daughter, leaves the classroom and runs back to her office.

000

"Pick up, pick up, pick up," she hisses as she presses her phone to her ear, listening to the monotonous rings taunting her. She's sat on the floor, back up against her desk.

She'd quickly texted the teacher she'd spoken to earlier, who she knew had a planning period first, begging him to cover her first class citing a family emergency. Without bothering to check whether he'd replied in the affirmative, she immediately began dialling the familiar number. She'd had it ring out three times now, but she kept trying, knowing if she called enough he had to pick up.

"Shelbs?" She heaves a sigh of relief as his voice finally comes through the speaker. "Honey, I'm at work."

"I know, I'm sorry," she says shakily, trying to get her breathing back under control.

"What's happening, baby?"

"Luke," she chokes out as a sob finally breaks through and tears start falling down her cheeks.

"Shelby? What's wrong?" Luke asks. She can hear footsteps and a wave of guilt washes over her knowing that he's probably having to dip out of whatever conference hall he's in to speak to her. This only makes her cry more.

"Luke," she repeats, "it's Rachel."

"What?" The footsteps stop. "Shelby, is she okay?"

"She's here."

"Rachel's there? At Carmel?"

"Yeah," Shelby sobs. She takes a ragged breath. "She just walked right into my homeroom."

"Oh, Shelbs," Luke says softly. "Did you speak to her? Does she…" He trails off but Shelby can tell what he was going to ask. And the answer is enough to send a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks.

"No, she doesn't. She doesn't have a fucking clue who I am."

"Oh, Shelbs," he says again.

As Shelby cries, she begins to bite the skin around her fingers, a nervous habit she's had since she was little. The stinging pain is oddly soothing, grounding her back in reality, however awful that may be right now.

"What do I do?" she whispers. She knows her boyfriend won't have all the answers, but she certainly doesn't have them, and she needs help right now. For once, she doesn't want to be in control, she just wants someone to tell her exactly how the hell she's supposed to pick herself up off this office floor and carry on with her day. With her life.

"I-," Luke falters. "I'm so sorry, Shelby, I wish I could be there."

"It's okay," she says.

"It's really not," he tells her. A beat goes by where no one speaks, they both just listen to the other breathe. "Look, I'll go and tell them that I need out, that I need to come home as soon as possible."

"No," Shelby says, finding a sudden strength to her voice. "You can't jump on a plane from London just cause I'm upset. They need you there, you're lecturing all week."

"I- I'll see what I can do. Maybe try and rearrange some things." Shelby nods even though he can't see her, and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, black streaks of wet mascara transferring to it. "Do you need to go home for the day?"

Shelby lets out a bitter laugh. "I can't. I have classes all day, then rehearsal."

Luke sighs at her stubbornness, at her inability to ever put herself first. "Shelbs, no one's going to judge you if you need to take the day off for personal reasons."

"And what do I go and tell them at the office?" she snaps. "'Oh, I'm so sorry everyone, but the daughter I had at sixteen and haven't seen since she was two just waltzed into my classroom and now I'm having an emotional breakdown. See you tomorrow!' I can't do that, Luke!"

"I know, I'm sorry," he says quietly.

Shelby feels the ripple of guilt again. "No," she sighs, "I am. It's just a lot, you know?"

"I know, baby," he confirms sadly.

"And I can't run away because then she'll just be there tomorrow and I'll be doing this all over again." She crumples at the realisation that this isn't just a sudden wave of pain, that this is something she can't just run away from. "Fuck," she hisses, slamming her head back against the desk.

"Shelby, baby, you need to try to stay calm, okay?" Luke's soft voice tells her.

"Okay," she parrots, though calm is the last emotion she feels right now. She takes another deep breath and reaches a hand back to rub away the stinging sensation in the back of her head. She's glad Luke can't see her right now. As pathetic as she sounds, she's sure she probably looks ten times worse. A glance at her blurry reflection in the glass window on her office door confirms this. She stands and walks towards it, using it as a mirror. With the phone still against her ear, she wipes away the makeup from under her eyes and tucks her long hair back behind her ears. "Okay," she says again.

She hears muffled voices on the other end of the phone.

"I'm so sorry, Shelbs, they're asking for me back in there."

"It's okay, you go. I need to go get to my second period class anyways."

"Are you sure? Are you going to be okay?"

No.

"Yes." She stands up straighter and begins to reach for her purse so she can fix her appearance properly. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Okay, I love you so much. Call if you need me. I'll tell them I have an emergency."

"I will," she promises, though she isn't sure she'll keep it. "I love you too."

"Bye, baby."

"Bye."

As soon as the phone line goes dead, a fresh wave of tears hits her. She can't remember the last time she cried this much, but she knows the reason. It's always the same reason.

For the second time that day, Shelby Corcoran leans over, gasping for breath and wiping desperately at her face. She allows herself a few more seconds to wallow before forcing herself up. She gets ready quickly and faces the office door. As much as she might want to stay in here, hiding from everyone, hiding from herself and her own stupid regrets, she can't. She knows she has no choice but to go back outside and confront them.

A/N- Hello! Welcome to the first chapter of 'Regrettably'! So I guess this could be considered a prologue of sorts, but I hope you enjoyed! This story will be from both Shelby and Rachel's perspectives but admittedly I'm leaning on the Shelby side of things at the moment. The last part of The Dividing Gulf will be up soon, but I just couldn't wait to get started with this one, a lot of which is prewritten so expect some speedy updates. Please review- I would love to know what you thought!