Santana picks up the pot of freshly made coffee and pours it into her favourite travel mug. She sighs tiredly when she almost misses the cup and a few drops splash onto the counter top.

With guest spots on talk shows to promote the album she released in February and a tour that's kept her bouncing from city to city for four months, it's been a busy year for Santana. She's glad, in bittersweet kind of way, that tonight is the last show of the tour. She loves performing and interacting with her fans; but, touring has meant late nights and busy days. It's meant spending less time with her almost four-year-old daughter. And as much as she loves her music and performing, she would give it all up for her little girl.

"Maya, d'you have your shoes on..?" she asks after putting the coffee pot back and making sure the lid is securely on her cup. As she grabs a dish cloth to wipe away the spilled coffee she listens for an answer.

From down the hall, a clear voice calls back, "Yes, Mama! I have two! One and two!"

Santana takes a moment to think about the last time she let her daughter put on her shoes without help and she smiles softly to herself. "Are they the same colour?" She makes her way over to the couch to pick up her bag and rest it on her arm, coffee cup in hand.

"Um," Maya draws out her answer as she stares at her feet. "Yes? This one got more toes."

The woman chuckles as she makes her way to the hall and can't help but smile when she comes face-to-face with her daughter. Maya is the perfect combination of her parents. She's compact, like her mother. Instead of Santana's naturally tan skin, the little girl's complexion is a just a bit darker – more like her father. She has her dad's wide smile and her mom's dimples. Her wildly curly dark hair? It could be either side of the family but her parents only fight to claim it on days when Maya's hair isn't completely out of control.

As predicted, the little girl hadn't been successful in choosing the matching footwear. It seems Maya decided to wear a white ballet-flat on her left foot and a bright green flip-flop on her right.

"Mija, is that how you want to go out? You'll get cold toes, silly."

The little girl wiggles her toes as she thinks about it. Eventually, she points to a pair of rain boots that are lined up in the open hall closet. "Can I wear my lady bugs?"

"You can ..." Santana spots the socks she had put on the girl earlier on the floor and bends down to pick them up. "… but it's not raining. Don't you want to wear these?" She points to a pair of tan boots she bought because they were a perfect match to the little girl's coat. She sits down in front of Maya, places her bag and coffee cup on the floor, and helps the little girl put on her socks - again.

"Okay," Maya say quickly and wiggles her toes a little more, not even noticing that it makes it more difficult for her mom to slip her feet into the socks. "Those are big girl shoes," she says knowingly, as though imparting wise words upon her mother.

"They are." Santana taps Maya's toes before reaching over to grab the boots. She puts on the left boot, and says, "Big girl shoes for a big girl." After kissing the girl's cheek, she stands up, grabs Maya's coat and hands it to her before putting on her own.

"Mama?" the little girl asks as she struggles with her coat. "I'm a big girl now ..." She trails off before looking up with eyes that are nearly identical to her mother's. She takes a few steps and then puts her hand out for the woman to take. "Maybe I can sing with you at the place tonight. If I'm good all day, maybe."

There are few things that Maya will admit to not understanding. She's both smart and proud and that usually means she'd rather work something out for herself than ask for help. Yesterday they toured the arena where her mother would be singing. Afterward, the little girl spent much of the remaining day trying to figure out where they were hiding the flowers in the very-round Madison Square Garden.

Santana purses her lips and swallows roughly as she ties her own coat. Then she bends down to fix Maya's coat collar and says, "We'll see, okay?" She doesn't give the girl much time to answer before standing up, grabbing her bag and coffee cup, and taking the girl's hand to lead her to the door.

Every time Maya attends one of Santana's concerts, the little girl becomes more determined to sing with her mother on stage. This isn't something Santana is comfortable with – knowing that if she allows the girl even a small moment in the spotlight, her daughter's face will be on the front of a magazine or all over the internet. Santana made a promise when Maya was born that she'd protect her little girl from the prying eyes of the media.

And singing to a sold out crowd at Madison Square Garden certainly wouldn't help her keep that promise.

"I'ma be a good listener all day," Maya promises. "And then we can sing the rainbow song!" The little girl hops in place. "The rainbow song is my favourite!"

The Rainbow Connection was supposed to be a lullaby. It wasn't meant to be anything more than a song to help the little girl fall asleep. By its third use, though, Maya had learned the melody and a few of the words. Any words she didn't know or understand, she just substituted with a series of mumbles, made-up words or "la la"s.

"Maybe we can get Auntie to sing it with us this time." Santana smiles as she opens the door and leads Maya into the hall toward to the elevator. "You want to press the button?"

Maya's finger pokes the button once and then she smiles up at her mom. She remembers the rules even though they are very hard to follow. Push the button once. Only push one button at a time. Don't run around or jump in the elevator. She's tempted to hit the button again but it's lit up and that means it's already on its way.

Santana leads the girl inside when the doors open. Just as she's about to press the ground floor button, her phone starts ringing in her bag. She frowns, knowing how difficult it's going to be to find it in the oversized bag. "Mija, can you press the button to go and see George?" She rummages through her bag as she searches for her phone.

The little girl nods happily and tries not to bounce on her heels. There's no jumping in the elevator.

"Mr. George is ..." she sticks her tongue out as her finger hovers in front of the button panel. "The star!" She presses the ground floor button, decorated with a number one and a star.

Santana finally spots her phone at the very bottom of the bag and sighs when, not only does she realize that she's running late, but also that her manager is calling her.

Holly's probably calling to tell her what she already knows - that she's running late. Or maybe she's calling to ask Santana to pick up a muffin from Starbucks on her way to the arena. It's hard to predict with her best friend-slash-manager.

She rolls her eyes and ignores the call before glancing at the button panel and smiling when she sees that Maya has pressed the right one. "Good job, baby girl."

Maya is still smiling proudly when the elevator dings and the doors slide open. She sees the concierge standing by the front desk and waves enthusiastically. "Hi, Mr. George! I pushed your button!"

George smiles brightly at the little girl. "Good morning, Miss Maya. How're you today?" After the little girl gives him a beaming smile in response, he greets Santana. "G'morning, Mrs. Rutherford."

"Hi, George. Early shift again?" She gives him her best sympathetic look.

Of all the concierges she's known, George is her favourite. He's an older man with grey hair that's starting to thin out and he has a little bit of a belly. There's an almost grandfatherly quality about him, a sort of protectiveness Santana hadn't experienced with others in his position. It's obvious that Santana and Maya's wellbeing is important to him – and not just because it's part of his job.

George has been known to shoo away reporters and, on occasion, he's had to respectfully send away handfuls of fans who have tried to catch a glimpse of the pop star.

Maya mostly likes him because he's always at the ready with a piece of candy and a smile.

"Ah, I don't mind it," George begins. "I miss the traffic and get to have a hot dog on the way home. I got it pretty good. " He smiles pleasantly and winks at Maya.

"Can we get a hot dog, Mama?" the little girl asks.

George holds up his hand. "Oh, Mrs. Rutherford, I should tell you," he pauses to point toward the door. "You got a coupla cameras out there. Just so you know. Your car already out there waiting?"

She nods. "They called a couple of minutes ago. I'm running late, as usual." She chuckles softly and picks Maya up, resting her on her hip. "Mija, Mama's running late. We'll see what catering has, okay?"

Santana looks into her daughter's eyes and, in a very serious tone, asks, "You remember what I told you to do when there are cameras, right?"

Maya snuggles her head against her mother's shoulder like she's supposed to and keeps her face tucked in close to her neck. George walks around the desk and holds the door open.

The few photographers he'd noticed pacing in front of the lobby door have multiplied into, roughly, a horde of paparazzi . He looks apologetically to Santana and holds his arm out in an attempt to shield her and the little girl as they try to cut a path to the waiting car.

"Santana! Santana!" the photographers yell.

Santana's used to paparazzi, but even for her, the crowd of photographers that have gathered in front of the door is unusual – and unsettling. She figures it might be because tonight is her last show of the tour, and they want her to comment about it.

That is, until they start talking. Though Santana can only make out a few words, like "mistress", "husband" and "cheated", she doesn't need more to figure out exactly what's going on.

Matt cheated on her, and didn't even have the decency to warn her before the story hit the media. To say that, in that moment, she was utterly humiliated was an understatement.

One man steps right into her path and asks, "Comment on your husband's choice of mistress?"

As the flashes go off, Maya pushes her face more fully into her mother's shoulder.

"Is this the first time he's cheated?" another person, this one with a video camera, asks loudly.

Santana can feel the rage boiling inside of her, and she's pretty sure that if she didn't have Maya on her hip, she would probably go all Lima Heights. She stops walking for a moment, and takes a deep breath before deciding that her only mission is to get Maya safely inside the car.

Without so much as a word to the crowd, she holds her hand over Maya's ear and follows George to the car, trying her best to keep a neutral expression on her face.

"Back up, gentleman," George says as nicely as he can through gritted teeth. "And ladies," he adds, spotting a few women with cameras.

Maya tightens her hold and breathes in her mother's perfume as she clenches her eyes closed.

George opens the car door and stays behind Santana, blocking her as best as he can from the cameras.

"Can you comment on ..."

"Please back away," George says, a little more forcefully.

Santana places Maya in her booster seat and secures the seatbelt before quickly getting in. She turns her head to George and offers him the most thankful look she can muster before he closes the door.

She glances at the driver and gives him a serious look. "Can you get us out of here, please?"

He nods and starts the engine. "You got it, Mrs. Rutherford."

She lets out a shaky breath before looking into Maya's eyes, cupping her cheek with her free hand. "Baby, are you okay?"

The little girl nods softly, even as her mouth is pulled down into a small frown. She whispers, "It was really loud."

She runs her hand over the girl's head. "I'm sorry, baby. Don't worry about those people outside, okay? Everything is fine."

Santana tries her best to put on a smile for the sake of her daughter. After leaning in and kissing Maya's forehead, she looks into her eyes. "Would you mind holding this for Mama? It's hot, so be careful, okay?"

When the girl holds out her hands in reply, she passes her travel mug to the girl and makes quick work of rummaging through her large bag in search of her phone. Once she's found it, she unlocks it and dials her manager's number.

Maya sniffs the coffee and leans back in her seat a little more comfortably, careful not to let anything spill from the cup. She turns her head and looks at her mother's reflection in the window.

"Ohmygod," the little girl can hear her Auntie's voice through the cell phone. "I've been calling you all morning! Where are you?"

"I'm in the car, on my way." She swallows roughly before asking her next question. "Is it true?"

Santana knows that living in the spotlight comes with a price, and she also knows that stories in magazines and on gossip websites are almost never a hundred percent true. But something deep down is telling her that what the paparazzi were shouting at her only minutes ago is highly likely to be truthful. Something was telling her that her husband had not only been careless and insensitive, but he also humiliated her in one of the worst ways possible.

"I'm sorry, honey," Holly says. "I wanted to be the one to tell you. Are you okay? Is Maya with you?"

"She's here. I can't..." She takes a calming breath. "How could he be so stupid?"

Not even a few miles away, Holly Holiday is pacing backstage in the arena. "I don't know," she says, "but he's caused a massive PR storm. It's going to die down, eventually, but you're in the eye of it." She leans against a tower amp and sighs. "Do you want me to release a comment to the press? I can spin it if you want."

Santana shakes her head, even though Holly can't see her. "No, just – just, wait until I get there, okay?" She glances at Maya and swallows roughly again. "Can you make sure nobody's there when we arrive? I can't handle more press right now."

"Consider it done." Holly snaps her fingers and a large man carrying another amplifier puts his load down and walks over. "I've got Reggie on the gate," she says.

Reggie simply nods and heads to the door.

"Arena security is there, too, but you know Reggie and he's good with Maya. So, if there's any problem, he'll take care of it."

Santana nods. "Thanks, Holls. We'll be there soon, okay?" She's about to end the call when she adds, "And if he calls you, don't pick up."

Maya frowns deeply, her eyes skirting to the the little opening in the lid of her mother's travel mug.

"Of course," Holly says. "And, hey, I can take care of it. You don't even have to be part of this. You and Maya are my concern. If you want me to make it go away, I don't care what I have to say about him to make that happen."

"I just - let me think about it first, okay? I need some time for it to sink in."

"You got it, honey," she replies. "See you in a few ... "

"Yeah, see you in a few …"

She disconnects the call and puts her phone in her bra where it's more accessible. After scooting closer to her daughter, Santana wraps her arm around Maya's shoulders and gently pulls the girl into her.

Santana lets out a long sigh before relieving her daughter of travel mug duty. She takes a sip and tries to ignore the feeling that she's going to need more than just a cup of coffee to get her through the rest of the day.