It's hard to tell which one of them looks more emotionless. In this dimly lit room, they have been sitting across from each other for two hours, staring each other down with the intensity of a duel. Santana refuses to give him the look of sadness that is threatening to burst from behind her wavering facade. She promised herself she won't cry about this, not in front of him at least. The second she cries about her divorce will be the second the tears get beaten out of her, because they aren't going to come voluntarily.

Puck, on the other hand, has been mentally telling himself that this is the right thing to do over and over again for the better part of the two hours. He's been avoiding Santana's gaze because he knows that if he looks up to her sad, depressed face one more time, he might lose it. Santana only thinks she looks tough. Puck can see right past the exterior. He's loved this girl this high school; he knows her like he knows the back of his hand.

And now they're throwing away everything that they've been through with a flourish of a signature on some piece of paper? Really? That's the joy of raising two kids, ten Hannumas celebrations, and a lifetime's worth of memories thrown out the window right there and then. Puck considers telling the lawyer to stop it, this isnt what they want. Honestly, neither of them want this. But it's for the best, they say. They're doing the right thing.

"I love you. Don't do this. I'll never forgive myself," he wants to scream. He's wanted to scream it ten million times, ever since Santana came home one day with divorce papers. He's only agreeing to divorce because he knows it's what she wants right now. And he'd do anything for his girl. They're in their thirties now with two kids, but she's still his girl. She'll always be.

"I'll miss you so much. I really don't want to do this, but I have to. I love you," she wants to scream. But she won't back down. She refuses defeat. She has to protect her already shattered heart, even if it costs her the love of her life, the father of her children. She tries to remember the last time she said no to him and she can't. Well this is it. This is her, saying no. No more.

He should of shown her how much he loved her two years ago, when everything started to go downhill. He should have stopped working so hard and spent more time at home, so she wouldn't be exhausted all the time from taking care of Kelsey and Noah Jr. He should have remembered that Santana had a frail ego, a mind that would go to crazy places if she wasn't constantly nurtured and loved. Every time he went out late to have a beer to unwind? He should have known she'd be at home in a pitch-dark room crying her eyes out, wondering what the hell was wrong with her. Was she not good enough for him to stay at home for or something? No! It was the total opposite. He couldn't face her at home, not the woman he loved but had thrown under the bus everytime he went out and she stayed in. He was too ashamed. Too cowardly to let her know that he appreciated her for every little thing she did. But it's not all his fault. She shouldn't have shut him out. She should have let him know that she was feeling lonely and neglected, that she was just so tired all the time. Tired of everything. Too tired to fight anymore.

Puck's never been good with emotions, or honesty, or commitment, and neither has Santana. In fact, all their friends were surprised when they got married. More surprised when they had kids. And when they finally accepted that Puck and Santana might be the real deal, they go and get divorced. Go figure.

What the fuck are they doing here? Why is the lawyer passing papers down the table? Papers that say that in an hour, they'll no longer be husband and wife. Papers that say that he'll only be able to see his kids once a week, unless Santana is feeling particularly generous that week. It's not the kids he's worried about. Puck knows that Santana would never withhold the kids from him just to get back at him for all the times he's neglected his husbandly duties. Santana's a good mom. No, she's a great mom. He feels like the luckiest son of a bitch in the world for even having kids with her.

"If you could just sign here, Mr. Puckerman, your end of the divorce will be finished," the lawyer says. Puck just stares at the dotted line that follows a giant block of text that defines the end of their relationship. When did love get so complicated? Why can't be it: I love you and you love me, but I suck as a husband and you won't tell me what you need, so we're doing this because we're cowards? He looks up at Santana, with a glance that suggests the ball's in her court. If it were up to him, he'd call off the whole thing in a heartbeat. Does she really want him to do this?

"Please, just do it. For me," Santana manages to get out, but at the expense of a few tears. The sadness in her voice kills him. He's never heard her so vulnerable. So damaged. And all because of him. He decides this is God's punishment for doing what he did to her. He deserves this divorce, so he scribbles his name on the line that's been taunting him. He misses her already.

"And Mrs. Puckerman? If you sign here, I can stop calling you that in a few minutes," the lawyer continues. Mrs. Puckerman. She's always loved the sound of that. Now it'll be gone, just like him. She knows she might be screwing up the last chance they have with each other, but she has to do this. After all the battles they've ever fought, this one might just be the straw that breaks the camel's back. She looks up at him. He's just staring at her with a hollow look, a look that says this is what you wanted, remember? She slowly signs her name on the lime, stalling for time. She relishes her last moments as his wife. She regrets it already, but she'll deal with it, like she's dealt with every little negative thing that's ever happened to her.

"All right then. You are officially no longer husband and wife," the lawyer proclaims. It's done and it can't be helped. How can it be over so soon? How can two hours of your life end a lifetime of love?

"Here," she says as she twists off her beloved wedding ring and reaches over to place it in his palm. It doesn't feel right having it, no matter how much she wants to keep it as reminder of him.

"No, I bought it for you. Keep it," he chokes.

"Okay," she simply replies. She reaches up to give him a hug. "I love you so much," she half-whispers, half-cries in his ear. It's the truth.

"I love you too San, always," he replies with equally as much emotion. Their lawyer doesn't know what to think of this. This is the first time in all his years of divorce proceedings that he's ever seen a couple so committed to each other. What are they doing? Can't they see they're just torturing themselves? It's obvious they love each other, and that's what marriage is about, right? Whatever, it's not his place to say anything.

They part ways, trying to convince themselves they did the right thing. Well, better not think about it too much. Santana has to get home and do the laundry before the kids come home, and Puck has to go out to his car and cry for the first time since he was a kid.

It's for the best, so why does it feel so wrong?

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