It was a rainy Monday morning as Quinn exited through the main doors of the hospital. Her mother had pulled the car up so she wouldn't have to walk far, even after she had insisted that her legs were working fine. Quinn yanked open the door to the passenger seat, and slid inside quickly to get out of the rain. Too quickly.

"Ahh!" She cried out in pain.

"Oh, careful sweetheart," Judy Fabray said in a tone so sweet, it made Quinn sick to her stomach. "Healing takes time." Quinn forced herself to remain silent, afraid of what words might come out of her mouth. She clenched her teeth and carefully situated herself on the seat, as comfortably as she could. Her mother reached to help with her seatbelt.

"I got it," Quinn said shortly, pushing the older woman's hand away. "I'm not a child." Mrs. Fabray stiffened as the truth of Quinn's words hung in the air. Silently, she navigated out of the parking lot.

"I've arranged for your things to be brought home from Mercedes' house," she said after a few moments in her usual, cheery voice. Quinn nodded in vague response, keeping her gaze fixed on the passing scenery.

"Oh, and I spoke to your principal this morning," she added. "He said to take as much time as you need, but I told him you'd probably be back in a few days, don't you think?"

"Sure, mom," Quinn said absently.

"And he told me that Rachel Berry has already offered to bring you your assignments," she continued. "Isn't that nice?" Quinn rolled her eyes. She let her head fall lightly against the headrest and wondered what sort of twisted satisfaction Rachel got out of being nice to her. She supposed the girl probably enjoyed seeing her at her weakest. Admittedly, she couldn't blame her.

"So how about chicken for lunch?" her mother asked as they neared the Fabray residence. Quinn marveled at her mother's ability to pretend that everything was peachy keen, though she shouldn't have been surprised. And if she was being honest, it was almost a comfort. She needed things to go back to normal, and she didn't want to talk, or even think about everything that had happened.

"I'm not really hungry," Quinn said as they pulled into the driveway. "I think i'm just going to shower and then get some sleep."

"Alright," Mrs. Fabray conceded, stepping out of the car. "Let me know when you do get hungry, I can make you something." Quinn stood like a statue next to the car, staring up at the house she hadn't set foot in in nearly six months.

"Come on sweetheart," her mother called from the front door a few moments later. Slowly, Quinn started on the front path. She took a deep breath, trying to keep the memories from the last time she was here out of her mind. Finally, she reached the doorway and stepped inside. Looking around, Quinn noticed that most everything was exactly how she remembered it, except that her father's shoes were no longer by the door, and no trace of his cologne lingered in the air. She wondered how long ago he had left, but she didn't ask. She heard the familiar sound of her mother pouring herself a drink in the kitchen. Some things would never change.

Quinn slowly made her way up the stairs and down the hall toward her bedroom. Upon stepping inside, she was surprised to find it virtually untouched. The bed was still made up with her pink comforter, pillows, and stuffed animals. Her cheerleading trophies still lined the top of her dresser. Quinn took small comfort in the fact that she apparently wasn't meant to be forgotten.

As inviting as her comfortable bed looked, Quinn forced herself to head towards the bathroom before giving herself a chance to collapse onto it. She knew she would be much more comfortable once she was cleaned up. She started the water in the shower, then began to remove the t-shirt and her old cheerio sweat pants that her mother had brought to the hospital for her. Quinn cringed as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Slipping into the shower, she made a mental note to get back to her morning runs as soon as she was able.

She closed her eyes and let the warm water wash over her, and it felt like such a relief after a few very trying days. Not to mention the fact that she hadn't showered the whole time she was in the hospital, so by all definitions she was pretty gross. Opening her eyes a few moments later, she caught a glimpse of bright red on the floor of the tub and gasped. There was blood. A lot of blood. Even though the doctor had told her what to expect, she couldn't help but feel uneasy at the sight. And even as she stood underneath the warm water, she shivered and shook, and her breathing became shallow. It was like everything that had happened was hitting her all at once. Then the tears started.

So many times in the past few days, Quinn had wanted desperately to cry her eyes out. When she held her baby for the first time. When she saw the look on Puck's face. When the nurses took her away, out of her arms forever. When she stood next to Puck, watching her sleep through the glass. When she heard his words... But she hadn't let herself cry. She couldn't. Crying would have been a red flag, a sign that maybe what she was about to do wasn't the right thing to do. But it was for the best, wasn't it? Quinn had convinced herself of that, but in that moment, she didn't know anymore. All she could feel was the pain of loss, and it hurt like hell. So she let herself cry, alone in her bathroom where no one would see her tears.