“He’s been with other men!” Kurt was yelling now. The frustration, fear, and panic that had been building since the wee hours of the past Sunday morning were finally frothing over. Kurt had been desperate to talk to someone—anyone—about this. Blaine, the person he needed to talk to, was refusing to answer his phone and, when he did, rebuffed all attempts at conversation. Kurt had to find someone who would listen, who would understand -- someone who would help him find his way out of this mess and back into Blaine’s heart. So, for the past hour, he had been pacing around the kitchen, with Mercedes and Rachel, perched on their stools, shooting questions and judgment, which he admittedly deserved, yet still they were willfully refusing to understand.

“How can you be sure?” Mercedes asked.

“I have my sources!” Kurt declared, throwing his hands into the air.

“Kurt, please tell me you’re not having Blaine followed,” Rachel blurted her disapproval.

“God, no, Rachel! Blaine and Mike are gallivanting around town where anyone can see. I can’t help that it happened to get back to me,” Kurt said, slightly averting his eyes.

“So, Mike was out with Blaine? I didn’t believe Tina when she told me,” Mercedes confessed.

“I wouldn’t have believed that of Mike either,” Rachel added solemnly. “He was always so in love with Tina.”

“Mike and Tina? Really? Blaine, was out!” Kurt huffed. “Out! At 2am, and apparently having a wonderful time from the sound of it. I just…I can’t –“

“Can you really blame him?” Rachel asked sheepishly.

“Excuse me?” Kurt hissed, turning on Rachel, his eyes narrow.

“I mean, after Brimley…” Mercedes began.

“Damnit, Mercedes, how many times do I have to tell you--?”

“Papa?” A small voice drifted in from the dining room.
Kurt turned abruptly toward where Tori had suddenly appeared under the archway dividing kitchen and dining room. Her face wore worry.

“Yes, sweetie?” Kurt asked, trying to mask the exasperation in his voice. He did not want her to believe she had put it there.

“Why are you yelling at Auntie Cedes and Auntie Rachel?”

“Oh, he wasn’t yelling at us, hon,” Mercedes tried to explain, filling the void left by Kurt’s guiltily, gaping mouth.

“Yeah, Tor, we’re just talking and your Papa is a bit upset,” Rachel offered. Tori’s eyes widened. The look Kurt shot Rachel indicated Rachel had once again said the wrong thing.

“Are you upset about Daddy again?” Tori asked timidly, her brown eyes beginning to glisten with tears.

“No, baby, no. Come here,” Kurt soothed, opening his arms, beckoning his daughter into an embrace. “Your Aunties are just saying silly things and Papa overreacted,” he cooed through her curls into her ear.

“So, it’s not about Daddy?” Tori whispered.

“No, sweetie, it’s not,” he lied again.

Tori pulled back a little to look right into her Papa’s eyes before asking, “You promise?”

Kurt could not, so he thumbed the lone tear from her he cheek and said instead, “Please, sweetie, don’t worry. Everything is okay. Okay?” Kurt forced what he hoped seemed like a genuine smile.

“Okay, Papa.” Tori’s tears were gone, but the doubt remained.

Kurt straightened, gave her fluffy tendrils a gentle pat, and tilted his head slightly up, blinking furiously in an attempt to keep his own tears at bay.

“Why are you down here anyway, precious?” Mercedes asked, trying to break the tension with a change of subject. “I thought you were upstairs playing with Bertie?”

“I was, but Bertie wants to play in the tree house,” Tori said, some of the childish cheer returning to her voice.

“Does he now? And how do you know that?” Kurt asked teasingly, placing his hands dramatically on his hips.

“Well, we were talking about…about stuff…and he pointed out his window to the tree house and smiled.”

“Sounds pretty conclusive to me,” Rachel chimed, rising from her stool.

“Me too,” Mercedes joined in.

“Alright then sweetie, go get Bertie and we’ll play in the tree house,” Kurt instructed, giving Tori a little pat on the back.

Tori scurried happily back through the dining room, into the foyer, and up the stairs to retrieve her baby brother. Once she was out of earshot, Kurt turned dramatically to Rachel and Mercedes and declared, “No more talk about this.”

“Oh, we’re gonna talk about it,” Mercedes said, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Kurt, you’re not gonna get off that easy.”

“Mmm hmm,” Mercedes went on, “I’ve had enough of this ‘I’ve told you’ crap, when you’ve told us nothing.”

“I’m not going to talk about this around the kids. It upsets them.”

“It’ll be fine. Trust me,” Rachel said; a plan alive in her eyes.

Five minutes later, they were all drenched in the warmth of the June sun, Rachel, Mercedes, and Kurt sitting in Kurt’s prized lawn chairs several feet from the tree house where Tori and Bertie regaled themselves in their favorite past time: the potato dance.

“So, Kurt, how do you know that Dalton Hospital went home with some guy?” Rachel asked.

“I fail to see why how I know is more important than what I know,” Kurt said, crossing his arms.

This whole speaking in code business had been Rachel’s bright idea and Kurt was regretting going along with it. However, he had invited them over because he needed to talk, and at least this way the kids would not know what they were discussing. As long as Kurt could help it, his children would never hear him speak a negative word about their daddy.

“Fine, Kurt,” Rachel was saying, “we don’t have to get into how you know Dalton Hospital left a bar with some guy. What we need to decide is what you’re going to do about.”

“No, Rachel,” Mercedes countered. “We won’t know what, if anything, he can do about that, until he explains why Liberty Medical was in the house,” Mercedes finished, looking to Kurt expectantly.

“Mercedes, I told you what happened and it wasn’t like that. Blai—“

“Uh, uh, uh!” Rachel admonished. “Stick to the code.”

“Fine, Rachel.”

“Kurt, all you told us was that Liberty Medical was in the house when Dalton Hospital showed up and then Dalton promptly stormed out – which I don’t understand because I would have strangled your ass first. Frankly, I still want to, but I’m trying to understand, because I love you and Jesus would want me to hear you out.”

“I agree, Kurt. The only thing we know is that Dalton Hospital has mastered the art of a well-timed storm out, of which I am quite proud, might I add. But, you know you’re my best friend, and I want to be on your side, but I just don’t understand how you could have let Liberty Medical ruin you and Dalton Hospital. Please, Kurt, what did happen?”

Kurt covered his eyes with a shaking hand. If he had to say this, he did not want to have to see their faces as well. Kurt took a steadying breath, and began.

Kurt lay on Blaine’s side of the bed, the pillow damp with his tears, Kurt’s silent phone inches from his trembling fingertips. The coffee meeting with Blaine earlier that day had been disastrous. Kurt had been trying to explain, but Blaine’s hurt, as always, had spoken a painful truth and stung Kurt into defense, and Kurt, as was his way, had become more focused on scoring points as opposed to ending the competition and returning them to the same team, where they belonged.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by something other than Kurt’s grieving breaths: his phone was ringing. It had to be Blaine, he was finally calling. Kurt frantically grabbed the phone, and in his tear-filled and hasty hope, only registered the first letter of the caller’s name before jamming the phone to his ear and choking out, “Blaine? Oh God, I’m so glad you ca—“

“Kurt?” It was Brimley.

Kurt’s heart fell and shame and bile began to rise in his throat. He tried in vain to compose himself, “Bri-Brimley?”

“Hello, Mr. Anderson-Hummel.” The words, on Brimley’s lips stung. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

“I’m sure,” Kurt spat through his sniffles, trying for an air of superiority. “Please, just get to the point, Brimley. I’m in the middle of something.”

“It certainly sounds like it,” Brimley remarked. “Anyway, in order to bring a close to our professional relationship, I need to compile and submit the final numbers to the manufacturer so the Legend Line can be produced to full capacity.”

“Okay?” Kurt said, confused. “Why are you calling me?”

“Because you had the papers last, if I’m not mistaken. You took them home to look over them.”

Kurt again cursed his tendency toward micromanagement. “Sorry, you’re right,” Kurt said, remembering. “I do have them. I’ll bring them into the office on Monday. Goodb—“

“Actually, Kurt,” Brimley interrupted. “I was hoping to get them this weekend. It’s fairly time sensitive, as you know.”

“Fine,” Kurt gave in. He would not let anything, especially Brimley, sabotage his seminal line. “I’ll drop them off at the office and you can pick them up.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you. I can just come get them from you, maybe tomorrow?”

Kurt inhaled and exhaled, trying to manage his frustration. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Kurt rushed. “Plus, tomorrow is bad. Blaine’s coming by to get the kids in the morning and I’ll be busy all day. It’s already a stretch for me to get the papers to the office.”

“It would only take a second,” Brimley pressed.

“No, Brimley,” Kurt said, emphasizing every syllable. Kurt rolled onto his back and covered his wet eyes in exasperation. When he spoke next, he spoke very slowly, as if explaining something to someone who was not very bright. “Either I can bring them into the office tomorrow, or you can wait until Monday.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

“Fine. I should be able to make it into the City around noon. I’ll drop them off then. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Goodbye, Brimley.”

“Goodbye.”

~

Kurt was nervous, but determined. The day before, he had let his anger get in the way of telling Blaine the whole truth, the truth he was sure would bring Blaine back to him. Kurt just needed time to explain--everything. Now was the time. He just hoped Blaine had calmed down enough to listen.

As always, Kurt had meticulously prepared. Bertie was already in his carrier, sleeping peacefully at Kurt’s feet. Tori was on the carpet absently rocking Bertie’s carrier, sitting happily between Kurt’s bouncing knees, as Kurt sat on the couch brushing her curls. Kurt thought it was best that the kids be in the room. There was no way Blaine would lose his temper in front of them. Blaine would have to listen…Kurt just hoped he had the courage to venture beyond the safety of small talk and into the bright light of truth. It was for this reason that he had not yet sent Tori to get her coat. Kurt was saving that move in case he had to talk Blaine down. Although, Kurt was confident it would not come to that. Once Blaine knew everything, he would come back. They might even spend a lazy Saturday together as a family, snuggled on the couch, watching whatever ABC Family marathon was on. Kurt had errands to run, but it was nothing that could not be put aside in favor of time with Blaine, his husband.

The doorbell.

He is too polite, Kurt thought adoringly, tickling Tori’s back as a cue for her to scoot over so he could go to the door – the first step to reuniting their family.

“Is Daddy here?” Tori piped. Her excitement was palpable.

“Yes, sweetie!” Kurt smiled, clapping his hands to match her enthusiasm. He needed Blaine back. He hated the feel of the house when Blaine wasn’t in it – cold, quiet, lonely. He could not wait to open their home to Blaine and let him breathe life back into Kurt’s dreary existence. Kurt and Tori hurried to the door, Tori practically skipping.

Tori got to the door first and, using all the strength in her little adrenaline filled muscles, swung it open.

“Hi there, little one.”

“You’re not Daddy.” Tori stood stock still in the doorway, elation draining from her small frame, confusion and hurt morphing her usually soft, round features into harsh edges as she looked up at the unwelcomed stranger she had been sure would be her daddy returning to her.

“No, honey, he’s not,” Kurt hissed, grabbing Tori’s hand and pulling her back from the door. “Go check on Bertie, sweetie.”

“But where’s Daddy?” Tori said; her upturned face searching Kurt’s for an answer.

“He’ll be here soon. I promise,” Kurt assured, squeezing her hand. “Now please go check on your brother.”

Tori reluctantly turned to leave. Kurt followed her with his eyes and when he could no longer see her he fixed his burning gaze on Brimley. “What the hell are you doing here?” Kurt demanded.

“I came to get the papers, Kurt,” Brimley said, calmly stepping, uninvited, over the threshold. “I had to leave the City anyway to see a friend, so I figured I’d stop by and save you the trip.” Brimley was actually grinning.

“You’re a liar. I know exactly why you’re here,” Kurt spat. “How could I have been so stupid?” Kurt thought aloud to himself. “You know Blaine is coming and you decided you’d just drop in, didn’t you?” It was all finally clicking into place in Kurt’s mind and Kurt wanted Brimley to admit it – to confess to his lies.

“Oh, is he coming?” Brimley feigned ignorance. “I take it he’s not here yet. Pity…”

“Good God, Brimley. I’d heard things and I had suspicions, but this is too much. I’m onto you.”

“Onto me?” Brimley chuckled, “Really, Kurt?” Brimley sauntered into Kurt’s physical space.

“Back up, Brimley,” Kurt commanded, putting his hands up and darting his eyes toward the living room where his children were waiting, expecting their daddy. He could not make a scene. Tori could not see this. “Don’t you dare move,” Kurt ordered, his extended index finger inches from Brimley’s chest. “You’re going to stand right here while I go get the papers. Then, you’re going to get the hell out of my house and my life. Do you understand?”

“Anything you say, Kurt,” Brimley said, casually slipping his hands into his pockets and looking around as if he was simply admiring the d�cor. Kurt gave Brimley one last warning look and dashed toward the stairs. On his way past the living room, he caught Tori’s eyes, mouthed, “I’ll be right back,” and took the steps two at a time, hoping he could find the papers and get Brimley out in time.

“You left that bastard downstairs with the kids?” Mercedes interjected, the code forgotten.

“I know,” Kurt said, still hiding his face in his hands.

“Why didn’t you just kick him out? Call the police?” Even if Kurt had not recognized Rachel’s voice, he would have recognized her logic anywhere. “The papers could have waited, Kurt.” Rachel’s superior tone always stung even more when she was right.

“I know, I know, I wasn’t thinking,” Kurt admitted, shame shaking his head. “I was just so frazzled, and I had planned everything, and it was perfect, and then he shows up,” Kurt’s hands were shaking and his gestures were becoming more erratic as the terror of that moment returned full force, “and it couldn’t’ve taken me more than four minutes to find those damn papers, but when I got downstairs Blaine was there and Brimley was holding Tori and—“ the words and tears were now spilling from Kurt’s heaving frame with increasing speed, “and I tried to explain, but he was looking at me, and the hurt, God, he hasn’t looked at me like that since…since…and just, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t even move until Blaine was nearly at Brimley’s throat, and then Tori, oh God, she called him ‘uncle,’ that son of a bitch!” Kurt was lost in it now. This is what he had been trying so hard to avoid—fully succumbing to the agony of the reality he had created. “I should have known! And I tried to tell Blaine I didn’t know what was happening, why she would say that, and it must have been him, that bastard, but Blaine wouldn’t listen, just, if you had seen the look in his eyes, and he, he, he took the kids and oh God,” Kurt was sobbing, the words pushing their way out between trembling breaths. “He thinks I don’t love him! He thinks I don’t love him!” That was all Kurt could say as he finally slouched, shaking and breathless, into Mercedes’ waiting arms.

“Shh, shh, baby. Let’s get you inside,” Mercedes soothed, rubbing gentle circles on Kurt’s quivering back. She turned to Rachel. “Rachel, get the kids, I’m gonna take Kurt inside.” Rachel nodded.

Rachel took the exhausted and thankfully oblivious little ones upstairs and put them both down for naps while Mercedes made some tea. Kurt was resting on the couch under strict directive from Mercedes not to move.
Soon, they were all upstairs in what used to be Kurt and Blaine’s bed, the pillows thrown and forgotten on the floor and replaced with the huddled bodies of Rachel, Kurt and Mercedes, each slowly nursing a warm mug of tea.

“Honey, why didn’t you tell us?” Mercedes asked gently, breaking the comforting silence now that Kurt seemed to have calmed significantly.

“I’m just…so ashamed,” Kurt admitted. “I was so stupid, so careless…”

“That’s not a sin, Kurt,” Rachel comforted, having suffered the perils of the blind stupidity and carelessness that often plagued the pursuit of dreams. “But you have to tell him.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Try harder,” Mercedes pushed.

“I called every day for nearly a month and he wouldn’t answer.”

“That’s no excuse, Kurt.” Mercedes would not budge.

“I know…that’s why I kept calling, but when he finally answered, he sounded so angry, so hurt, and I…”

“Of course he’s upset, Kurt. It was enough that you were with Brimley –“

“I was never with Brimley, Mercedes,” Kurt corrected, his tone harsh.

“Kurt, you know what I mean,” Mercedes tenderly admonished. “Once again, your need to jump to the defensive is stopping you from getting to the truth.” Mercedes’ voice was soft but her hand on Kurt’s knee was firm.

“I know…I’m sorry…and I’ve been trying to talk to him. But, when he comes to get the kids or when I drop them off he just honks the horn or has me send them up to the apartment…He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Then stop trying to talk,” Rachel offered.

“What?” Mercedes interjected.

“He should send an email, or a letter or something,” Rachel, letter campaign extraordinaire, quickly explained.

“I sent emails. He didn’t respond.”

“Of course not. Some things can’t be said in emails,” Mercedes offered wisely.

“Then, next time he comes to get the kids, just go out to the car and make him talk to you,” Rachel said, straightening her posture, flaring her elbows out in a dramatic show of properly holding her mug of tea.

“No,” Kurt’s voice almost broke as he shook his bowed head. “I can’t. I can’t bear to see him look at me like that…like…like he doesn’t love me anymore.” Kurt’s last words came out so light, so soft that he would have been convinced they were only uttered, once more, in his mind, if the agonizing ache of hearing his worst fear in his own voice had not been clinching his breaking heart.

“Kurt, no,” Rachel said, outraged. “Blaine loves you. He just needs to know that you still love him,” she encouraged, rising to her knees and clutching his shoulder. “He’s just hurting and angry, which is understandable, but he loves you.”

“No,” the word was stronger this time, long and low, but still broken. “He doesn’t love me,” Kurt took a shuddering breath, “not anymore. He loves the kids,” Kurt nodded, a painful, empty smile on his lips. “He’ll only talk to me about them…and…and,” the tears came again, but more gently, as though they had resigned themselves to the fall, “if that’s the only way I get to hear his voice…then…at least I have that.”

“Kurt, you cannot give up. I won’t let you. What you’re saying just isn’t true. If there’s only one thing I know about Blaine, it’s that he loves you.”

“Then you know nothing about him!” Kurt thundered, anger flaring and distorting the lines of his once solemnly placid face. Kurt rose from the bed in such a frenzy it was a miracle his tea did not stain the sheets. Mercedes and Rachel sat frozen, open-mouthed, as Kurt stormed into the adjoining office that had served as Bertie’s nursery until Kurt had no longer been afraid to let the tiny infant out of his sight.

“Kurt?” Mercedes tried. “Come back, please. What are you doing?”

“Blaine loves me, huh?” Kurt seemed to be talking to himself, his tone hushed and frenetic. “You just wait.” Drawers flew open and papers scattered as Kurt moved erratically around the office. Kurt was searching, they needed to see, understand. He finally found the manila envelope in the corner, an apparent victim of his rampage. Clutching it, he strode back into the bedroom. “Blaine loves me?” He was yelling again, all thoughts of his sleeping children long forgotten. “I just need to get him to listen? Then explain this!” Kurt screamed, slamming the thick packet onto the bed in front of them, and collapsing under the weight of the pain.

“Kurt, what is this?” Rachel whispered, rising slowly to her knees and reaching tentatively for the package.

“Blaine sent the papers,” Kurt breathed, swaying slightly where he sat on the ground, all strength spent. “He wants a divorce.”