[Crafting up...] the pieces left behind
Sometimes people carry to such perfection the mask they have assumed that in due course they actually become the person they seem. - W. Somerset Maugham (1874 - 1965), The Moon and Sixpence
In moments like these, Terry couldn't help but believe her own lie. Her hand was on the pan handle and she listened to her husband fret over which tie to wear in what yearbook photo. She knew it didn't matter. Will looked good in every tie he put on. Even if the tie didn't match - which was always unfortunate - he still pulled it off. Looking up, she said what she would say on any other night.
She hadn't married Will for his pocket square.
Reflecting back, she hadn't married Will for his sperm either or for the possibility of a baby.
The pregnancy pad in his hand took her off guard and Terri felt her breath escape back into her lungs. But, she was ready. It was how she always was. At the ready. Touch her stomach, she'll touch back - usually harder. If you were Will and you tried to touch her stomach you would receive a pillow as a barrier or a semi-reasonable excuse about cramps or even a distraction.
An excuse felt natural. Her sister would back her up. She had from the beginning. Thinking back, way back, she remembered how this was all her sister's idea. She had been so convincing.
But, he didn't take her spoonfed lie. She had been feeding Will daily and he had just had enough. Maybe in that moment she saw that he had had enough with her altogether.
Her hand at her stomach, she couldn't help but take steps back until her back met the counter. Instinctively, her hand came to his shoulder as he pulled her shirt up. Foreheads touched and a tear escaped.
Terri Schuester wasn't pregnant and she was not going to get her happily ever after. Quinn Fabray would not get a sufficient father. Terri would lose the very thing she was fighting for dear life for.
His forehead felt hot against hers. She knew it was from the anger but she couldn't help but flash back to a particularly hot night back in high school. Steamed up windows and locked doors. The same two foreheads touching now for an entirely different reason.
When he ripped it off of her Terri tried to remember the last time Will had gotten this angry. But, she had never seen this side of Will. She had never seen his wrath. She never even thought him capable of wrath. He was inadequate. He hadn't succeeded. He hadn't left that small Ohio town and he had ended up with her and her status quo. She was right and he knew it. They worked for the very reason that Will didn't feel good about himself.
But Glee club changed that.
She knew it. Deep down Will knew it or he wouldn't have been playing footsie with the school guidance counselor. All of it, the pad, the fake sonograms, the Vitamin D, the blue bomber - all of it had led here.
Terri chasing her husband through their house and to the door, unable to grab ahold of her marriage, fraying at the seams. When she reached the doorway all energy left her. She exhaled and with the force of a small ineffectual child, she closed the door.
She couldn't form words. She couldn't walk back into the kitchen and turn off the stove. She couldn't sit down. She couldn't collapse. She couldn't do anything.
In moments like these, Terry couldn't help but believe her own lie. Her hand was on the pan handle and she listened to her husband fret over which tie to wear in what yearbook photo. She knew it didn't matter. Will looked good in every tie he put on. Even if the tie didn't match - which was always unfortunate - he still pulled it off. Looking up, she said what she would say on any other night.
She hadn't married Will for his pocket square.
Reflecting back, she hadn't married Will for his sperm either or for the possibility of a baby.
The pregnancy pad in his hand took her off guard and Terri felt her breath escape back into her lungs. But, she was ready. It was how she always was. At the ready. Touch her stomach, she'll touch back - usually harder. If you were Will and you tried to touch her stomach you would receive a pillow as a barrier or a semi-reasonable excuse about cramps or even a distraction.
An excuse felt natural. Her sister would back her up. She had from the beginning. Thinking back, way back, she remembered how this was all her sister's idea. She had been so convincing.
But, he didn't take her spoonfed lie. She had been feeding Will daily and he had just had enough. Maybe in that moment she saw that he had had enough with her altogether.
Her hand at her stomach, she couldn't help but take steps back until her back met the counter. Instinctively, her hand came to his shoulder as he pulled her shirt up. Foreheads touched and a tear escaped.
Terri Schuester wasn't pregnant and she was not going to get her happily ever after. Quinn Fabray would not get a sufficient father. Terri would lose the very thing she was fighting for dear life for.
His forehead felt hot against hers. She knew it was from the anger but she couldn't help but flash back to a particularly hot night back in high school. Steamed up windows and locked doors. The same two foreheads touching now for an entirely different reason.
When he ripped it off of her Terri tried to remember the last time Will had gotten this angry. But, she had never seen this side of Will. She had never seen his wrath. She never even thought him capable of wrath. He was inadequate. He hadn't succeeded. He hadn't left that small Ohio town and he had ended up with her and her status quo. She was right and he knew it. They worked for the very reason that Will didn't feel good about himself.
But Glee club changed that.
She knew it. Deep down Will knew it or he wouldn't have been playing footsie with the school guidance counselor. All of it, the pad, the fake sonograms, the Vitamin D, the blue bomber - all of it had led here.
Terri chasing her husband through their house and to the door, unable to grab ahold of her marriage, fraying at the seams. When she reached the doorway all energy left her. She exhaled and with the force of a small ineffectual child, she closed the door.
She couldn't form words. She couldn't walk back into the kitchen and turn off the stove. She couldn't sit down. She couldn't collapse. She couldn't do anything.