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Outside the window, there were lights everywhere.
They twinkled in a variety of colors – from golden yellow to seasonal red and green – decorating the facades of every house in the neighborhood. In each of them, families gathered around the trees, presents laid carefully in bright wrappings, and if you were quiet enough, you could hear the laughter and anticipation of children. At least, if you cared enough to pay attention.
In one of the houses, the largest of them, the decorations were a bit more sober, only there to paint a picture of perfection, to add beauty because beauty meant status. But inside, there was no one sitting near the Christmas tree, and the house was plunged into darkness. There was no laughter. There was no joy. Only the pretense of perfection, that broke in pieces as soon as you walked in the door and realized that status... well, status isn't everything it's cracked up to be.
Deep into the house, the only person awake was a man. He sat at a desk, pouring over documents, a glass of whiskey within reach. His lips were pulled into a grimace, perpetually displeased. Upstairs, his wife slept in her own room, probably knocked out cold thanks to her sleeping pills. They hadn't slept in the same bed in a very, very long time, and he didn't particularly care. It was the same to him, if she was there or not. He could always seek female company elsewhere. But she stayed, and she wouldn't leave, because he provided her with the life she wanted, no matter how many lovers he had. They each lived separate lives under the same roof, barely talking to each other, barely acknowledging the other's existence.
There hadn't been love in this house in too many years. Maybe it had never been there to begin with.
Work was the only thing the man cared about, and it didn't bring him any pleasure either. Not anymore. For the past few months, since he had lost a very important trial, he had been given minor cases. It was humiliating, after being one of the most important lawyers in the area for two decades. But he had fallen in disgrace, and no one was ready to let him forget it.
Walter Anderson grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured some more into the glass. It was Christmas Eve and he was completely alone in a house that was too big, too silent, too empty.
Not that he would ever care about that.
Snow was falling steadily outside, and it was cold inside the study despite the fire that crackled in the fireplace. He took a sip of whiskey and dropped the document back on the mahogany desk, rubbing at his tired eyes. It was hard work, tiring work, trying to climb back to the top once you were pushed all the way down to the bottom.
It was probably the combination of alcohol, exhaustion and the soothing sound coming from the fireplace that lulled him to sleep, but he woke up startled sometime later, a crick in his neck that he reached up to massage away.
It took him a few seconds to realize that he was not alone in the study any longer.
There was a woman standing near the fireplace, her long chestnut hair falling down her back like a veil. She was thin and tall, dressed in jeans and a soft-looking blue sweater. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the near darkness. It wasn't Walter's usual type – too girl-next-door for his taste – but he had to admit that she was beautiful in a quiet, gentle way.
Still, it didn't explain what she was doing here.
“Who are you?” He practically barked at her. “How did you get in here?”
She smiled at him. “I'm here to visit you.”
The answer was definitely odd. He tilted his head as he regarded her. She didn't look like a prostitute, which was the only reason he could think a woman would get into his house like this. It wouldn't be the first time, either. His partners at the firm used to send him escorts as a joke or a treat.
But that had been... well, before.
“That doesn't answer my first question,” he murmured, trying to keep calm. If she was here to rob him, she wouldn't make it far before he reached the gun in his desk drawer.
“It's not important who I am,” she replied, still smiling softly at him. “What's important is what I'm here to show you.”
The silence stretched before them for a long time after that, as Walter simply looked at her, her words swirling in his mind. It was ridiculous, he thought. A strange woman visiting him on Christmas Eve. He snorted dismissively.
“I don't have time for any Dickensian crap, lady,” he said dryly. “Get out of here before I call the police, or worse.”
“Looks like all you have is time,” she commented, glancing around the otherwise empty study. “You haven't been truly busy in a while. You just pretend you are. Looking busy makes you look like you're important. Like you matter.”
A chill went down his spine and he straightened in his seat. His next words were spat at her. “What the hell do you want?”
“Just come with me,” she said, still so calm, still so soft. “I just want to show you something.”
Walter paused. What could she possibly show him? He had everything he needed. He had the life he wanted.
Didn't he?
He was out of his chair before he realized what he was doing. It was the whiskey, he told himself. He had probably drunk too much and he was having a weird, alcohol-induced dream. There wasn't a woman in his study, quietly beckoning him to follow her.
But he could see her, and he followed her.
The woman smiled again, and pressed a hand on his arm, as if to guide him.
Walter blinked – that's all he did, really – and when his eyes opened up again, his study, his house, his neighborhood... they were all gone.
They were standing in a small living room – the walls were painted a light, relaxing shade of green, and there was a fireplace, in front of which a dog and a cat were snuggling, snoring softly. It was the kind of place people would call cozy, the kind of place someone would turn into a home. There was no splendor, no chandeliers, no fancy artwork on the walls. Just a few black and white photographs, and the people pictured...
Walter took an unconscious step back. “Where are we?”
“Boston,” the woman answered, and she looked around the room with her smile still as soft as it had been from the beginning. “And it's the present, in case you were wondering. This is happening just as you sit all alone in your big, empty house...”
He turned to her to say he was perfectly happy to be in a big empty house instead of this tiny place, but there was a sound – keys jingling in a lock – and the front door opened. Someone was home.
The dog also noticed the sound. He woke up and, wagging his tail, strolled towards the front door, where a man in a navy coat and red scarf was coming into the apartment. He had a few snowflakes on his dark hair, and once he had dropped his keys into the bowl on the side table, he leaned to scratch the dog behind his ears.
“Hi, Robert, buddy, missed me?” He muttered, before he straightened back up and called into the apartment: “Kurt, I'm home!”
This was the first time Walter Anderson saw his son again after everything had fallen apart.
Blaine looked... mostly the same, he thought. Physically, at least. But he stood taller, seemed broader, like he wasn't hunched in on himself anymore. He kept his head high. He hummed under his breath, some Christmas tune Walter couldn't really recognize, as he hung his coat and scarf on the coat rack by the door.
Walter had never really paid much attention to him, if he was being perfectly honest. He had always dismissed him, considered him too soft, despised his life choices. Blaine should have been a better son. He should have been normal...
His train of thought was interrupted by another man entering the living room from a door that obviously led to the kitchen. There was a sweet scent coming from there, and the man – and Walter hated using that word to describe him – was wiping his hands on his apron, half covered in flour.
Kurt Hummel also looked mostly the same. His sparkling blue eyes were fixed on Blaine, and he was wearing a complicated yellow sweater full of buckles that Walter couldn't even begin to comprehend. He was smiling widely as he shortened the distance between them, and Walter watched with his stomach churning as he slipped his arms around Blaine's neck, pulling him closer.
“There's my gorgeous husband,” he said, kissed Blaine's lips briefly but lovingly.
Walter diverted his eyes, and they fell on the gold band on his son's finger, as he pressed his hand to Kurt's back.
Blaine laughed into the kiss and then rested their foreheads together, letting out a little contented sigh. “Four months later and I still can't believe we're husbands.”
“Well, you better believe it, Mr. Hummel,” Kurt said, laughing and grinning, so visibly happy it was hard to watch.
The name made Walter take a step back and he turned to look at the woman still standing next to him, silently regarding the scene before them.
“Mr. Hummel?” He repeated.
She gave him a meaningful look. “Of course. He took his husband's name, like he told you he would. It's not like being an Anderson was a cause for joy.”
Walter, who had always been proud of being an Anderson, couldn't exactly relate to Blaine's decision, but he couldn't say he hadn't been warned. He remembered standing in the middle of that tacky bakery, in the middle of a confrontation with Kurt, and Blaine walking in like a knight in shining armor. He remembered the words he had said, as if they were engraved in his mind: And as soon as I marry Kurt, I'll stop being an Anderson for good. I'd far rather be a Hummel.
Despite all his faults, Walter had to admit that at least Blaine had always been a man of his word.
The dog began to jump, trying to get their attention, and they finally broke the kiss they had lost themselves in. Blaine scratched the dog's ears again, as Kurt turned in the direction he had come from.
“It smells wonderful, sweetheart, what are you making?” Blaine asked, as he began to follow him, the dog losing interest and going to curl up next to the fire again.
“Gingerbread cookies,” Kurt replied. “They're one of Finn's favorite holiday treats. I hope we'll have enough food...”
“Stop freaking out,” Blaine said, placing his hands on Kurt's shoulders and squeezing lovingly. “Everything will be perfect.”
“I hope so,” Kurt said, biting his lip. “This is our first year hosting Christmas as a married couple, and I... I also know this time of the year used to be so hard for you. And last year...”
“Last year is in the past,” Blaine interrupted, tugging on his husband's hand to pull him into his arms. “That part of my life is in the past. Now I know what it's like to be happy, and it's all thanks to you...”
“Oh Blaine,” Kurt's eyes sparkled as he looked at him, and they slowly moved into another kiss.
Walter watched them for a few seconds, the way Blaine relaxed into Kurt's embrace, before the woman finally placed her hand on his arm to get his attention.
“I think that's enough,” she whispered, as if afraid she would interrupt the moment the young men were having. “Let's go somewhere else...”
This time, Walter didn't protest. He simply followed her without another word.
The second place they arrived at was a house. It gave Walter the same sensation the apartment had given him at first sight – this wasn't only a house, it was a home. There were pictures on the walls, and furniture that looked used and comfortable (the kind his wife wouldn't admit into her own house, where everything had to look pristine and new at all times), and a quilt drapped over the back of a couch that seemed to have seen better days.
Walter's eyes fell immediately onto his son, sitting on the couch and staring at a Christmas tree decorated with all kinds of ornaments, its twinkling lights the only thing that illuminated the living room, aside from the fire burning in the chimney, where there were stockings hanging, on each of them a name stitched carefully with flowing handwriting: Burt, Carole, Finn, Kurt, Blaine, James.
First, Walter had thought his son was there alone, but then he saw him move one of his legs up and down, and a little boy sitting on his lap squealed with joy.
“What... is this still the same night?” Walter asked, turning to the woman who was leaning over the back of the couch as if to get a better view of the boy.
“No. Kurt and Blaine have been married for three years now,” she explained quietly. “They came back to Ohio with their son to spend Christmas with their family.”
Three years. Walter wondered where he was, three years later. Hopefully back on top at the firm. He turned to tell the woman he would much rather see what he was up to instead of catching up on his son's life, but a man entered the room right then, and Walter paused.
It was Burt Hummel, and he still looked pretty much the same as the last time Walter had seen him, at court, the day everything had fallen apart for him, the day Blaine had humiliated him in front of his peers and made his entire career burn to ashes. He was wearing a flannel shirt and a baseball cap, and as he walked by, he pressed a hand to Blaine's shoulder and squeezed.
“How are you doing, son?” Burt asked.
Blaine smiled warmly at him as his father-in-law took a seat on his brown leather armchair. “I'm good, Burt. How are you?”
“Good, good. Just getting old,” he chuckled. He nodded at Blaine. “You look like you have a lot on your mind.”
“Well, the holidays tend to get me in this weird mood,” Blaine admitted with a little shrug. When Burt remained silent, clearly giving him space to speak his mind when he wanted to, Blaine sighed. “I sent my parents a message to let them know we adopted James, that they are grandparents now. Kurt didn't think it was a good idea, that it would only make me feel bad... and I hate that he was right.”
Burt snorted. “Kurt's usually right, buddy. It would make your life so much easier if you just assumed he is all the time.”
Blaine laughed and nodded. “Yeah, he is. He's amazing like that.” He took a deep breath and stared at the Christmas tree. “I don't know what it was expecting. I guess I thought they would want to get a second chance at being decent people with their grankid, but they didn't even reply. They didn't care. I don't know why I thought they would.”
“Because you're a good person, Blaine,” Burt replied without missing a beat. Blaine smiled at him again, looking grateful and a bit in awe. “Look, you know what I think about them. About your old man, especially...”
Walter's hands closed in fists. Who did this mechanic think he was?
“And you know I wish things could be different for you. I wish they'll wake up one day and realize what they lost, that they realize how much you're worth...” Burt put his elbows on his knees to lean a little closer to the couch, where Blaine and his little boy were sitting. “And I know it's probably not the same, to have us instead of them...”
“No,” Blaine interrupted immediately, so earnestly that it made Walter look at him so quickly it made his neck hurt. “Don't ever say that. It's still unbelievable to me, to be part of this family...”
“Trust me, buddy, I would officially adopt you if it wasn't because you're a grown ass man,” Burt said, making Blaine snort out a laugh. “You know I love you. And Carole loves you. We all do. But it's okay to wish things had been different. It was all so rough for you, for so long. I just don't want you to get your hopes up just to see them crash.”
Blaine kissed the top of his son's head, closing his eyes to inhale the scent of his shampoo. “I've never been this happy, Burt. Ever since Kurt and I got together... it's been like a dream. And sometimes I'm just waiting for something horrible to happen that will bring me back down to Earth, but it's been almost four years and I just keep getting happier and happier, and now with James...”
The little boy looked up at the sound of his name and smiled sleepily at him. “I love you, daddy.”
There was something watery about Blaine's smile, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I love you more, James. Always.”
Burt was watching them with a quiet, knowing smile. “Life's not always a fairy tale, Blaine. You know that, and I know that. But this? What you have right here? That's everything, buddy. That's as good as it gets. So don't fixate on everything that could go wrong, and don't waste time waiting for the other shoe to drop, or waiting for those who didn't see your worth to come around. Just enjoy it. You've earned this.”
It looked as if a weight was lifted from Blaine's shoulders. He seemed to visibly relax, and as he wrapped his arms a little more snuggly around his son, he murmured: “It's really nice being a Hummel, you know?”
Burt chuckled, but his response got lost because the woman next to Walter touched his arm again to get his attention.
“Time to go,” she said.
Walter followed her, but glanced back over his shoulder just in time to see Burt looking at Blaine with pride, and Blaine looking back with the kind of respect and admiration he had never shown his own father.
Once again, Walter blinked and suddenly found himself somewhere new. It was beginning to make him feel dizzy, and he was about to turn to the woman to ask her to just take him back to his own house, when he caught a sight of his son, who was still sitting on a couch with James, just a different couch on a clearly different place.
There was a rather large Christmas tree in the corner by the window, through which Walter could see a really beautiful residential neighborhood.
He assumed at first that they were visiting some other family, but then he noticed the black and white pictures on the walls, all the little knick knacks that had been present in the first apartment they had visited, and realized they must have moved to a new house. The boy next to Blaine was older now, by a couple of years at least, and his eyes were fixed on the television, his father's arm wrapped losely around him as they watched a Christmas movie.
Walter didn't think he had ever held his son like that, not even when Blaine was a boy as young as the one sitting right next to him now. He didn't think he had ever spent time with him just watching a movie or being together for the sake of it, not even during the holidays. Walter was used to office parties and social engagements and he had always expected his family to follow suit, to help him look good in front of important partners and clients.
Before he could follow that train of thought, still watching how Blaine and James chuckled at something happening in the movie, glancing at each other in that complicit way he had never shared with his only son, Kurt walked into the room, carefully bouncing a small bundle in his arms.
“Look who's up from her nap!” Kurt exclaimed, his voice squeaky with happiness.
Blaine immediately reached for the baby and his husband passed her over, before dropping down on the couch next to them, still smilng so wide it looked like his face might crack right down the middle.
Blaine kissed the baby's tiny nose and cuddled her close to his chest. “Hi, sweetheart. Did you have a nice nap?”
The baby cooed as sole response – she couldn't be more than two months old – and Blaine looked at her in absolute adoration as Kurt reached to brush their son's hair back.
“Are you enjoying the movie, James?” Kurt asked him.
The boy nodded. “Yeah, it's really good!” He frowned for a moment and looked up at Kurt. “Are you sure grandpa and grandma can't come see us for Christmas?”
Kurt wrapped his arm around the little boy and pulled him closer. “I'm sorry, honey. I know you were excited to see them again, but it's snowing too hard and the roads are blocked. We'll go down to visit them as soon as they open up again, okay?”
Walter didn't need to ask any questions to know he was not the grandpa they were referring to.
Blaine turned the baby to sit her in his lap, his hands gently supporting him as he leaned her against him. “Alright, Ellie. Time for your first ever Christmas movie.”
Walter's brow furrowed as he tried to remember. He then turned to the woman standing next to him, whose eyes were softly trailing each and every one of the baby's movements.
“Ellie?” He echoed. “Isn't that the name of that stupid bakery where they met?”
The woman let out a humming, affirmative sound. “That was Kurt's mother's name.”
Walter stopped paying attention to James' laughter and Kurt's voice saying something to his son, as he watched her. Not in the way he usually looked at women, as if they were objects he either found interesting only in a physical way. He watched her intently. She was gazing back between the baby and Kurt in such a soft manner...
It was striking, really, how much she looked like Kurt.
How hadn't he pieced it together before?
They made a final stop at Burt Hummel's now slightly familiar house.
This time it wasn't a quiet one on one between Blaine and his father-in-law, but a loud, happy family affair. The entire Hummel family was gathered around the table – with the addition of two people Walter had never seen before, a man who seemed the same age as Blaine with his arm around a very pregnant woman with long brunette hair. They were all talking, passing food to each other, and there were smiles on everyone's faces.
Blaine was sitting on one side of the table, between Burt and his husband, his arm thrown over the back of Kurt's chair. Kurt was turned away and talking to the young woman, but he was leaning into Blaine's side like it was second nature. Blaine was keeping a watchful eye on the little girl – Ellie, Walter assumed – who was wobbling around the table dressed in a red and green dress. She smiled up at him when she caught him staring, a toothless little grin that Blaine returned easily.
It was such a happy, relaxed atmosphere it made Walter's skin itch, like there had to be something wrong underneath the surface, like it all had to be a facade, a bomb ready to explode at the first opportunity. But as he continued watching them, he couldn't find anything, not even a little crack.
Except on his son's face.
It was as they were standing up and gathering the dirty dishes and putting leftovers away. Blaine reached as if to take an empty tray into the kitchen and Burt's wife (what was her name? Walter couldn't remember it), stopped him with a hand on his arm and a kiss on his cheek, a gesture so loving it made Walter feel empty inside.
“It's okay, honey. Why don't you go check on the kids?” She proposed, and Blaine only nodded, walking out of the dinning room and into the living room where the tree was glowing quietly next to the fireplace, the same room where Walter had seen him talk to Burt only a few minutes ago and yet, years ago.
James and Ellie were there, standing in front of the Christmas tree, and the boy was explaining to his little sister how it all worked – how Santa would bring presents for them and they would get to open them in the morning, how it was the best day of the year and after breakfast uncle Finn would take them outside to play in the snow and make snow men, how papa and grandma Carole (oh so that was her name) were going to make the most delicious Christmas lunch ever...
Blaine smiled down at his children, but there was something off about it.
Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped themselves around Blaine's waist, and Blaine sunk gratefully into his husband's chest.
“You okay?” Kurt asked in a low voice, so their kids wouldn't hear.
“I really thought she would come,” Blaine murmured after a little pause. “I know it was stupid of me to think so, but... she's all alone now. I thought she would rather be with family on Christmas than alone in that big, empty house.”
“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” Kurt replied, dropping a kiss on Blaine's temple. “I know you've been doing your best to forgive them and be with her ever since the funeral, but... there are some things that even tragedy can't change. And I think your mom moved on long before your dad even passed away.”
Walter took a step back. He was dead? How many years into the future was this? He tried to make the math in his head but it only made him feel dizzy.
“The thing that makes me sad the most is that I don't even miss them,” Blaine admitted, his hand finding Kurt's on his stomach, their wedding bands clicking together as the colourful lights from the Christmas tree reflected on them. “You know, when we first got James and we came here for his first Christmas with us, your dad and I talked about them, and I think that night I made my peace with it, that they would never be a part of our lives. I guess I'm a little slow, because I should have known that for years before then, but I was always hopeful that they would change, that they would accept me.” He paused and shrugged, before adding: “I guess I didn't want my mom to feel as alone as they made me feel all those years.”
“They're the ones who missed out, Blaine,” Kurt muttered, tilting his head to rest it against Blaine's. “You're such a good man, and it's not thanks to them. It's all your doing. You have a big heart, and I see it every day when you're with the kids. I'm sorry they didn't appreciate you, but you have a big family who do, every single day. Every single day I wake up and I look at your while you still sleep and I can't stop being so grateful that I'm the one who gets to wake up next to you, the one I come home to, the one I get to raise two fantastic children with...”
“I love you,” Blaine whispered, closing his eyes, his face a mirror to his heart, reflecting the peace he felt inside, the love that threatened to spill all over, the joy it brought him to be right here with all the people he loved, with all the people who loved him.
“I love you, too,” Kurt replied, and Blaine turned in his arms to kiss him, soft and slow, the two of them lost in a world of their own.
“I have everything I need right here,” Blaine murmured against his lips. He held onto his husband, snuggled into his side, and let his eyes wander over to the kids who were now sitting on the floor in front of the tree as James told Ellie about all the presents Santa had brought him the previous year, and she looked at him as if he had hung up the moon and the stars. “We have a pretty amazing life, don't we?”
Kurt smiled – Blaine felt it more than saw it – and lifted Blaine's hand so he could kiss his wedding ring. “Pretty amazing indeed.”
Sounds of voices reached them, meaning the rest of their family was about to join them in the living room. Kurt tugged on Blaine's hand and guided him towards the couch, where they sat close together to keep watching their children, and soon Burt and Carole, Finn and his wife were there, all taking seats and discussing which Christmas movie they should watch.
Blaine remained silent, leaning into his husband with a pleased smile on his face, all traces of his previous tension now gone. He had completely moved on.
Walter looked around, at how the world kept turning even after he was gone, at how no one seemed to truly miss him, at how his death had affected virtually no one – not even his wife, it seemed, and it was sort of upsetting how unsurprising that was – and he felt a little sick to the stomach. Maybe he shouldn't have drunk all that whiskey.
Maybe he shouldn't have come here at all.
Elizabeth Hummel took his arm and guided him away from his son and his family, the one he had never wanted to be part of.
In the blink of an eye, Walter was back in his study. Everything was exactly where he had left it – the fire crackling, the whiskey poured, as if no time had passed at all, as if he hadn't been gone for exactly that long, the blink of an eye.
He was standing near the door and he could tell Elizabeth was still there, so he turned towards her, feeling anger bubble in his stomach. “Why did you show me all of that?”
She shrugged, and it was a little infuriating. “I thought it might be helpful to you.”
“How could that be helpful? Just tell me how I die so I can avoid it...” He said, walking briskly to his desk. Maybe he should take notes, make sure he didn't forget any details.
Elizabeth sighed. “Oh Walter, it looks like you haven't learned anything, after all...”
“What do you mean?” He asked, almost spitting each word in her direction.
“Death is a part of life,” she said softly. “It'll happen when it's supposed to and not a minute earlier or a minute later. But just as the day you were born, you have absolutely no control over the day you die. All you can control, all you have to concern yourself with, is how you live the days between those two dates.”
“I told you, lady. I have no time for this cheap crap,” he said, reaching for his glass of whiskey. “If you were trying to get me to go all soft with my faggy son...”
“Don't,” she interrupted, and it was the first time all night she sounded fierce, almost furious, her calm exterior melting away. “If you have nothing nice to say, then not only you should stay quiet, but it also confirms that this was a waste of time. For both of us.” She looked at him with fire in her blue eyes. “Blaine is a wonderful man, who has a wonderful life ahead of him, and you have the power to change and be part of it, to give him what you deprived him of for so many years. All he wanted was to belong, to make you proud, and you crushed him to pieces every chance you got. He is going to be a father in a few years, and he's going to strive to be exactly the opposite of what you were to him. He is already someone else's son, because Burt and Carole love him the way you and your wife should have loved him. But if you made room in your heart for him...”
Walter downed his whiskey quickly and poured himself some more. “He chose to live a life I can't condone, to be an embarrassment. He made his choice, I made mine.”
Elizabeth scoffed. “You made your choice long before he made his. You never cared for him. I guess it's lucky my boy found him and saved him.”
“Corrupted him, you mean,” Walter said with a scowl.
“Saved him,” she insisted, still looking fierce. “They saved each other. That's what love does, Walter Anderson. But I'm afraid you'll never know that.”
Walter threw his glass aside, crystal shattering everywhere. “Just tell me how to avoid my death and shut up!”
But he was talking to an empty room, because Elizabeth Hummel was gone.
His hands shaking, Walter sat at his desk. His eyes fell on the phone. It would be so easy, a part of him said, to just grab that damn phone and make a call. It could all be fixed with a phone call and a few words, a few apologies, just a little effort and an open heart.
He could be part of that amazing life he would have. He wouldn't have to sit in a dark study by himself on Christmas Eve ever again if he just picked up the phone.
Instead, Walter Anderson got back on his feet, turned the lamp and the fire off, and left the study.
Sometimes it was too late to learn the lesson, even if it was one with the power to change the course of your future. Sometimes, admitting you're wrong could be harder than accepting your fate. Sometimes, your heart had hardened so much it was impossible to thaw it, impossible to open it again to all the possibilities lying before you. Sometimes, the kindest thing you could do was let the people you hurt live their lives as happily as they could.
And if those little visits, those quick glimpses were any indication, Blaine Hummel was having and would always have the happiest and sweetest of lives.