Chapter 123

Emma’s breathing deepened against her chest, steady and peaceful, until Abigail knew she was sound asleep. Carefully, she eased herself out from under her without waking her. She tucked the blanket securely around Emma’s shoulders, brushing a soft kiss across her temple before slipping quietly out of the bed.

In her office, the glow of the desk lamp filled the room with a warm, steady light. Abigail opened her laptop, spread out her notebooks, and flipped to the pages she had filled earlier in the week. First, she finished the last few practice problems for Music Theory, carefully checking her intervals and chord progressions until she was confident they were right.

When that was done, she pulled out her English Composition journal and added another entry—not for class, but for herself. She described the quiet moment of Emma drifting off in her arms, the way her breath steadied once she was safe. It wasn’t part of the homework due yet, but Abigail wanted to capture it while it was fresh.

She didn’t stop there. For Contemporary Literature, she drafted a response to Baldwin’s first chapter, underlining quotes she wanted to bring up in discussion next week. She even opened her syllabus to glance at what was due in two weeks’ time and jotted down a few notes for her future essay.

By the time she looked up, nearly two hours had passed. The clock on her laptop read well past midnight, but her heart felt lighter knowing she was ahead. She closed her books, stacked them neatly on the desk, and slid everything back into her bag for the morning.

Moving quietly through the bedroom, she laid out her clothes for class—jeans, a soft gray sweater, her favorite sneakers, and a light jacket in case the morning was chilly. She double-checked her schedule for the next day before dimming the desk lamp.

In the bathroom, the hot shower washed away the tension clinging to her shoulders. Steam fogged the mirror as she rinsed her hair, letting the warmth soak through her skin. By the time she stepped out, she felt renewed, ready to face another long day.

When she finally slipped back into bed, Emma hadn’t stirred. Abigail curled carefully around her back, tucking an arm over her waist. She pressed a kiss to her shoulder and whispered softly, “I’ll always take care of you.”

With her world safe in her arms, Abigail closed her eyes and let sleep take her.

The soft glow of early morning crept in through the curtains, painting the room in muted gold. Abigail stirred first, her body used to the rhythm of early starts. She blinked a few times, adjusting to the light, then turned her head to find Emma still fast asleep beside her.

Emma’s breathing was slow and steady, one hand resting gently over her stomach, the blanket pulled up to her chin. Her face looked softer in sleep, her features peaceful in a way that made Abigail smile.

Leaning over, Abigail pressed a kiss to her temple, then another to her cheek. Emma stirred slightly, and Abigail couldn’t resist—she kissed her forehead, her nose, her jawline, and finally peppered soft kisses all over her face until Emma let out a sleepy laugh.

“Baby,” Emma mumbled, half-awake but smiling.

“Good morning, love,” Abigail whispered against her skin. “Breakfast is ready—fruit, pancakes, and water. It’s all on the nightstand for you.”

Emma’s eyes cracked open just enough to see the tray. “You’re spoiling us again,” she teased in a drowsy murmur.

“Always,” Abigail said with a grin. “Eat when you’re ready. I’m going to jump in the shower before class.”

She tucked the blanket back around Emma, pressing one last kiss to her lips before slipping off the bed. Emma closed her eyes again with a content sigh, and Abigail smiled to herself as she padded into the bathroom. The sound of running water soon filled the apartment, while the scent of pancakes and coffee lingered warmly in the air.

Steam curled against the mirror as Abigail stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a towel. The hot water had cleared away the last traces of sleep, leaving her awake, refreshed, and ready to face the day.

She moved through her routine quickly—blow-drying her hair until it fell in soft waves around her shoulders, brushing her teeth, and applying a light touch of moisturizer. Back in the bedroom, Emma was still curled up under the blanket, her hand lazily resting on the tray Abigail had left. The plate of pancakes had a small dent in it, proof that Emma had at least nibbled before drifting back off.

Abigail smiled, pulling on her outfit for the day: a pair of fitted jeans, her soft gray sweater, and white sneakers she kept by the door. She added her denim jacket, slipping her notebooks, laptop, and water bottle into her backpack.

On the nightstand, she wrote a quick note on a sticky pad and left it beside Emma’s tray:

Class until the afternoon. Call me if you need anything. Love you both — A

Before leaving, Abigail leaned down and kissed Emma’s forehead, whispering, “I’ll see you later, love.” Emma shifted slightly, murmuring something too soft to catch, but her lips curved into a sleepy smile.

With her bag slung over her shoulder, Abigail grabbed her keys, coffee to-go mug, and guitar case from the corner by the door. She gave the apartment one last look, reassured by the sight of Emma safe in bed, before stepping out into the quiet hallway to start her day.

Campus was alive when Abigail arrived. Friday mornings buzzed differently—the promise of the weekend making the air lighter, the pace less rushed. Students sat in clusters with coffees in hand, laughing about weekend plans. Abigail adjusted the strap of her guitar case and walked with purpose toward the performing arts building.

Inside the rehearsal hall, sunlight spilled across polished floors. The room smelled faintly of wood polish and coffee, the grand piano gleaming at the center. A semicircle of chairs had already filled with a mix of students, instruments in cases at their feet. Some tuned quietly, fingers plucking at strings or adjusting reeds, while others whispered to their neighbors.

“Morning, everyone,” a warm, confident voice called. Professor Daniel Rivers strode in, tall with broad shoulders and a presence that seemed to command attention without effort. His easy smile softened his stature as he set a folder on the piano. “Welcome to Performance Ensemble. This class is about more than technical ability—it’s about presence. Connection. Finding your voice as a performer.”

Abigail sat straighter, her guitar case resting against her leg.

“We’ll start simple today,” Professor Rivers continued. “Introductions, then a chance for each of you to share something short. Don’t overthink it—it’s not about perfection. I just want to hear where you’re starting from.”

One by one, students introduced themselves—violinists, vocalists, pianists, and guitarists. When it was Abigail’s turn, she spoke with quiet confidence. “Abigail. Guitar and vocals. I’ve been playing since I was a kid, and I like blending the two.”

Professor Rivers nodded. “Good. You’ll get plenty of chances to do that here.”

The warmups came first—scales sung together in rounds, chords strummed in progression, harmonies built piece by piece. The room vibrated with sound, a reminder that music was as much about collaboration as it was about individual skill.

Then the performances began. One by one, students shared short pieces—some polished, others hesitant. When Abigail’s turn came, she stood, unlatched her guitar case, and let the familiar weight settle against her. Her fingers found the strings almost instinctively, and she played a melody she knew by heart, one that carried both strength and gentleness. When she sang, her voice was steady, unforced, filling the space without needing to push.

When she finished, silence lingered for a moment before Professor Rivers spoke. “Strong tone. Confident playing. You have presence—something you can’t teach. We’ll work on phrasing and control, but the foundation is solid.”

A quiet warmth spread through Abigail’s chest. She nodded, jotting down notes in her journal as the next student prepared to play.

By the end of the two-hour session, Abigail’s notebook was full of reminders and tips: Challenge yourself. Push past comfort. Connect with your audience. Professor Rivers wrapped up with a grin. “For next week—bring something that challenges you. Doesn’t matter what. Growth happens when you lean into discomfort.”

Students began packing up, chatting lightly as they filed out of the rehearsal hall. Abigail carefully stowed her guitar, the strap secure over her shoulder, before pulling out her phone.

Done for today. On my way home to you. ❤️ she typed, hitting send.