Chapter 133

By the time they got home, the sky was painted in shades of soft pink and amber, the air warm and gentle. Abigail parked in the garage, glancing at Emma, who was resting her hand over her stomach with a sleepy little smile.

“Stay put,” Abigail said softly, brushing her thumb along Emma’s cheek. “I’ll get everything .”

Emma smiled, her eyes half-lidded. “You’re too good to me.”

“Always,” Abigail murmured before slipping out of the car.

She took each bag carefully, box by box, making several trips up the stairs until the hallway near the nursery was stacked with their new finds paint samples, a few unopened boxes from the baby store, the crib instructions leaning against the wall. She paused for a second, looking at it all with quiet pride. The hallway looked like the beginning of something beautiful.

When she finally came back, Emma had already set the table with their takeout warm plates of pasta, bread, and a little dessert tucked in one corner of the bag. Abigail smiled as she sank into the chair across from her.

They ate slowly, talking softly between bites. The room was calm, filled with that soft kind of silence that only came from feeling safe.

“I still can’t believe we got so much done today,” Emma said between bites, smiling over her glass of water. “It’s starting to feel real.”

Abigail nodded, resting her chin in her hand. “It’s more than real. We’re building our future, one box at a time.”

Emma reached across the table, brushing her fingers over Abigail’s. “I love you.”

Abigail smiled, giving her hand a squeeze. “I love you more.”

When dinner was finished, Abigail cleaned up their plates while Emma yawned, leaning back in her chair. “I think the baby’s telling me it’s bedtime,” she murmured.

Abigail turned, smiling softly. “I’ll tuck you in.”

Emma laughed lightly but didn’t protest. She made her way to the bedroom, pulling off her earrings and sliding into bed. The room was dim, soft lamplight spilling over the sheets as Abigail came in behind her.

Abigail brushed a kiss against her forehead as she pulled the blanket up over her. “Get some rest, baby.”

Emma hummed sleepily, her hand finding Abigail’s. “What about you?”

Abigail sat beside her for a moment, running her fingers gently through her hair. “I’m just going to catch up on some homework. I want to make sure I’m ahead for next week before Friday’s appointment.”

Emma’s voice was barely a whisper now. “You work so hard.”

Abigail smiled, her chest warm. “I just want everything to be right for you, for the baby, for us.”

Emma smiled drowsily. “It already is.”

Abigail kissed her one more time, softly and slow. “Sleep, love.”

Emma’s breathing evened out soon after, her body relaxing completely. Abigail watched her for a moment the way her hand still rested over her stomach, the small, peaceful smile on her face.

Quietly, Abigail stood and slipped out of the bedroom, padding down the hall to her office space. She turned on her desk lamp, the soft golden light spreading over her notebooks and laptop.

Her desk lamp glowed with a warm amber light as she sat down and opened her laptop. She worked through her assignments one by one: Music Theory notes, an English Composition essay draft, and a short reflection for her Literature class. Time moved easily, the sound of typing the only thing breaking the stillness.

By the time she leaned back and stretched, it was a little past midnight. Every assignment for the week was finished, every tab neatly closed. She could have stopped there, gone back to bed and curled up beside Emma, but her gaze drifted down the hall toward the nursery door.

Her chest tightened with a quiet, hopeful energy.

She stood, pushing her chair back gently, and grabbed the paint supplies waiting in the hall. The boxes and brushes were exactly where she left them earlier that evening. She carried them inside, closing the nursery door behind her to keep the sound low.

Moonlight poured through the window, silver and still, casting soft light over the empty room. Abigail smiled faintly, rolling up her sleeves.

She changed into an old oversized T-shirt, tied her hair back, and cracked open the can of sage green paint. The smell drifted through the air almost instantly, sharp but clean. She moved quickly to open the window wider, letting in a cool rush of air before setting up the fan she kept in the corner.

“Alright, little one,” she whispered, dipping the roller into the tray, “let’s make this room yours.”

The brush glided across the wall in smooth, patient strokes. The sound was almost soothing, the faint swish of paint against drywall, the soft hum of the fan, and the quiet peace of the late night.

As each wall transformed, the nursery came to life. The color was perfect, calm, warm, and full of promise. Abigail stepped back every few minutes, smiling as she saw the way the moonlight played off the fresh paint.

Hours passed gently. The room shifted from blank white to a soft, cozy green. When she finally reached the last wall, she left a small patch of unpainted space just above where the crib would sit, not too big, just enough for something special.

Setting the roller aside, Abigail grabbed a black marker and knelt close to the wall. Her handwriting was neat but full of feeling as she wrote:

For our little one, may you always feel loved, safe, and free to grow into whoever you want to be.

Beneath it, she added in smaller letters:

Love always, Mommy Abigail.

She smiled softly, brushing her fingers over the words. That little unpainted space now held something sacred, the kind of love you couldn’t erase.

She decided she would show Emma in the morning, and together they would write something side by side, a love note for the baby, a promise for their new family, before painting over it to seal it forever.

Abigail sat back on her heels, looking around at the completed room. The walls gleamed softly, the color catching what little light the moon offered. It already looked alive, warm, and ready.

Satisfied, she cleaned her brushes and sealed the paint cans, careful not to make a sound. She opened the window a little wider and turned the fan to its highest setting, letting the room air out fully before morning.

When she was sure the air was clear and the paint was drying smoothly, she turned off the light and lingered in the doorway for a moment.

The nursery glowed faintly behind her, and she smiled. “You’re gonna love this, Emma,” she whispered. “And I hope our baby feels how much we already love them.”

She made her way back down the hall, washed her hands, and slipped quietly into bed beside Emma. The faint scent of fresh paint clung to her skin, mixed with the calm exhaustion of the night’s work.

She brushed a soft kiss to Emma’s shoulder, whispering against her skin, “It’s perfect now,” before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.