Chapter 158

After the appointment, Emma walked out of the building holding the ultrasound pictures like they were made of glass. Abigail stayed close beside her, one hand resting on the small of Emma’s back, guiding her gently through the lobby.

The sunlight outside felt different somehow—brighter, warmer, like the whole world knew what they had just seen together.

Emma let out a shaky exhale. “Twelve weeks… That still doesn’t feel real.”

Abigail unlocked the car and kissed the side of her head as she helped her in. “It’s real, baby. And you heard the doctor—everything looks perfect.”

Emma settled into the passenger seat, clutching the pictures to her chest. “I think my emotions are broken,” she said with a watery laugh. “I can’t stop crying.”

Abigail reached over, wiping a tear with her thumb. “Let ’em flow. Cry as much as you need. I’ll just sit here and look cute while you do it.”

Emma let out a snort-laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love,” Abigail said, winking as she started the car.

Emma covered her face, laughing into her palms. “Stop… I’m too pregnant for this.”

Abigail grinned. “And we’re stopping to get you a snack, by the way.”

Emma peeked at her through her fingers. “I wasn’t going to say anything… but yes. Yes, please.”

“What’s the craving today?” Abigail asked, pulling into the street.

Emma didn’t even hesitate. “Mozzarella sticks. And a strawberry lemonade. And maybe fries. Like… a small mountain of fries.”

Abigail laughed softly. “Baby, this child is going to come out obsessed with junk food.”

Emma shrugged, unconcerned. “As long as they come out happy.”

Abigail reached across the console and squeezed her knee. “Snack run it is.”

Ten minutes later, they were parked in front of a drive-thru. Emma was eating fries out of the bag while Abigail waited for the mozzarella sticks to cool down.

Emma held up a fry to Abigail’s lips. “Open.”

Abigail leaned in, letting Emma feed her. “Mmm. See? I knew you wanted to share.”

“No, I’m just in a good mood,” Emma teased, dipping another fry in her sauce.

Abigail arched a brow. “Wow. Pregnancy Emma is generous.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Emma said, but she was smiling too hard for it to be a real warning.

When they pulled onto campus, Emma reached over and caught Abigail’s wrist.

“Wait… Come here.”

Abigail leaned in, and Emma kissed her—soft, warm, lingering. A thank-you without words.

“You’re the best support system I could ever ask for,” Emma said quietly, touching Abigail’s cheek with her fingertips. “Thank you for coming with me today.”

“You don’t ever have to thank me,” Abigail whispered. “I’ll show up for you every single time.”

Emma’s eyes softened. “I know.”

Emma pulled into the roundabout near Abigail’s music building, easing the car to a soft stop. Students were walking in groups, laughing, earbuds in, backpacks bouncing with each step. The world was busy, moving, loud—but inside the car it felt like time had slowed completely.

Abigail unbuckled her seatbelt, but before she could even reach for her guitar case, Emma’s hand wrapped gently around her wrist.

“Abby… wait.”

Abigail turned back toward her, eyebrows softening. “Yeah, baby?”

Emma’s eyes were warm, still a little emotional from the appointment, and the ultrasound pictures sat in her lap like precious treasure. She reached up, brushing her fingers along Abigail’s jaw, studying her like she never got tired of looking at her.

“Thank you for today,” Emma whispered. “For being so patient with me… for keeping me calm… for holding me together in there.”

Abigail leaned closer, resting her forehead against Emma’s. “You don’t need to thank me. I want to be there for every part of this. Every appointment. Every heartbeat. Every craving. All of it.”

Emma’s breath trembled as she smiled. “You’re gonna make me cry again.”

Abigail kissed her softly. “You’re twelve weeks pregnant with our baby. Cry if you want.”

Emma laughed into the kiss. “Shut up.”

Abigail smirked, tucking a curl behind Emma’s ear. “Okay, baby… I really have to go in. Professor Rivers doesn’t play.”

“I know,” Emma sighed dramatically. “I just… didn’t want you to get out yet.”

Abigail cupped her cheek. “I’ll be out in two hours.”

Emma’s fingers slid down to Abigail’s hand, squeezing gently. “I’ll be right here.”

Abigail blinked. “Here?”

“In the parking lot,” Emma confirmed, her voice soft but determined. “I’m not going home yet. I want to wait for you. Today’s been… big. I don’t want to be far.”

Abigail’s heart swelled so hard it almost hurt. She kissed Emma again—slow, lingering, like she was promising something without using words.

“I love you,” Abigail murmured against her lips.

Emma kissed her back, whispering, “I love you more. Now go before I make you skip class.”

Abigail laughed and stepped out of the car, slinging her guitar over her shoulder. But as she closed the door, Emma rolled down the window.

“Abby!”

Abigail paused, turning.

Emma held up her strawberry lemonade with a little grin. “I’ll be right here when you’re done. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Abigail pointed playfully at her. “Don’t leave. I’ll come looking.”

Emma smirked. “I’m pregnant. I’m not going anywhere.”

Abigail blew her a kiss before walking toward the building. Emma watched until she disappeared through the doors, one hand resting protectively on her growing belly, the other still clutching the ultrasound photos.

Abigail pushed open the heavy double doors to the performance wing, the familiar smell of wood polish, old amps, and sheet music settling around her like a warm blanket. She let out a slow breath, adjusting her guitar strap on her shoulder as she walked down the long hallway lined with practice rooms.

Even though the building hummed with sound — stray chords, vocal warmups, someone aggressively drumming in the distance — Abigail still felt strangely calm. Maybe it was the leftover glow of the appointment. Maybe it was knowing Emma was parked outside, safe and waiting.

Or maybe… it was simply the fact she had never felt more connected to her life than she did right now.

She reached Room 204 and pushed the door open.

Inside, several students were already gathering. A couple of guitarists were tuning; one girl was checking her mic levels; another kid was tapping an empty rhythm on the desk, waiting for class to start.

Professor Rivers stood at the front — tall, salt-and-pepper curls tied back, black button-up rolled at the sleeves. He was organizing sheet music but glanced up when Abigail walked in.

He smiled. “Afternoon, Abigail. You’re early. Everything alright?”

Abigail smiled back as she set her case down. “Yeah, everything’s great. Better than great, actually.”

He raised an eyebrow at her tone, amused. “Well, whatever inspired that grin, hang onto it. Good energy helps your performance.”

Abigail chuckled. “I’ll try.”

She chose her usual spot toward the left side of the room, unzipped her guitar case, and gently lifted out her acoustic. The polished wood gleamed under the room’s bright lights, and she ran her fingers along the strings out of instinct.

She could still feel Emma’s kiss on her lips.

Still hear the heartbeat from the ultrasound echoing faintly in her chest.

Still picture Emma’s soft smile as she said, I’ll be waiting right here…

A warmth spread through Abigail’s chest.

“Alright, folks,” Professor Rivers said, clapping once as he moved to the front. “Let’s start with something simple. Warm-up progressions. I want to hear everyone loosen up. Today is about expression — not perfection.”

Abigail straightened a bit in her chair.

Expression. Not perfection.

She liked that.

Rivers nodded to her first. “Abigail — you want to start us off?”

She inhaled, placed her fingers on the fretboard, and let the first chord ring out. Warm, full, confident. Her classmates looked over, and Rivers grinned at the tone she produced.

“Nice. Clean. Now give me the next progression.”

She moved through it naturally, her hands remembering the shapes before her mind fully registered them. Music flowed out of her easily, like muscles stretching after a long rest.

By the time she finished, Rivers nodded with genuine approval.

“Beautiful tone today, Abigail. Something’s different about your playing.”

Abigail felt her cheeks warm. “Just… good things happening.”

“Good,” he said. “Channel that.”

She did.

The rest of class moved in waves of sound — harmonies, shared riffs, small corrections, warm laughter, Rivers cracking a joke every ten minutes. Abigail felt grounded, present, and oddly inspired.

But every now and then, she’d glance out the window.

And know Emma was out there.

Waiting for her.

Loving her.

Growing their baby.

For the first time, Abigail truly saw her future when she played — not as a dream, but something she was actively building.

When Rivers dismissed the class, Abigail packed her guitar with practiced ease and slung her bag over her shoulder. She pulled out her phone instantly.

Abigail: On my way out, baby.

Almost immediately, Emma replied:

Emma: Hurry. I want to hear everything AND I want kisses.

Abigail smiled so hard it hurt.

She pushed through the doors and walked into the cool early afternoon air, spotting their car almost instantly.

Emma was watching for her — head resting back against the seat, a tired but happy smile blooming the second she saw Abigail step outside.

For Abigail, it felt like the entire world came into focus.

Her girl.

Her baby.

Her life.

Everything she wanted was right there.

And she walked toward it without hesitation.