Karl
The sun is barely hovering above the horizon as I pull up in front of Abby’s apartment building on Friday morning.
I can’t help but smile as I think about the day ahead of us. My black car idles, the hum of its engine drowned out by the pop song playing on the radio—a song I can easily imagine Abby singing along to, although I don’t personally care for that kind of music myself.
With a deep breath, I turn off the engine and grab the to-go cup of her favorite coffee from the cup holder.
She opens the door almost as soon as I knock, as though she was standing there, waiting. There’s a look in her eyes that makes it seem as though she’s still on the fence about going. But the second her eyes meet mine, the tension in her shoulders eases. Just a bit.
“Good morning,” I
