Monday

A crawling, weary exhalation of breath puffed from Shelby's lungs as she walked into her expansive walk in closet, completely ignoring the left side as she dressed. The last thing she wanted was to change, to leave, or to be disrupted. She would much rather stay in tonight and rest as the chronic lack of sleep seemed to be wearing her down more than usual. She also treasured her solitude since she's had plenty of it these days. During the past six months, two weeks, and three days, to be exact. Apart from work, and the week she spent in Ohio with her parents for a change of scenery, she rarely left her home anymore.

But Jesse St. James was her favorite student. He was her protege, her best work. And really the closest thing she had to a child of her own at this point. He was one of the few people that Shelby would leave her house for to show up and support on the biggest night of his nascent career.

A recent graduate of New York Academy of Dramatic Arts, he was making his debut as the currently youngest music director on Broadway. He'd come up a long way from being just a struggling kid from Queens to rising on the path of becoming one of the most promising lyricists and composers in musical theater.

He was the embodiment of everything that she's strived to achieve in her role as the Principal of the Manhattan High School of Music & Performing Arts. Jesse set foot in her school with essentially nothing but the shirt off his back, challenged himself, took every advantage of the finest pre-conservatory studio training and rigorous college preparatory coursework, ran with it and never looked back. He was the type of success story that helped fuel her work to recruit, teach, and nurture some of the most talented young artists in the country. He was the consummate example of why she loved her job.

Bending down slightly, she slipped on a pair of black Louboutin pigalle pumps then stood up to her full height to examine herself in the mirror. She used to love dressing up for the theater. She, specifically, enjoyed shopping for nights on Broadway with him. But ever since the accident, she hasn't set foot anywhere near 42nd street in more than six months. She hasn't felt the need to indulge in her passions or bring herself to enjoy anything really, at least not without him.

Her favorite and usually flattering form-fitting deep purple dress seemed to sag on her increasingly slimming body. Staring at her reflection critically, she took in the prominent, dark shadows under her dim emerald green eyes and the unmistakable fatigue marked all over the sharp, angular features of her face and sighed. Even with an already applied light touch of makeup, she was barely scratching the surface at attempting to hide her weariness. Not that she cared. She didn't have the energy to care much about anything recently.

She shut the light and made her way down to the ground floor of the town house. At three stories, four bedrooms, and three bathrooms, it really was too much space. After they got married, she wanted the reasonable two-bedroom apartment in Midtown that was a fifteen minute walk away from the high school and two subway stops down from his office. But Michael had insisted. And he sweet talked, and persuaded, and convinced her in the way that only he was able to. So for eight, blissful, years, they made a home out of the original 1901 brownstone in the historic Park Slope neighborhood across the bridge. He'd made a Brooklyn girl out of her, and got a kick out of constantly reminding her of that.

The more than two thousand square feet was more than they had ever needed. They'd fill it with kids, a family, Michael always maintained. And the day after they found out they couldn't, he'd brought home a dog: a puppy that he demanded they name Bug in honor of the first time they met when Michael liked to boast he rescued her from an unwanted spider that crawled upon her book during one of her afternoon reading sessions in Washington Square Park.

"Hi there, Bug," Shelby greeted the easy-going German Shepherd that met her at the foot of the stairs with affectionate pats. At nearly ninety pounds, Bug was now obviously a misnomer for the rather large canine. "I have to run out for a bit but Giselle is going to hang out with you tonight and I'll be back home soon."

"Hey Principal C, thanks again for letting me use your equipment to record my audition tape tonight."

"Anytime, Gieselle. Thank you for agreeing to watch Bug for me in return," Shelby said, standing back up to address the high school student. "I should be home right after the show, so I'll be back a little after ten. You know your way around, so please feel free to eat anything in the kitchen and make yourself comfortable."

"Cool, thanks. You're going to the opening of Funny Girl, right? Everyone at school's been talking about it because of Jesse."

"That's right," Shelby confirmed as she fished a jacket and her purse out of the coat closet. "He is actually the one who gave me tickets."

"That's awesome. I heard he's just doing this while he continues to work on original stuff. But it's also incredible that he gets to work on this production at all. I also heard they did auditions at NYADA and they found a freshman to play their Fanny, which means that the lead is only a couple years older than I am. This is why I have to get into NYADA."

With her long, dark hair, strong features, excitable nature, and long windedness, Michael had always been fond of saying that Giselle could be her daughter if it weren't for the fact that they lived next door to her and her biological parents. Shelby managed a smile for her neighbor turned student. "You'll be great on the tape and you'll also be great with or without NYADA. I would know. I did train you after all."

"Thanks!" Giselle beamed. "It's amazing that you're going to opening night. Who are you going with? Are you watching it alone? I know you and Mr. C used to… oh sorry," the girl balked at the train of thought and looked down sheepishly. "I… uh… I really am sorry for your loss. I liked Mr. C. A lot. He always treated me like I was an adult, and he always listened to me and gave me good advice. Did you know that he was the one who convinced my dad to let me audition for MHSMPA? Anyway sorry, but I have been meaning to tell you that I'm sad he's gone and that I hope you're doing okay. We also miss you at school."

Shelby swallowed back against the unpleasant feeling rising in her throat and nodded politely at the girl's clumsy yet heartfelt condolences. "Thanks, Giselle. I appreciate that. I know Michael was fond of you as well."

"Well I hope you have fun tonight anyway," Giselle said, crouching down to pet the listless dog. "Bug and I will try to hold down the fort for ya."

Shelby hesitated at the doorway. All she wanted to do was shed her coat, grab her dog, and spend the night cuddling with him instead. He had been both equally more reserved and clingy since Michael's death, and she had spent the better part of the day earlier researching how dogs grieved from human loss. She learned that following acute loss of a closely bonded owner, dogs could suffer the pangs of separation anxiety or depression just as people do and that the extent of the suffering was directly proportional to the strength of the bond with the owner. And Michael, who had, despite his extremely busy schedule, made sure to take their pet on morning and evening walks and Sunday trips to the dog park religiously had definitely fed into the German Shepherd's dependency. But she knew that she wouldn't be helping Bug or herself if she indulged him now. They both needed to begin to take the small steps to move on, even if it meant something as minuscule as spending a few hours of their evening apart.

Deciding firmly against staying, she backed away and bid another goodbye. She opened the door and walked down the steps and onto the sidewalk. It was a balmy Spring evening in mid-April but she still tucked the coat tighter around herself protectively.

Despite the weather or the lateness of the hour, she had always enjoyed walking around the city. It was an almost two-decade long habit that she adopted when she first moved from her small town life in central Ohio. It was only when she and Michael started dating that he began to gently bully her into taking taxis or hopping on the train. And whenever they were together, even when they were heading off to different places, he made a habit of walking her to her train station or hailing a cab for her first before he went off to his own destination.

The profound swell of emotion that Shelby experienced when she flagged down her own taxi to go downtown by herself for the first time in months stung more than she expected. She dropped her arm to her side in resignation after a few cabs jetted past her and decided she'd just walk a little bit further down the block first before trying again. After all, now that her husband was gone, there was no one to talk her out of walking again.

Shelby arrived at the theater with exactly eight minutes to spare before the hour. She had pushed past through the throng of people gathered in the lobby and made her way to the second floor in almost record speed. Despite her haste, she'd recognized some familiar faces from the musical theater community, patrons and supporters of her school, the usual art lot, and she had politely smiled when she made eye contact.

In the past, she would've stopped and chatted, performed the rounds dutifully, but it was already taking everything she had just to be there. And if she were being honest, she was purposefully trying to avoid the pitying looks and the meaningless consolations from those who vaguely knew her or Michael. She wasn't here for anyone else but Jesse and wanted to draw as little attention to herself as possible.

Once she arrived at her designated spot, she deflated like a balloon into her chair, thankful that Jesse had given her an aisle seat in the third row of the dress circle instead of being thrown amongst the mass on the ground floor. She looked around the smaller group of people in her section, relieved that she didn't see anyone she recognized. Allowing herself to relax, she finally reclined and began to study the Playbill in her hands.

She thumbed past the first few pages and turned to the biographies, skipping the cast bios for now, and going directly to the creative team, an intense form of pride washing over her when she finally spotted Jesse's handsome and professional headshot.

JESSE ST. JAMES (Music Director) is grateful to join this company as the music director and conductor of Funny Girl. A graduate of NYADA and MHSMPA, Jesse is a performer and an aspiring composer and lyricist. He thanks his mom Sarah and "the greatest teacher" Shelby Corcoran for their endless support.

Shelby's mouth twisted into a smile, the first genuine one she's worn in weeks, at the acknowledgement in print. She wasn't expecting it but she was quite touched by the credit. After almost sixteen years of working at the performing arts high school; starting as a teacher then becoming the principal, it wasn't the first time that she had received a thank you note in a program, but this one meant more to her than others.

Jesse's freshman class was the first cohort that she was the principal for. When she met him, it was her first year leading the school and in came this mop-topped teenager with an amazing amount of talent and no aim. No goal. It was also how she viewed the school when she took over. But from the very first day, she pushed him and everyone else in that building and never accepted anything less than their best. Never accepted their best either. Throughout the next four years, she had made him and MHSMPA fight, battle, and crawl their way to the top. His success ran parallel to the school's success, her success. Jesse would always be special to her because he was tangible proof of all of her hard work, a direct result of every part of her that she's poured into her job.

Tuning out the fellow theatergoers around her, she continued to read through the rest of the creative crew, genuinely impressed with the team they had put together. As she flipped the page back to cast, the lights flashed signaling everyone to take their seats. She closed the Playbill in response and made herself comfortable to take in the first act.

While she loved the iconic musical and loved Barbra even more, she had little to zero expectations for the revival. She hadn't heard any of the pre-Broadway buzz. All she knew was that they'd gone with relatively unknown actors to fill their cast. And she couldn't begin to wonder why because nothing would beat the original company or production in her mind.

But ten minutes in and halfway through "I'm The Greatest Star," Shelby found her answer. The lead playing Fanny Brice was... incredible. And Shelby wasn't mincing her assessment. She'd seen a lot of inherently talented performers of all ages throughout the years. It was her job to find the best of the best. But from the very first note the young actress sang, Shelby had determined she was something special.

Her voice was gigantic, commanding, and it belonged on that Broadway stage surrounded by lights. When she looked closely, she was also blown away by how beautiful the girl was too. Shelby couldn't take her eyes off her. She was fixated. Enthralled. Her draw was inexplicable to the woman and she felt a wave of a completely unknown emotion crash through her watching the new star sing around the stage as if it was the very last thing she'd do.

The girl's face flushed with the effort she put into her performance and her chest rose with each huge inhalation as she sang, the technical precision quite apparent to Shelby's musically trained ears. The actress was flawless and knew how to make use of every inch of her lung capacity and thread her breaths through her diaphragm to produce the purest of sounds and the longest of notes.

As the opening ended, Shelby still couldn't quite believe what her eyes and ears just experienced. She had never heard a voice so captivating live. She had never seen pure, unadulterated raw talent explode like this before her very eyes. The girl was a supernova and Shelby was defenseless against the blast. She was blinded.

Reluctant to peel her eyes away from the stage, she dug her Playbill out of her purse where she'd just relegated it. She needed to know who the unknown talent was. She flipped through hurriedly until she found her.

And then Shelby just knew.

RACHEL BERRY (Fanny Brice) is beyond thrilled and gratified to be making her Broadway debut! Two-time National High School Show Choir champion. NYADA student. She sends all the love in the world to her fathers Hiram and LeRoy and a special thank you to Mr. Schue and her friends from Lima for helping her dreams come true!

Berry. Hiram. LeRoy. Lima.

Rachel.

Her daughter.

Shelby lifted her gaze back up at the stage, having already missed half of the next scene, and finally saw it. It was disconcertingly clear. It couldn't be real, but the closer she looked, the similarities were there. The dark, brunette hair, the wide shining eyes, the prominent cheekbones, the slim and petite frame. She was very nearly Shelby's clone. She was hers. The beautiful baby girl she had given up almost twenty years ago.

Continuing to watch the stage as if nothing else would ever be important again, her heart began to beat irregularly, going overboard and wrenching with pain and happiness at the same time.

Rachel wasn't just acting or singing up on that stage, she was living her performance, effectively displaying the spades of talent that she possessed. And if Shelby thought she was proud of Jesse earlier, she couldn't even comprehend the level of pride she felt now.

She had to meet her.

At the close of the curtain at intermission, Shelby practically flew out of her seat. Forgoing all the class and grace she usually carried herself with, she hustled down to the ground floor, almost tripping down the stairs in the process to follow her hunch. If it was her one and only child's opening night on Broadway, she'd be sitting in or the closest to the front row and center stage as possible.

And if Hiram and LeRoy were the dads that Shelby always believed they would be, they'd be right where she expected them to be. She milled around anxiously and watched those with Orchestra seats spill out into the lobby, scanning her eyes expertly across the crowd.

After an entire minute, her eyes zeroed in on only one of the figures she'd been waiting for. Now she had confirmation. Rachel was truly hers.

Her breath automatically caught in her throat as LeRoy's gaze unexpectedly locked with hers through the sea of people, recognition spreading across his face almost instantaneously. Rendered frozen, she only blinked once before he was in front of her. He looked exactly the same as she remembered him, tall, handsome, warm, and she fleetingly wondered if he would think the same of her.

"Shelby," LeRoy breathed out incredulously, shaking his head as if he were making her up in his mind. "You're here."

"You're here," Shelby replied in equal disbelief, the world around them fading into the background. "She's here."

"Yes, Rachel. That's… that's her name. She's… wow, Shelby," LeRoy stumbled over his words as he fought back his surprise. "Hiram and I, we were just talking about you. We've been looking for you. And it wasn't until we came across and read that New York Magazine article on you and the performing arts academy you run the other day that we realized that you'd changed your last name. We called the school literally just yesterday to tell you about tonight and they said you were on leave and weren't taking messages. You look… wow. You're here."

Before Shelby could formulate a response, LeRoy erased the distance between them and drew her in for an abrupt albeit comforting hug. She brought her arms up to accept the embrace, feeling her heart fill with something other than grief for the first time in nearly half a year.

"We also heard about your husband," LeRoy said softly, tightening his hold of the woman he owed everything to. "I'm so sorry, Shelbs. I hope you're doing alright."

Shelby didn't exactly know what's shifted inside of her from her conversation with Giselle at the beginning of the night to now, but something definitely had. Because this time, LeRoy's sincere condolences, despite the many years between them, were a balm on her wound instead of salt.

"You're here," LeRoy repeated.

"I'm here," Shelby nodded. "And Rachel's here."