The morning light streamed through the curtains of Grace's small living room, golden and soft, casting a glow over her stack of books and her cozy, blanket-strewn couch. Despite the brightness of the day, her body felt leaden, the lingering weight of yesterday's flare still holding her in its grasp. Pain thrummed in her legs, a steady beat that made her wince as she shifted. Max sat beside her, his head resting on her lap, his warm presence grounding her.

She stroked his fur absently, her thoughts circling like leaves caught in the wind. The flare had been a stark reminder of her limitations, the unpredictable nature of her illness. She'd pushed too hard, trying to keep pace with a world that rarely slowed down. But even as frustration simmered beneath her fatigue, there was a glimmer of something else. A flicker of warmth that had nothing to do with the blanket draped over her shoulders.

Charlotte Blake.

Grace's lips curved into a faint smile at the thought of her. Their conversation at the café yesterday had stirred something inside her—something she hadn't felt in years. Charlotte's presence had been electric, her warmth and humor cutting through Grace's guarded walls with surprising ease. And when she'd told Charlotte about her MS, the way Charlotte had looked at her... it had been like being seen for the first time in a long while.

Not pitied. Not judged. Just seen.

"You're amazing, Grace," Charlotte had said, her voice soft and earnest. The memory of those words sent a blush creeping up Grace's cheeks, even now.

The sudden chime of her phone pulled her from her thoughts. She reached for it gingerly, her muscles protesting the movement. The screen lit up with an incoming call: Charlotte.

Grace's heart skipped a beat. She hesitated for only a moment before swiping to answer.

"Hey," she said, her voice a little hoarse from the morning.

"Hey yourself," Charlotte replied, her tone warm and slightly teasing. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything. I just wanted to check in and see how you're feeling today."

Grace smiled, her chest tightening at the concern in Charlotte's voice. "I'm okay," she said honestly. "Still a little sore, but Max is keeping me company, so I can't complain too much."

"Max sounds like an excellent nurse," Charlotte said, and Grace could hear the smile in her voice. "Do you need anything? I'd be happy to bring you something. Tea, soup, a stack of bad holiday movies..."

Grace laughed softly. "I think I'm set for now, but thank you. That's really sweet of you."

"Well, the offer stands," Charlotte said. There was a pause, then, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," Grace said, her tone encouraging.

"Yesterday, when you told me about your MS..." Charlotte hesitated, and Grace could hear her taking a deep breath. "I hope I didn't say anything wrong. I've been thinking about it, and I just want to make sure I... handled it okay."

Grace's chest tightened. "You were perfect, Charlotte," she said softly. "I've had a lot of awkward conversations about it over the years, but with you, it didn't feel awkward. It just felt... normal. Comfortable. So, thank you for that."

Charlotte's exhale was audible, a sound of relief. "I'm glad. I just... I didn't realize you were dealing with so much. And I hate that I didn't know."

"It's not something I lead with," Grace admitted, her fingers tangling in Toby's fur. "It's hard to talk about sometimes, especially with new people. You never know how they'll react. But with you... it felt right to share."

There was a beat of silence, heavy with unspoken words, before Charlotte spoke again. "You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, Grace. I've always thought that."

Grace's breath caught, her throat tightening. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

They talked for a little while longer, their conversation meandering from lighthearted banter to deeper topics. Charlotte told her about the painting she'd been working on, her struggles with her family, and her lingering uncertainty about New York. Grace listened, offering quiet support and encouragement, feeling a warmth she hadn't felt in years. When they finally hung up, Grace sat back against the couch, a soft smile playing on her lips.

She glanced at Max, who wagged his tail lazily. "Well, boy," she murmured, "I think I'm in trouble."

The day passed slowly, Grace's energy ebbing and flowing as she alternated between resting and reading. By evening, the pain in her legs had dulled to a manageable ache, and she found herself feeling restless. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Charlotte, to the way her voice had sounded over the phone, warm and steady, like a lifeline in the storm.

She'd never thought she'd find herself here—on the edge of something new, something that felt fragile and thrilling all at once. It scared her, the idea of opening herself up again. But it also excited her in a way she hadn't expected.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room in soft shadows, Grace made herself a promise. She would take it one step at a time, let herself feel this hope, this possibility. And maybe, just maybe, she'd find something worth holding on to.