The pain was sharp and insistent, radiating down Grace's legs like fire and ice all at once. She'd been awake for hours, shifting in her bed, trying to find a position that would ease the pressure. By the time the sun crept through the curtains, weak and pale against the winter clouds, she knew it was going to be one of those days—the kind where her body refused to cooperate, her disability demanding attention she couldn't afford to give.

With a sigh, she forced herself to sit up, her movements slow and deliberate. Max was already awake, perched by her bedside with his head tilted in that way that made him look like he understood everything. "I'm okay, buddy," she murmured, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. "Just a rough morning."

The effort it took to get into her wheelchair was greater than usual, each motion sending flares of pain through her back and hips. By the time she was settled, sweat dotted her forehead despite the chill in the air. She wheeled herself to the bathroom, wincing as the tiles pressed cold against her hands. The morning routine that usually felt grounding now felt like climbing a mountain, every step magnified by her body's rebellion.

By the time she made it to the kitchen, she was drained. Max padded after her, his tail wagging softly, as if his presence alone could will her through the day. "You're too good to me," she said, her voice hoarse as she reached for the coffee pot. The familiar motions of brewing coffee offered a small measure of comfort. She leaned heavily on the counter, letting the scent of fresh grounds fill the air, her breaths coming in shallow bursts as she waited for the pot to fill.

The mug warmed her hands as she sat at the kitchen table, staring out the window at the snow-covered street. The world outside looked peaceful, untouched by the struggles of the morning. Christmas decorations lined the neighbors' houses, lights blinking cheerfully as if to mock her exhaustion. She took a sip of coffee, the bitterness grounding her in the moment.

Max nudged her leg gently, his eyes bright with concern. "I know," she said softly. "I'm trying."

The day stretched ahead of her, a daunting expanse of time she wasn't sure how to fill. Usually, she would have gone to the bookstore, losing herself in the rhythm of organizing shelves and helping customers. But the thought of maneuvering through the aisles, of putting on a brave face, felt impossible. Today, the shop would have to manage without her.

Instead, she stayed in the kitchen, her laptop open on the table as she tried to focus on emails and inventory lists. But the pain made it hard to think, each wave stealing her concentration. She'd been living with this for years, knew the cycles and triggers as intimately as an old, unwelcome friend. But that didn't make it easier.

Her phone buzzed, breaking through the fog in her mind. It was a text from Meg:

How's it going? Need anything?

Grace's first instinct was to brush it off, to type back a quick I'm fine and leave it at that. But Meg knew her too well for that, and Grace didn't have the energy to keep up the facade today.

Rough morning. Just trying to get through it.

The response came almost immediately:

Want me to come over? Bring something distracting?

Grace hesitated. She hated feeling like a burden, hated the idea of someone seeing her like this. But the thought of company—of not being alone with her thoughts and her pain—was tempting.

Sure. But only if it's not a hassle.

I'll be there in 20. Don't worry about a thing.

Twenty minutes later, Max's ears perked up as the sound of a car door shutting echoed through the quiet house. Grace wheeled herself to the front door just as Meg knocked, balancing a tray of takeout cups and a bag of something that smelled heavenly in one hand.

"Delivery!" Meg announced with a grin as Grace opened the door. "And by delivery, I mean the best distraction you'll get all day."

"Come in," Grace said, her voice a mix of gratitude and relief. Max immediately greeted Meg with a wagging tail, his enthusiasm earning him a head rub.

Meg set the tray and bag on the kitchen counter before shrugging off her coat. "I brought chai lattes and pastries. You're welcome."

"You're too good to me," Grace said, her lips curving into a small smile as she maneuvered to the table. She felt a twinge of guilt for letting Meg see her like this, but the warmth of her friend's presence quickly eased it.

"That's what friends are for," Meg replied, pulling out a chair and sitting across from Grace. She pushed one of the cups toward her. "Drink up. Sugar and spice fix everything."

Grace took a sip, the sweet, spiced warmth soothing her throat and lifting her spirits. "Thanks, Meg. Really."

Meg waved her off. "Stop thanking me. Just tell me what terrible Christmas movies we're watching today."

Grace laughed softly. "Anything but A Christmas Prince. I have my limits."

"Deal," Meg said, already pulling up a streaming service on her phone. "But you're getting Die Hard in the lineup. It's non-negotiable."

As the afternoon unfolded, the weight of the day began to lift. They lounged in the living room, Max stretched out between them, as they traded commentary on the movies and shared bites of flaky croissants. Meg's presence was grounding, her humor cutting through Grace's lingering pain.

At one point, as Bruce Willis scaled through a building on the screen, Meg glanced over. "You've been quiet. Anything on your mind?"

Grace hesitated, her fingers toying with the edge of her blanket. For a moment, Charlotte's face surfaced in her thoughts—her bright eyes, the hesitant smile she'd worn in the shop. Grace almost told Meg about the encounter, the way it had lingered in her mind far longer than it should have. But she stopped herself, unsure of what she'd even say.

"Nothing important," she said finally, forcing a smile. "Just tired."

Meg seemed to sense there was more but didn't push. Instead, she tossed a piece of popcorn at Grace, grinning. "Well, let the magic of '80s action movies cure your soul."

By the time evening fell, the glow of the Christmas tree lights casting soft patterns on the walls, Grace felt a little lighter. She still ached, the ever-present reminder of her body's limitations, but the warmth of friendship had dulled the edges of her struggle.

As Meg gathered her things to leave, she paused by the door. "Hey, Gracie?"

"Yeah?"

"You're allowed to let people in, you know. Even on the bad days." Meg's tone was gentle but firm, her gaze steady.

Grace nodded slowly. "I'll try."

"Good," Meg said with a smile. "Now get some rest. And don't even think about going to the shop tomorrow if you're not up for it. I'll handle it."

Grace watched as Meg disappeared into the snowy evening, her heart a little fuller than it had been that morning. Max nudged her hand as she closed the door, his quiet presence a reminder of the simple joys in her life.