Grace Not Perfection Book Novels & Stories

she points to the book, and I look at her in disbelief. “Your granddaughter is missing, and you want me to read,” my frustration is growing. “You will not understand if you do not read. If you do not understand a victory cannot be held,” her blue eyes do not waiver from my own as I glare at her. Grace might be the only person that I have ever met that doesn’t cower under my gaze. “Fine,” I say grabbing the book from her and reading the passage that she pointed to.

I tried to forget him, but it is not working" Chimamanda admits almost in tears. "Come on, Sis, don't cry, don't even try to hide it, let the feelings grow, build something new with him. From what I've researched, he seems to be a nice guy and, most importantly, let go of the past, don't allow it to deprive you of your happiness. Now get up, let's go, you have a Prince charming waiting downstairs". Chimamanda arranged her make-up tools back to their position, looked at the mirror one more time to admire her work of art. She picked up her clutch purse and phone.

I smiled then reality hit me, I ran my hand through my hair, “What if I mess up? What if I do something wrong?” “Hey, you won’t.” Grace said confidently, placing her hands on my shoulders. Her gaze met mine, “And even if you do, Logan won’t care. He didn’t fall in love with you because you are perfect, but because you aren’t. He sees who you really are, and believe me he would be stupid if he didn’t”

"Isabelle likes Northbridge Capital. She wants to begin her career here. You will arrange it." A cream envelope slid across my desk. It was not sealed. Inside was a generous charity check and a pledge to donate to Northbridge's women in finance initiative. I didn't touch it. I only looked at her hands. They were pale, full, and carefully manicured. A diamond bracelet sat on one wrist with the quiet arrogance of serious money. Those hands had never scrubbed coal water from work shirts, split open in winter, or bent all night over a sewing machine. The real Grace Walker didn't have hands like that.

"The wall coming down will be something additional. Not the end of the waiting but the arrival of something more. And I want that arrival. But I am not diminished by it not yet having arrived." Grace looked at him for a long moment. "That," she said, "is the answer that tells me you are capable of this." "Of what?" Ernest said. "Of being the person Don needs," she said. Simply. "Not the person he was trying to not need. The person he actually needs." She turned back to the garden path. "The two things look similar from the outside. They are very different." Ernest walked beside her in the December morning and held what she had said and found it to be true.

and scrolled through my phone looking at things I shouldn't look at. Grace's Vogue cover stared back at me. She looked incredible. Not the carefully styled perfection I remembered from our marriage but something rawer, more real. Her hair was natural, her smile was genuine, and she radiated the kind of confidence I'd spent three years systematically destroying. The headline made my chest tight: "Grace Monroe: The Single Mother Disrupting Fashion and Redefining Success."

“Are you drunk?” “No.” “You’re lying.” “I’m not.” She stands now. Trembling, flushed with rage. “You manipulative little bitch—” “I didn’t seduce him.” “Oh, but you’re so innocent?” “I love him,” Grace says. “And he loves me.” The slap comes sharp and immediate. Her cheek snaps sideways. The pain flares red and deep. She doesn’t flinch. Just lifts her eyes again, voice steady. “You never saw him. You never cared who he was.”

“You don’t fight for people you love by breaking everything around them. You fight by showing up when it’s quiet. You fight by staying when it’s ugly. You never stayed. Not with me. Not with her.” He stared at her, breath shallow. “So that’s what this is about.” “No, Max,” she whispered. “This is about the fact that you don’t know how to love anyone unless they’re bleeding for you.” A long silence filled the room. Grace picked up her coat and slung it over her arm. Her voice softened—not gentle, but quieter. “I used to think I could fix you,” she said. “But all I ever did was try to outshine her ghost.”

And the two held hands, walking into the Ocean until nothing was left of them. Tragic brothers, abused by the wrong in the world, were put to the mercy of the world, but in the end, they had nothing but each other. And that was enough for them. There is good in bad, and there is bad in good. Perfection is an unachievable dream. But they had found peace after all the trial and error; People were hurt, but people were found. And the world remains the same. The moon rises and the sun sets, the Oceans waves hit the ground, and another day passes under the grace of the universe.

Rhyder's POV. There she was: the woman of my dreams. And she was about to become my wife. My heart raced at an uncontrolable rate as I watched her walking down the isle. My entire body trembled. Grace truly was perfect in every way. She was the perfect balance of strength and kindness, beauty and grace, charm and intelligence, insight and hope. And of course, it didn't hurt at all that she was absolutely gorgeous: from the unruly twist of her curls to the silkyness of her skin to the sparkle in her big eyes, and especially the way that her smile lit up the entire world around her.