On My Own 3 Days Grace Novels & Stories

“The future, the past, all of it. But right now… it’s just us.” They stayed there, in the quiet garden, letting the world move around them without concern. No threats, no dangers, no shadows. Just the slow, steady pulse of life they had fought so hard to reach. Grace leaned into him, letting the warmth of his body anchor her, and in that simple, ordinary morning, she realized something profound: happiness didn’t have to be grandiose or dramatic. It could be slow, gentle, patient. It could be found in the small, unremarkable moments shared with someone who understood you completely.

Even the camera shutters stopped. Finally, the screen froze on an old file from the Appalachian Women in Business Scholarship Program. Name: Grace Walker. Birthplace: Red Creek, West Virginia. The photo attached was the same young woman outside the church. My grandmother. The real Grace Walker. The comments churned. [So the current Grace Hale is not Grace Walker?] [The letters are right there. He just said he rejected her.] [This isn't cheating. This is identity theft.] Henry pressed his lips into a thin line. His hand gripped the edge of the table. Sweat slid from his temple.

My name written in careful handwriting on the outside. I open it with shaking hands. *The ceremony is in three days. Use them wisely. - O* Three days until my life as I know it ends. Three days to prepare for whatever comes next.

On the night of our eighth anniversary, I cooked everything Ethan loved. He didn't come home. I sat alone at the table until the food went cold. Then I did what I always did. I opened Selene's profile on the pack network. New post. One hour ago. A photo of Ethan, shirtless, building a fire in her den. Her hand on his shoulder. Her face turned toward the camera with a smile that showed too many teeth. The caption read: Grateful for old friends who drop everything when you need them. Even their marking anniversaries.

But what touched me is that in God's eyes, there is no greater sin and he loves us all just as we are. And I started seeing everything in a different light... "My boy?" he calls. "Morning." I sigh and sit on the kitchen island. "Morning." "You don't look too good," he says. "Didn't you get some sleep?" I sigh in exasperation. "How could I when Camilla was hurting in the next room?" He scans me as he sets a platter of toasted bread on the island. "Tell her the truth and it will set you free." I growl. "A Bible quote isn't of much help at this moment, Greg..."

“You weren't there so the deal didn't go through. I warned you this meeting was crucial.” “What?” I was surprised. “Well, what happens now?” I asked. I didn't want to sound selfish, or leave him stranded. “They've given us a 30 days grace period to redeem ourselves.” He said, his tone curt. “Us?” I asked, confused. I definitely wasn't interested in spending one more minute with this arrogant man. “Yes, us. You’ll have to continue as my wife for 30 days.”

At first, he would still try to comfort her, saying, “She’s getting old, and it’s not like we live with her. Just ignore it.” But as time went on, he grew increasingly impatient, brushing her off with, “You’re making a big deal out of nothing. I’ve got enough on my plate every day. Don’t drag me into your issues with my mom.” Now, none of it mattered anymore. Whatever Grace did had nothing to do with her because the countdown had begun—just three days left. She would be pulling her suitcase out of this house for good. The thought alone lifted her spirits. She hugged Zoe and said with a warm smile, “I’m fine now, really. Don’t worry about it.”

Day 7 Another day. 23 days left. Patima woke up with a big grin on her face. Today is Sunday, they all plan to go to Church later, at 9 in the morning. She quickly gets up on her bed to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She then walks out of her bedroom after. She marathoned down the stairs and to the kitchen. "Patima, you look happy today" the said girl looked at the dining area and rolled her eyes.

The pain was already there, waiting, coiled and eager. The flogging came again. Thirty more. After, they left me outside beneath the sun. The heat pressed down, relentless. My skin burned. My lips cracked. Grace approached, crouching beside me. “You look awful,” she said softly. “I wish there was something I could do.” I laughed weakly. “You already did.” Her smile vanished. “You should have known your place.” She stood and walked away. By the third day, I barely remembered my own name.

As I signed the divorce papers for the third time, I moved through the familiar steps with practiced ease. I could have done it in my sleep, having been through the drill three times already. Henry Johnson clutched the divorce certificate, his eyes darting to his watch, his brow creased with impatience. "Go on ahead, I'll catch a cab back," I offered before he could say a word. A flicker of surprise crossed Henry's face, but it was quickly replaced by a look of regret as he spoke, "Sorry, Melanie just landed, I..."