Chapter 7
Grace
Grace woke to silence.
For a moment she lay still, staring at the faint gray light filtering through her curtains. Her body felt heavy, like moving would require more strength than she had.
She blinked at the ceiling. Breathed in. Breathed out.
Then she sat up.
Mechanical. Automatic.
There was an ache beneath her ribs—her body reminding her that yes, last night was real. That yes, Luke had scoffed at her like the idea of loving her was impossible. That yes, she had ended something she’d never truly had.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and pressed her feet to the cold floor.
Good. The cold helped. It gave her something crisp and clean to hold onto.
She showered. Washed her hair. Stood under the hot spray longer than she meant to. By the time she got out, the mirror had fogged enough to blur her own reflection.
She preferred it that way.
She dressed carefully—soft sweater, long skirt. Professional. She needed to look composed. She braided her hair, smoothed it down her shoulder. Routine. Predictable. Something she could control.
In the kitchen, she made toast. She wasn’t hungry, but she had to eat something before class.
She took one bite of the toast. Chewed. Swallowed around the tightness in her throat.
All she had to do was get through today. One foot in front of the other. One task at a time.
She grabbed her bag and keys, locked the door behind her, and paused on the porch.
Everything looked the same. The street was quiet. The morning air was crisp. Nothing in the world had shifted except her.
She clutched her keys until the metal bit into her palm.
It’s fine, she told herself. You’re fine.
She took a slow breath and started to walk.
The school needed her. The kids needed her. And if she moved fast enough—if she stayed busy enough—if she didn’t sit still long enough to feel—maybe the hollow in her chest wouldn’t swallow her whole.
The second Grace stepped into her classroom, she felt her shoulders drop. Purpose was easier than pain. Purpose she could control.
The desks weren’t messy, but she straightened them anyway.
She flipped open her planner. Today’s lessons were ready. Tomorrow’s too. So she planned next week. Then the week after.
The door burst open as the first students tumbled in, coats half-on, half-off.
“Miss Hart! Miss Hart! Look at my show-and-tell!”
Grace turned, her smile perfectly in place. “Oh wow, is that a dinosaur fossil?”
Giggles erupted. The kids swarmed her. And for a moment—just a moment—Grace felt her lungs expand.
She loved them. She loved this room. There was no room left for sadness.
The morning moved in a blur.
“Miss Hart! Ava’s crying!”
Grace knelt immediately. “Oh sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
Ava sniffed, clutching a broken crayon. “It snapped.”
Grace gathered the little girl close. “Hey now. Broken doesn’t mean useless. Watch.”
She took the crayon, peeled the wrapper, split it cleanly into two new pieces.
“There,” Grace said gently. “Now you have double.”
Ava’s tears faded into a watery smile. “Magic.”
She solved arguments about markers. She tied shoelaces. She read a story with voices big enough to keep her own thoughts quiet.
Whenever a quiet moment tried to form—when the room fell into a rare hush—Grace found something, anything, to do.
“Miss Hart, do you want me to put the crayons away?” one student asked.
“I’ve got it,” she said quickly, reaching for the bin. “You go finish your drawing.”
She caught herself rearranging the same supply shelf three times before she forced herself to stop.
Her smile didn’t slip. Her voice didn’t shake.
No one noticed the way she pressed her hand to her sternum during silent reading time, like she was keeping something inside from spilling.
By lunch, two other teachers passed by her doorway.
“Grace, you’re volunteering for recess duty too?”
“Oh—sure! Extra fresh air sounds great.”
“And bus duty after?”
“I don’t mind! Really.”
Grace Hart wasn’t like the rest of the Harts. Grace Hart was sunshine. Grace Hart was capable.
Grace Hart didn’t fall apart over men who didn’t want her.
Staying busy made it easier.
But when the final bus left and the last student hugged her waist before running to their parents, the quiet threatened to break her.