Page 123 of Grim

He’d even slept for a few hours, not deeply, not perfectly, but without waking up gasping. Without the dream of sand and blood and screaming. Without the crushing weight of failure.

He’d woken with Sophia’s pillow still warm beside him, and for the first time in years, the dark hadn’t felt like a threat.

Now the sky outside her kitchen window was shifting from black to deep blue, the first hints of dawn brushing the horizon. Grim stood over a pot of spaghetti sauce, stirring like the world depended on it. He wasn’t a cook — not even close — but he could follow directions, and he could try. For her, he could try.

The garlic bread was in the oven. The salad was simple but colorful. The table was set with the good plates she kept tucked away like she didn’t think anyone noticed. A vanilla candle flickered on the counter, soft and warm, filling the quiet apartment with a calm he wasn’t used to.

He stepped back, looking at everything he’d done. It wasn’t perfect. But it was something he’d made with his own hands. Something that said: I’m here. I’m steady. I’m choosing you.

And the strangest part? His chest wasn’t tight. His pulse wasn’t racing. He wasn’t waiting for something to go wrong.

He was… calm.

The front door opened.

Sophia stepped inside, shoulders slumping with exhaustion, then lifting when she smelled the food. Her eyes widened, softening in a way that hit him straight in the chest.

“Maddox…” she breathed.

He wiped his hands on a towel, suddenly unsure. “You said you’d be hungry.”

She set her bag down slowly, like she didn’t want to break the moment. “You cooked?”

“Sort of.” He cleared his throat. “I followed the directions. Mostly.”

She laughed, the sound tired, warm, and real. She walked toward him, her scrubs wrinkled, her hair falling loose from her bun, her eyes bright despite the long shift.

“You did all this for me?”

He nodded once. “Wanted you to come home to something good.”

Sophia stepped close, resting her hand on his chest. Her palm was warm, grounding. “Thank you. For giving me space tonight. For… this.”

He covered her hand with his own. “You needed room. I can give you that.”

Her eyes softened. “And I needed to know you’d still be here when I got back.”

He swallowed hard. “Always.”

They ate together at the small table, knees brushing under the surface. She told him about her shift: the patient who’d smiled for the first time, the new nurse who talked too fast, the family who brought cookies for the whole unit. Grim listened, really listened, watching the way her face lit up when she talked about helping people.

And he realized something quietly, almost shyly:

He wasn’t waiting for the door to burst open. He wasn’t tracking every sound outside. He wasn’t bracing for impact.

He was just… here. With her.

After dinner, they washed dishes side by side. Sophia dried while Grim rinsed, their shoulders bumping occasionally, each touch small but warm. Familiar. Easy.

When the last plate was put away, she turned toward him.

“Tonight was better,” she said quietly. “Not perfect. But better.”

He nodded. “You’re getting stronger.”

She shook her head. “I’m healing. There’s a difference.”

He understood that more than she knew.