The salary was more than three times what he made at the tire shop.
He moved to a better room.
He bought new clothes.
He started saving.
But more than the money, something changed in Daniel on the inside.
The wound from Tracy had done something painful, yes, but it had also cleared his vision. He saw the world more clearly now. He saw people more clearly.
And one person he saw with entirely new eyes was Grace.
She was always there.
Not loudly or demandingly, just consistently.
A call to check how the first week at work went.
Lunch on a Saturday when she happened to be on his side of town.
Small things done with such quiet care that they settled into his heart before he even realized it.
One evening, sitting at a small restaurant on Lagos Island with the city lights beginning to glow outside the window, Daniel looked across the table at Grace as she argued cheerfully about whether banga soup was better than egusi, and something opened up in his chest.
A warmth.
A certainty.
The feeling of being exactly where you are supposed to be.
He reached across the table and held her hand.
She stopped talking and looked at him.
“I was so blind,” he said. “You were right there the whole time and I never saw you.”
Grace looked at him for a moment. Then she smiled, a real full smile that reached her eyes.
“You see me now,” she said softly. “That’s enough.”
He took her on a proper date the following weekend.
Then another.
Then another.
And what grew between them was something neither of them had to force or perform.
It was easy and honest and warm.
The kind of love built on a foundation of real friendship and genuine respect.
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