Welcome to Lady Leo Publishing, your premier destination for inspirational flash fiction that touches the heart and ignites the soul. We are dedicated to creating and sharing the power of uplifting narratives that leave a lasting impact. Our mission lies in capturing the essence of human experiences and emotions through beautifully crafted tales of hope, resilience, and personal growth. Be inspired with Lady Leo Publishing, where every story is a journey towards strength and enlightenment.
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| The House Across the Street |
A wrongly delivered Christmas card brings a quiet knock to a door long closed to joy. But sometimes, kindness is the key that opens more than just a mailbox. A tender story of second chances, unexpected connections, and the gentle work of grace. Let the story speak to your heart—scroll down to begin.
Prefer to listen? 🎧 Not Without Grace is now available as an audio on YouTube — click here to listen for FREE!
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| Not Without Grace |
Stephanie Chase didn’t knock when she opened the door to the house that used to be hers. The key still turned smoothly in the lock. That surprised her. Part of her had expected it wouldn’t—shouldn’t—after everything she’d done.
The air inside was familiar, tinged with lemon oil, the scent James always used on the old oak furniture. His shoes were lined neatly by the bench in the hallway. The quiet was too loud. She set her suitcase down by the door and told herself she’d only be here a couple of hours. Long enough to gather the rest of her things and leave the past behind.
What she didn’t expect was the journal.
It lay open on the nightstand, its pages yellowed with age. Stephanie hesitated, her hand hovering over the worn cover. She shouldn't pry. But curiosity gnawed at her. With a deep breath, she picked it up, feeling the weight of it in her hands.
James' familiar handwriting filled the page.
“Lord, heal Stephanie. Show her Your love even when she can’t feel mine. Make me a vessel of grace. Not to win her back—but to show her who You are.”
Tears blurred the page. The journal felt like a door to everything she had locked away—joy, sorrow, and something in between.
She didn’t mean to sit. Didn’t mean to read more. But the journal pulled her in.
There were pages of Scriptures. Psalms of lament, prayers of forgiveness. Not once did James ask for her to return. He only asked that she find peace, healing… wholeness.
She hadn’t expected that.
She’d left James nearly seven months ago. Walked out after she confessed the affair. There were tears—his—and silence—hers. Shame had wrapped around her like a net. She told herself she was giving him freedom. But really, she was the one escaping.
“What are you doing here?” a familiar voice asked from the doorway.
Stephanie turned slowly. James stood there, a brown grocery bag in one hand. His face showed a flicker of surprise—and something else. Hope, maybe.
"I... I came to collect the rest of my things," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She stood, clutching the journal to her chest like it held the weight of all her regrets.
"You found my journal," he said quietly.
Stephanie nodded, unable to meet his eyes.
“I wasn’t trying to—” She motioned to the journal. “I saw it open. I read a little. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You were never prying.” He set the bag on the counter and began unloading apples, bread, a jar of peanut butter. “You want coffee?”
“James,” she said, and her voice cracked.
He paused. “Stephanie.”
“I’m not here to stay.”
“I know.”
“I don’t deserve this.” She gestured to the journal, to him. “You keep praying for me. But I wrecked everything.”
He looked at her with sorrow and something gentler. “You didn’t wreck you. And that’s who I’m praying for.”
Her knees gave out beneath her, and she sank into the kitchen chair.
“I didn’t sleep for weeks,” James said, settling across from her. “I asked God why He would let my heart break. But after a while… I stopped praying for a miracle and started praying for you.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“Because I love you.” He paused. “And because I know pain doesn’t come out of nowhere. There’s a wound under what happened. I don’t know what it is—but I know God can heal it.”
She gripped the journal more tightly.
"Steph, I didn't expect you to come back," James said softly. "But I'm glad you did. You don’t have to say anything. But if you ever want someone to walk through healing with you, I’m here. Not as your husband. Just as someone who cares.”
She cried then. Not the silent tears she’d trained herself to hide, but the soul-deep sobs of someone finally safe enough to fall apart.
Outside, the rain pelted the windows, a rhythm matching the storm inside her. James reached for her hand. His warmth steadied her. She looked up into eyes full of compassion.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I never meant to hurt you.”
James traced comforting circles on the back of her hand. “We all stumble and fall. But it’s what we do after that matters.”
Stephanie drew in a shaky breath. “Can we try again?”
The words hung in the air—trembling, uncertain.
James squeezed her hand gently. “Yes. But not as we were. We’ll start anew. One step at a time.”
A flicker of hope lit in her chest. This time, she would nurture what they had with honesty and care.
As the rain continued to fall, peace settled over the house like a warm blanket.
"How about we begin with counseling sessions with the Pastor?" James offered.
Stephanie nodded, surprised at how ready she was to say yes.
“My dad had an affair,” she told him one evening after a session. “My mom forgave him. Pretended it never happened. But she died with bitterness in her bones. I think… I think I was trying to understand how she could forgive. I didn’t know how to carry my own grief, so I created more.”
James didn’t try to fix it. He just listened.
Their pastor—a quiet man with a steady voice and gentle wisdom—walked with them through the hard conversations. He helped Stephanie face the shame, abandonment, and guilt she had carried for years.
“Faith isn’t just about redemption,” he told them during one session. “It’s about restoration. And restoration takes time.”
Stephanie clung to that truth like a lifeline.
One Sunday, she stood at the back of the church, hesitant. James was at the front, preparing communion.
He caught her eye and smiled. Just once. It was enough.
The sermon was about Peter—how he’d denied Jesus, shattered by guilt, and how Jesus still came to restore him.
“Jesus didn’t ask for an explanation,” the pastor said. “He asked a question: Do you love Me?”
Tears slid down Stephanie’s cheeks.
She did love James. But more than that—she was starting to believe she was still loved by God.
Even here. Even now.
Healing wasn’t easy.
There were nights she called James just to cry. Days when she wanted to run again. But she stayed. In the process. In the pain. In the grace.
In time, they moved from counseling to living together again. Slowly. Purposefully.
One day, James took her to a quiet field outside town—the place they had once dreamed of building their home.
The grass swayed in the breeze, golden and wild. Stephanie stood beside him, remembering the day they first talked about it—back when love was new and life felt wide open.
“You still want to build it?” she asked.
James looked at her, eyes soft. “Only if you’ll build it with me.”
She slipped her hand into his.
“Then let’s build a home. Not perfect, but honest. Forgiven. Whole.”
He pulled her close, resting his forehead gently against hers.
“One step at a time,” he whispered.
And for the first time in a long time, Stephanie believed they could.
🕊️ An Echoes of Faith Story
Because grace doesn’t take you back… it leads you forward—one step at a time.
Prefer to listen? 🎧 The Weight of the Past is now available as an audio on YouTube — click here to listen for FREE!
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| The Weight of The Past |
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| Unbroken Bonds |
He stared at the basketball that sat in the corner of his room. Its once vibrant orange color now seemed dull and lifeless, much like Eli felt inside. He reached out a hand to pick it up, his fingers brushing against the worn leather. Memories flooded back to him—shooting hoops with his dad after school, the laughter and joy that used to fill their backyard.
Taking a deep breath, Eli stood up from his bed and grabbed the basketball. With a sense of determination he hadn’t felt in months, he headed outside to the backyard court. The sound of the ball bouncing on the pavement echoed in the quiet afternoon air—a sound that used to bring Eli so much happiness.
As he started dribbling and shooting, each movement felt awkward and unfamiliar. But with each miss, he could hear his father’s voice in his head, encouraging him to keep trying. Tears welled up in Eli’s eyes as he realized that even though his father was gone, his presence would always be with him on this court. Yet, it wasn’t the same without him.
His mother appeared at the edge of the yard, her expression gentle but concerned. She walked closer, her voice soft. "Eli, there’s a program at the community center that might be helpful for you. They have therapy dogs and—"
“I’m fine, Mom,” he snapped. But he wasn’t fine, and he knew it.
She reached out a hand to gently touch his arm, a silent gesture of understanding and support. “I know you miss him, Eli,” she said softly. “I do too. It’s okay to not be fine. Think about the therapy dog program. I think it could really help you.”
After several weeks of coaxing, Eli finally agreed to visit the center, though he doubted it would help. He entered the room filled with chatter and wagging tails, feeling out of place. That’s when he saw Winston.
Winston, a golden retriever with warm brown eyes that seemed to see right into his soul, approached Eli and sat down at his feet. His tail wagged softly against the floor. Eli paused before gently petting Winston's head. It was the first touch of warmth he had felt in months, and it brought him a sense of comfort and peace.
From that day forward, Winston became a steady, silent presence in Eli’s life.
One afternoon, Eli was brushing Winston's golden fur when his mother arrived at the center and quietly sat beside him on the bench. She watched for a moment before speaking softly. "He really seems to like you."
Eli shrugged, but a small smile tugged at his lips. "He doesn’t expect anything from me," he replied. "No questions, no pity."
His mother reached over and squeezed his hand. "Neither do I, Eli. I just want you to be okay."
For the first time in months, Eli felt the urge to believe her words. Each visit to the center chipped away at his wall. The dog didn’t ask questions or offer platitudes—he just stayed by Eli’s side, his presence a balm to old wounds.
Eli began volunteering, brushing Winston’s golden fur and helping with other animals. Slowly, the routine gave him a sense of purpose. Yet, no matter how much Winston helped him feel safe, Eli couldn’t shake his anger at God. If God was loving, why had He taken Eli’s father away?
One evening, Eli sat on the porch with Winston, staring at the stars. “Do you think God even listens?” he whispered. Winston nudged his hand, as if to say yes.
The sky was a deep navy, adorned with shimmering stars that seemed to twinkle in response to Eli's inquisitive stare. In the faraway distance, the moon presented itself as a delicate silver crescent, casting a soft radiance over the backyard.
Just when Eli started to feel optimistic again, life presented another challenge. Winston fell ill and became lethargic, refusing to eat. Desperate to help his beloved pet, Eli stayed by his side, gently stroking his fur and struggling to hold back tears.
“Don’t leave me too,” he pleaded.
Tears streamed down Eli's face as he dropped to his knees, his hands clasped in front of him in an expression of desperation. His eyes were red and puffy, his gaze fixed on the trembling form of his sick dog.
For the first time in a long time, he prayed. “God, I don’t know if You hear me. But if You do, please don’t take him away. I can’t lose him too.”
The weight of desperation and raw emotion bore down on Eli's bowed frame as he pleaded with a higher power. The stars above seemed to hold their breath in anticipation, waiting for a response to his heartfelt prayer.
As the days passed, Winston began to recover, his tail wagging weakly at first, then with growing strength. Eli couldn’t explain it, but he felt peace—like someone had been listening all along.
Eli’s bond with Winston had transformed him. He began sharing his story with others at the center, offering hope to kids who felt lost like he once had. Through volunteering, mentoring, and helping care for animals, Eli found purpose again. He even joined a community basketball league, rediscovering his passion for the game. With each practice, his confidence grew, and he felt his father’s presence in every shot he took.
One evening, after winning his first game, Eli sat in the backyard with Winston under the stars.
“We did it, boy,” he said, rubbing Winston’s ears. "Dad would be proud."
Prefer to listen? 🎧 Kiara's Journey is now available as an audio on YouTube — click here to listen for FREE!
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| Kiara's Journey of Hope |
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| Restoring Shiloh |
Prefer to listen? 🎧 Unlikely Ally is now available as an audio on YouTube — click here to listen for FREE!
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| Unlikely Ally |