Some titles arrive like thunder. Others arrive like a whisper you can’t stop hearing.

For me, The Second Coming of Grace was both.

I didn’t set out to write a reincarnation story. I set out to write about a woman searching for herself. I had fragments—experience as an actress in Toronto, a ancestor with stories from the war, a strange sense of something beyond, a what-if question. But no matter how I shaped it, the same title kept pressing at the edges of the page:

The Second Coming of Grace.

At first, I thought it was too much. Too bold. Too layered. People would hear “Second Coming” and think they knew exactly what kind of book it was—and they’d be wrong. Or worse, they’d be right, but only in a way that scratched the surface.

Because this isn’t a messiah story. Not in the traditional sense. It’s a story about a young woman who begins to suspect that she has lived before—that her soul carries something ancient and unfinished. And that the world might be asking her to remember not just who she is, but who she once was.

The “Grace” in the title is both the character and the concept. It’s about second chances. About healing. About truth showing up in unexpected places. It’s about the kind of grace we don’t earn, but grow into. The kind we learn to carry, not just receive.

It also, very quietly, asks a question:
What if the second coming isn’t a person descending from the sky… but a transformation rising within us?

That’s what haunted me. That’s what kept me writing.

The title stayed. Because in the end, it wasn’t just the title of the book.
It was the name of the journey.