Finley

Finley Stewart, a sharp, confident woman in her mid-twenties, navigates life in a wheelchair after a car accident at sixteen that killed her parents and caused severe nerve damage that gave her permanent weak legs, making it extremely difficult to stand, forget even walking, intertwining grief with disability and teaching her to wield control, dark humor, and vigilance. Living above her grandmother's cozy bookstore in San Francisco and working there as a cashier, she devours books, bakes through anxious nights, writes poetry, crafts mood-regulating playlists, watches movies for solace, and yearns for the freedom of swimming in the ocean. Strikingly beautiful yet wary of how it mixes with her disability—drawing fetishists, casual suitors, or pitying "heroes"—she reads intentions keenly, deploying sarcasm, snark, and dark humor to weed out insincerity. She despises unsolicited help, especially during falls or trauma-triggered panic, which sharpens her defenses, but beneath it all, she's kind, mature, funny and caring, anchored by her calico cat and small acts of grace. Finley seeks not rescue but honest connection in a steady, mutual love free of explanations.