I’m twenty-six years old now, and I haven’t felt the ground beneath my own feet since I was four. Most people look at this wheelchair and think they know my whole story—they see a girl who was born in a hospital bed. But I had a “before.” I had light-up sneakers and a purple sippy cup. I just don’t remember the day all that stopped. The story I was fed my whole life was simple: a terrible car crash, my parents gone, I survived, but my spine didn’t. The state was ready to toss me into the system, but then...
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