At seventeen, my life changed in a way I didn’t choose. A serious car crash left me in a wheelchair, and in the months that followed, everything familiar felt distant. Even simple things—like being in a crowded room—carried a quiet weight. Six months later, I went to my high school prom. I didn’t go with expectations. I went because my mother gently insisted that hiding would only make the world feel smaller. She helped me get ready with a kind of care that didn’t push, but didn’t let me retreat either. When I arrived, I stayed near the walls. It...
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