I never expected that one night could echo across decades.
At seventeen, everything in my life split into a before and an after. Before, I was just a girl worrying about curfews, dresses, and whether anyone would ask me to prom. After, I was learning how to exist in a body that no longer felt like mine.
The accident happened fast. A drunk driver ran a red light, and suddenly there were sirens, broken bones, and doctors speaking in careful tones that tried to soften words like “damage” and “uncertain.”
Six months later, prom arrived.
I told my mom I wasn’t going.
“I don’t want to be stared at,” I said.