I inhaled a deep breath and allowed myself a moment to take it all in—the lights, the people, the ripple of anticipation coursing through the air. This wasn’t my dazzling star turn as a promising young ingénue. My performance wouldn’t be reviewed in The Guardian or have an encore at Westbury the following night. I would never be that dancer again, and—for the first time since my accident—I was at peace with it. That chapter of my life had closed, but this time, I could close it on my own terms.
