No celebrating things that belonged to her privately.
But one by one, bikers lowered their heads.
They understood.
Two weeks later, my daughter received her running prostheses.
The first fitting was terrible.
She hated the sockets.
Hated alignment.
Hated how high she felt standing.
Bear came.
But he stayed outside the therapy room.
My daughter made it seventeen minutes.
Then sat.
“Bear.”
He entered.
She pointed.
“These are stupid.”
He examined them.
“Very expensive stupid.”
She glared.
“I’m scared.”
Bear sat beside her.
“Good.”
She frowned.
“Why good?”
“Means you know it matters.”
The therapist helped her stand.
Parallel bars.
Both hands gripping.
My daughter trembled.
Bear removed his prosthetic.
Set it beside the wall.
Then stood on one leg holding the opposite parallel bar.
The therapist stared.
Bear said:
“What?”
“You're going to fall.”
“Probably.”
My daughter laughed.
Then took one step.
Small.
Awkward.
Painful.
Another.
Her face twisted.
“I hate this.”
Bear nodded.
“Keep hating.”
Another step.
She stopped after six.
That was enough.
The next session, eleven.
Then twenty.
Months passed.
Walking came slowly.
Running much later.
She continued using her wheelchair too.
Bear insisted:
“Wheelchairs aren't defeat.”
“Legs aren't victory.”
“Tools are tools.”
My daughter absorbed that deeply.
She stopped measuring recovery by how little she used the chair.
Sometimes she walked.
Sometimes rolled.
Sometimes used the adaptive tricycle.
Sometimes sat on the floor because transferring seemed like unnecessary work.
Life expanded.
One spring morning, she asked for a dress.
I nearly cried inside the store.
She saw.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I have allergies.”
“To dresses?”
“Yes.”
She chose blue.
At home, she stood in front of the mirror on prosthetics.
The dress ended above both sockets.
She stared.
I waited.
Then:
“I look weird.”
I said:
“You look like you.”
She considered.
“That's not always good.”
I smiled.
“No.”
“But today?”
She looked again.
“Today’s okay.”
Bear arrived that Thursday.
My daughter opened the door wearing the dress.
He stopped.
Then immediately looked away dramatically.
“What?”
she demanded.