Her heart races. Fingers fidget in clammy palms. The curtains cling together, a sliver of light spilling through. The spotlight.
She feels the audience’s silent longing from the other side of the velvet wall. Her eyes conceal her fate, but voices swirl inside her mind—You’re still that girl. The girl who cannot see.
Her love for performing pumps through her veins as she gulps in one last breath before making her grand entrance. No one to supervise her steps as she slips her feet into another’s shoes to walk an imaginary path through acting. Performing. Her first love.
But as she speaks her final lines and sings her last notes from within the small bubble of spotlight, the curtains find their way together once again. And she is pushed back into the shadows. Her only role: don’t trip. Her only prop: a white cane. The stage of life holds no applause. Only stares.
“It didn’t matter what I did or how well I performed,” she says. “I was still the girl who couldn’t see.”
In darkness, light finds its purpose, and Sky becomes the spark.
Sometimes, it takes the darkest backdrop to illuminate something as breathtaking as the stars, and she refuses to stop reaching up. A new vision. A fresh beginning.
With a harness in her hand and a dream in her heart, she finds beauty in immersing in a role she never felt quite good enough for—a role that used to seem too big. The role of being herself. Julianna.
Now with a wagging tail and bright eyes at her side, her character grows in ways she never thought possible. Fearless, independent, bold.
“I’m worthy of it,” she says. “I’m just as good as anyone with sight. I can do anything with Sky.”
As she tilts her head toward the sky, she feels the irresistible pull of the stars. The soft patter of four paws and the steady tug of the harness—both urging her forward.
When the curtains part each morning, she steps into the role of a lifetime.
Because with Sky, she knows . . . there’s no limit.
