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Ellie slips into a cute little romper, the soft fabric hugging her frame just right. She used to be tall—legs that went on forever—but now, she tucks herself into her wheelchair with practiced ease, popping her once-perfect butt into the seat. A final glance in the mirror, a touch of lip gloss, and she’s off.

Gliding through the store, she moves with quiet confidence, ignoring the occasional lingering glance. She used to tower over racks of clothes, but now she views them from a different angle, reaching up when she needs to, adapting without a thought. Cute shoes catch her eye—old habits die hard—but she rolls past them, focusing instead on accessories. A stylish bag? A pair of earrings? She smirks, knowing she still turns heads, even from down here.