When I lost my sight at six, I picked up a boy who was on the verge of freezing to death. His name was Zane Shaw. I lied and said I wanted someone to guide me, begging my mother to save him. Later, I leaned close to his ear and whispered a promise. "I don't need you to be my guide dog. Just live well. Go wherever you want." But Zane stayed. After my mother remarried, he became the only person I could rely on. He watched over me as I grew up, becoming my white cane year after year. For the sake of my eyes, he even gave up his extraordinary talent for painting and chose to study medicine instead. And yet, even after he became a top ophthalmologist, I still could not see. Everything changed on my twenty-fifth birthday. Zane's former confidante won a major art award. He locked himself in the study. The faint rustle of paper carried through the door. When I asked, he suppressed his emotions and said he was writing me a birthday message. Smiling, I stepped forward, wanting to kiss him. Then, across the darkness in front of me, lines of text suddenly began to scroll. [Wake up. He tore up all his paintings. On the back of every piece, he wrote "Yvonne should die".] [Don't go forward. He placed a live wire ahead. Step on it and you're dead.] I froze for a moment. Then I smiled and kept walking. "Zane," I said softly, "your wishes will all come true." I moved carefully, afraid I might miss the wire.