Stepping into Rebecca Gray’s world was one of the most humbling—and terrifying—experiences of my life. Creating a world for the reader when stripped of sight is no small undertaking, but it made me stretch, grow, and think about creating a story in a different way. I’ve always feared going blind due to my own astigmatisms, vitreous detachments, floaters, nearsightedness, and farsightedness, so it was empowering to realize you can still have a full, beautiful life without vision. Without a husband. Without a parent, or any kind of concrete help. I wanted to put an extraordinary woman in the toughest circumstances imaginable and see if she could endure.

I became a student of research and could not have constructed this character or world without the following people and institutions: the Tennessee School for the Blind, Dr. Alan Chase, Nick, and all of the other incredible visually impaired individuals who answered my questions and helped me understand what it’s like to go through a daily routine without sight. A very special thank-you to Katherine Peterson, who served as my visually impaired beta reader at the eleventh hour and gave me some wonderful insight about guide dogs and all the fun gadgets for the blind.

Thank you to Adriana Aude Cook for being my go-to Elmhurst queen, letting us crash with you to explore the neighborhood in more detail, and to the tight-knit community of Elmhurst (and Chicago) who helped inspire the setting for this story (and will hopefully buy the shit out of this book … right?). Thank you to Adele Stein and Ben Prior for explaining in such beautiful detail what it feels like to play the cello.

Thank you to my early editorial guru, Cheryl Rieger, who makes such fabulous suggestions and always gives me the very best New York experience. To my infallible editor, Alexandra Sehulster, for the brilliant idea to make Rebecca visually impaired and then pushing me to take her to her brink and see what she’s really made of. When I turned in my first draft and you said, “This book checks all the boxes, but I want you to be better,” I panicked, ripped the book apart, and pieced it back together. Your belief in me makes magic happen. To my agent, Rachel Beck, who is a literal maker of dreams. You are always here—to answer questions, to step up to the plate, and to indulge all of my big career dreams. This career all started with a simple query letter to you, and it has changed the course of my entire life. Thank you.