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The heavy black curtains are closed and motionless as I walk slowly onto the stage. Chatter from the audience is barely detectable back here. A thin, dim light from the orchestra pit glows across the polished floor. As I lift my violin from its case, my stomach is wound in knots.

Perhaps I should have refused to perform tonight. Maybe I can still refuse? After all, it has only been a month since the accident that took my friend, my partner, my sister. She understood better than anyone that I never wanted to go solo.

But I know my mom and brother are in the front row, and my grandparents just behind them. So I lift my instrument and settle it under my chin. My bow is poised in the air. My heart pounds fast as the curtains open and the lights flood in. Finally, as I draw my bow across the string, the purest note sounds. Now, only the music matters.
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