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“They were his,” she confessed, her voice muffled. “His practice tapes. I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away.”

She had hidden them, wanting to protect her son from the immense shadow of a father he couldn’t remember.

She had been terrified that the weight of that legacy, the pressure of that genius, would be too much for a boy who had already lost so much.

The audience began to piece it together. This wasn’t just a surprise performance. It was a reunion of sorts. A story of loss, of hidden talent, of a love that echoed through a melody.

“What happened to him?” a voice called out from the back. “To Arthur?”

Randall stood up, his joints creaking. He looked twenty years older than he had an hour ago.

“Life happened,” he said vaguely, placing a protective hand on Terrence’s shoulder.

But Sarah knew the truth was sharper, crueler than that.

“It was an accident,” she said, finding a strange strength in the confession. “A car accident. Eight years ago.”

Her voice was steady now, filled with a chilling clarity.