Cresthaven Grand Theatre.A spotlight held the center of the stage.I wore a pure white tutu and moved with the music—a point of the toe, a turn, a jump—every movement clean, exact.The house was full.The applause ran like thunder.This was my first professional performance since my comeback.The Clara whom doctors had sentenced to life in a wheelchair—she was back on the stage she belonged to.The music closed.I lifted the hem of my dress and bowed, elegant.The curtain came down slowly.I stood there, breathing hard, sweat at my hairline, and felt something I hadn't felt in years: ease.The stage door opened.Julian came in. A crisp black suit. A bouquet of red roses.His wound had healed. The gauntness and the exhaustion were gone. He looked like the man he had been before any of this."Congratulations, principal dancer. You triumphed."He handed me the roses. Then he pulled me in against his chest.I took the bouquet and breathed in the soft scent, and couldn't keep a smile off m
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