“She has not been in my class for three weeks,” the instructor said quietly. “The last time I saw Chloe dance, she collapsed during a jump and could not stand up. I called the number on her file, but a man answered and told me he would handle everything.” My knees went weak. Three weeks. Every evening I had warmed her dinner, believing she was spinning across this very floor.

Before I could speak, she pulled a folded paper from her pocket. “This came back from the hospital, and I was told to give it only to a parent.” My hands shook as I opened it. Then, through the hallway window, I saw Marcus’s car pull into the parking lot, and Chloe stepped out, leaning heavily on a pair of crutches I had never seen before.