The first note broke in half.
Mara pulled the violin from her chin. The band sat behind her with their bows in the air. No one made a sound.
The last show was almost here. It'd also be Mara's last show with the band.
For years, she'd played the big solos. She knew when to lead and when to blend in. The band knew her sound.
Then Mara got hurt. She missed practice. She could play again now, but she wasn't as fast or as clean as before.
She could get through the song. That wasn't the same as giving the show the band had worked for.
Dan sat in the next chair. He'd learned every note of the solo while Mara was gone. He'd played it each day. He was ready.
Dan didn't ask for Mara to get hurt. He didn't ask to take her place. He got ready in case the band needed him.
If Dan played, the solo would sound better. The rest of the band would get the best show it could give. Their months of work would count too.
But Mara gave years to this band. This was her one last chance to stand, play, and say goodbye in the way she'd planned.
Taking the solo away would put her back in the group while Dan stood in her spot. She'd still play that night. It wouldn't feel like her last show.
Letting her keep the solo puts years of love ahead of the best sound right now. Giving the solo to Dan puts this one show ahead of all she'd done before it.
The band leader stepped down from his stand. Dan looked at the floor. Mara raised the violin once more.
“From the top?” she asked.
Every bow stayed in the air. The band leader had to say who would play before the next note.