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San Francisco Ballet rehearsal, photographed during an invited visit. When I put my son to bed, he asked me to hold his hand and pray with him for the first time. The room was dark and quiet, the kind of quiet that only comes after a full day. Then, as if the stillness invited it, he began to remember. “The ballet,” he whispered. “The man in the studio.  The capes.” Watching quietly during rehearsal. He lay in his crib, piecing together the day in soft fragments. I was captiv