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Interior, upscale hotel ballroom, late evening. Warm amber light from overhead chandeliers falls across a polished stage. All characters are white Americans, natural and realistic in appearance. A white American man in his mid-forties — tailored suit, face hollowed by grief and sleeplessness — kneels on the stage edge, arms wrapped around a small white American girl in a white dress. She has her face buried in his shoulder, her small hands gripping his jacket. Around them, four hundred guests stand frozen in silence, many with hands raised to their mouths, tears visible on several faces. The energy in the room is stunned, reverent, barely breathing. Three feet away, a white American boy — nine years old, torn jeans, worn sneakers, hands shoved into his jacket pockets — watches with quiet relief, like someone who just set something heavy down. His posture is still. He is not seeking attention. He is just present. The man looks up from his daughter and locks eyes with the boy across the silence. He says, voice rough and certain: "Don't go." The boy holds his gaze. A long beat. Then the smallest nod. No logos, no brand names, no watermarks, no text overlays. Cinematic, grounded, U.S. drama tone.

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Interior, upscale hotel ballroom, late evening. Warm amber light from overhead chandeliers falls across a polished st...

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