It was supposed to be just another stop on Aerosmith’s farewell tour.

At 76, Steven Tyler had done it all — platinum albums, sold-out arenas, rehab and relapse, and a legacy that pulsed through generations of rock. But on this warm August night in Cincinnati, it wasn’t a song or a guitar solo that made the crowd weep — it was a ghost from the past, and the man Tyler once couldn’t save.

The show had roared on like always. “Sweet Emotion,” “Dream On,” the crowd screamed every lyric. But when the band settled into “Janie’s Got a Gun,” Tyler sat down on the edge of the stage — something he rarely

“I wrote this song 35 years ago,” he said, voice raw. “Back then, people told me it was too dark. Too real. Too much.”

The crowd stayed still.

“I didn’t care. Because Janie wasn’t just a song. She was real. She was my neighbor. She was the girl down the block. She was… someone I couldn’t save.”

People gasped.

“I was young. I saw the signs. I didn’t say a word.”

Silence.

He held up the sign.

“And now, this young woman tells me her mom was Janie. The real Janie. And I swear to God… I think I remember her.”

A spotlight swept the