We’d worked together on a few wedding shoots over the years.
“Anna, oh my God, I need the biggest favor.” Her voice sounded strained. “I had an emergency appendectomy last night. I’m still in the hospital, and I have this family shoot scheduled for five o’clock in Ridgewood.”
“Please, please tell me you can cover it.”
I looked around my silent apartment.
At the half-eaten plate of food. At the long, empty evening stretching ahead.
“Yeah, I can do it. Send me the address.”
“You’re a lifesaver.
The wife is pregnant with their third, and they do anniversary photos every Thanksgiving.”
I grabbed my camera gear and headed out.
It was only 45 minutes away.
“At least I’m not spending the evening alone anymore.”
The house was picture-perfect.
One of those cozy colonials with a wraparound porch, golden wreaths on the door, pumpkins lining the steps.
A woman opened the door before I even knocked.
She was glowing — early 30s, very pregnant, with this warm smile.
“You must be Anna! Thank you so much for coming on such short notice. Come in, come in!”
She ushered me inside, chattering about their wedding anniversary, how they took photos every year, and how special this one was with baby number three on the way.
Then I looked up.
And my entire world stopped.
Right there next to the dining table stood Ethan.
MY Ethan.
Holding a toddler on his hip.
With a little boy wrapping his arms around his leg.
Carving turkey like he’d done it a hundred times before.
The room tilted.
Every sound disappeared.
All I could hear was the rushing in my ears.Continue reading…
