My Wedding Photos Belonged To His First Love Chapter 10

My Wedding Photos Belonged To His First Love Chapter 10

A year later, I opened my own imaging studio in Northport.

The name was “Blank Space” Studio.

George came on as my consultant, and the guy who brought the sunflowers, Evan Reed, became my

assistant.

He was a few years younger than me and always crouched ridiculously low when he shot.

Evan said, “Nora, to get a great shot, sometimes you’ve just got to get low.”

George laughed at him. “Easy for you to say. You’re all legs.”

The studio’s first official booking was a silver anniversary shoot.

The wife grumbled that her husband looked too stiff in his suit. The husband secretly tucked an old photo of her into his breast pocket.

When I pressed the shutter, I felt a sudden heat behind my eyes.

It wasn’t sadness.

It was the realization that some people really do treasure an old photo for decades.

Not because of regret. Because of love.

Derek didn’t come looking for me again.

Every year on my birthday, he sent one photo.

The first year, it was the repaired vintage camera.

The second year, the empty photo wall in the penthouse.

The third year, a seaside sunset with no bride.

On the back of each one, there was only one line.

[I’m sorry.]

I never replied.

I put those photos into a box. I didn’t throw them away, and I didn’t look at them.

Sometimes, you don’t have to hate something enough to destroy everything.

You can just leave it there to gather dust.

Lily paid her infringement fines and left the country.

I heard she tried to see Derek a few more times but was never let in.

Sullivan Group brought in new management. Derek went to a small firm down south, starting over from an entry-level project role.

A mutual friend told me he rarely takes photos anymore.

I just nodded at that.

Evan asked, “Nora, doesn’t it hurt?”

I thought about it. “No.”

He said, “So you’re over it?”

I smiled a little. “Maybe.”

That evening, a bride came into the studio.

She was clutching her wedding gown, her palms sweaty from nerves.

“Nora, my fiancé said wedding photos can just be whatever. I’m kind of upset. Am I being too dramatic?”

I adjusted her veil for her. “Did you ask him why he said ‘whatever’?”

She looked down. “He said I’m pretty in person, so any photo will look good.”

The groom at the door overheard and immediately turned red. “I wasn’t blowing her off. I swear, I just think she’s beautiful.”

Everyone in the room laughed.

The bride laughed, too, her eyes bright.

I lifted my camera. “Okay, look right here.”

The shutter fell. In the frame, the boy was looking at the girl.

His gaze was so earnest, as if he was afraid that missing a single second would be a regret for the

rest of his life.

After the shoot, Evan helped me pack up the lights.

He suddenly handed me an old cardboard box. “Nora, found this in a corner of the storage room.

Looks like your old stuff.”

i opened it.

Inside was the photo I had folded in half. The one of Derek and me.

Derek’s face half-turned away. My smile, so careful.

There was a deep crease right down the middle.

Evan asked, “Want me to restore it?”

I looked at it for a long time.

Then I shook my head. “No need.”

He probably thought I was going to throw it away.

But I fed it into the paper shredder instead.

The machine hummed softly.

The photo disintegrated into thin strips of paper.

Evan stared. “You’re really done with it?”

I said, “Yeah.”

Outside the window, the sunset poured in and filled the whole studio with a warm glow.

George called from the darkroom, telling me to come look at the new prints.

Evan hoisted the light stand and grinned. “Nora, hurry up. The light is perfect today.”

I walked over.

The freshly developed prints on the table were still damp.

The bride was laughing radiantly. The groom was sneaking a glance at her.

I picked up a clip and hung the print on the drying line.

A breeze slipped through the window crack. The photo swayed gently.

In that moment, I thought of the person I used to be.

The Nora who stood at the studio door, watching her wedding photos with herself missing from

them.

If I could go back and tell her something, it would be this.

it’s okay.

A photo that’s missing you was never one you belonged in anyway.

The images that are truly yours will appear much later.

There will be no stand-ins, no old dreams.

It will just be you, standing in the light.

Finally.