Chapter 2

Ten years slipped by, like an endless silent film playing in the background of my life.

I sold that house on the west side of the city, the one haunted by memories of Jack and Matilda.

With the money from the sale, plus everything I'd saved up, I rented a tiny shopfront in an old neighborhood and opened a photography studio.

I called it the Light.

The day my son, Noah Snider, was born, I was alone in the delivery room, enduring more than ten hours of pain.

When the nurse asked about my husband, I just said, "He's dead."

After leaving the hospital, I carried Noah in his little blanket and went back to the tiny attic above my studio.

Life was tough.

There was always something to do, feeding Noah, changing his diapers, trying to get him to sleep.

And in between, I had to find time to edit photos, reach out to clients, and keep the studio afloat.

Countless nights, I'd cradle Noah as he wailed, gazing at the city lights outside, feeling like an island cut off from everything.

But not once did I shed a tear.

Tears were worthless in this world.

I gave everything I had to Noah and my camera.

I captured every milestone through my lens, his first rollover, his first baby tooth, his wobbly first steps, and the first time he said "Mom."

In my lens, there was only him.

He showed his love in his own way.

He was smart and thoughtful beyond his years.

He never threw fits or asked me for expensive toys.

While other kids were running wild at the playground, he'd quietly hang out in my studio, helping me sort through props.

He was the perfect muse for my camera.

He was the only light in my life.

Business at the studio started to pick up.

At first, it was just ID photos, then solo shoots, and eventually, commercial gigs.

The Light was starting to make a name for itself in the industry.

We moved from our tiny attic in the old part of town to a fancy apartment complex downtown.

When Noah turned six, he got into the city's top private international elementary school.

The tuition was a price I couldn't even imagine paying back then.

But now, I could easily afford it.

Ten years on, Jack was a legend in finance, his face all over the news, running the show and making waves in the business world.

As for me, I was Alanna Snider, a photographer with a solid name in the scene.

We existed in separate worlds, like two parallel lines destined never to cross.

That was, until the invitation to Noah's elementary school graduation landed in my hands.

When I saw the words on the invitation, I couldn't help but smile to myself. It read: [Noah Snider, Outstanding Student Representative.]

For the past ten years, I'd been sharpening a my sword for this moment.

Now, it was finally time to let it shine.

The night before the graduation ceremony, I was fussing over Noah's little white suit, tying and retying his bowtie over and over.

"Mom, you don't have to be so nervous," Noah said, tilting his little face up at me, his eyes shining like polished obsidian.

He was ten now, his features growing sharper, and with every passing day, he looked more and more like that man.

I knelt down in front of him, fussing over invisible creases on his shirt.

I said, "Tomorrow means a lot to you.

"And it means a lot to me too."

Noah nodded, half-understanding.

"Mom, will you take pictures of me tomorrow?" Noah asked.

"Of course," I said while patting his head, "Mom's going to get every shot of you looking your coolest."

But I'd be taking pictures of more than just him tomorrow.

I'd finally get the shots I'd been waiting ten years for.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

Ten years had gone by, but I could hardly see any trace of it on my face.

My eyes, though, were colder now and way more determined than they used to be.

I opened a dusty old box that had been tucked away for ages.

Inside was a wedding photo of Jack and me.

In the picture, I was grinning like I was the happiest woman alive.

Jack had that polite, distant smile on his face.

I took out the photo and set it side by side with the divorce papers from ten years ago.

His signature, all dramatic flourishes, was still glaringly obvious.

I had everything ready.

All that was left was for the curtain to rise on tomorrow's drama.