When my brother died unexpectedly, days after my sister's wedding, those wedding photos became something we couldn't have lived without, proof of joy we never knew we'd need. That's when I understood photography isn't about capturing perfect moments, it's about preserving how they felt, so that when all you have left is memory, the right photograph can hand it back to you exactly as it was. I've relearned that lesson in quiet ways since, and it's why every session I shoot is slow, unposed, and built around one rule: there's no right way to show up in front of my camera, only yours.