Candid pictures taken from across street corners, from high-school bleachers, from park benches at the far edge of frame.

My graduation, shot from too far away, my face a small bright smudge in a sea of gowns.

My wedding, through the church doors from the very back.

Juniper’s christening, from across the street.

Every milestone of my life had been documented — by the mother who was never allowed to hold my hand, and saved, all of it, lovingly, by the man who had protected us both.

He had been her eyes.