Page 18 of Desperate Games

I nod, slinging the familiar black strap over my shoulder as I tighten my hold on the padded case. “Got it.”

Photography is one of those hobbies people start when they’re kids and either grow out of or grow into.

I grew into it. Hard.

What started as a borrowed point-and-shoot in high school turned into something more.

A way of seeing.

A way of making sense of things that didn’t make sense.

The camera gave me an excuse to stand at the edges, to watch quietly.

Frame things. Capture moments no one else was noticing.

The first time I developed film in that little dark room Dad built for me in the garage, I remember standing there, heart pounding, watching the image come to life—grain by grain, line by line, like magic in reverse.

Even now, with digital so much faster and cleaner, I still keep that room.

Still slip in there when I’m staying over and when I need silence.

Somehow the smell of that room, of chemicals and dreams, and that little red bulb all make the world feel more real than it is.

The thing about looking through a lens is it changes everything. And yet, it keeps it all the same.

Frozen in time forever so we can keep coming back to that moment.

You notice things when you’re behind a camera.

Not just light and shadow, but expression. Tension.

The tremble in someone’s fingers.

The glint in their eyes before they laugh.

The story no one else is telling.

Behind the camera, I feel braver. Calmer. More in control.

Out here? Without the lens between me and the world? Things get messy.

Especially now.

Because while I’m snapping pictures of toddlers in superhero capes and toddlers with frosting on their noses, I’ll be doing it with dreams of having a baby of my own someday soon. Of a new life, one I can’t wait to have growing inside me.

I failed, it’s true. But there’s always hope. And maybe someday, right? Isn’t that what folks tell themselves?

Shit. I suck in a breath.

I fight off tears.

At least I have my camera, right?

Behind the lens? I can pretend I’ve got this.

I can find the light, frame the story, and make something beautiful—even if everything else feels like it’s falling apart.

I thank Mom, kiss her cheek, and step out of the car, already regretting the strappy heels I chose.