Families strolled hand-in-hand along the pathways, tourists bent over railings taking photos of the Jefferson Memorial, and joggers weaved through the crowds with the confidence of people who knew the city intimately.
Portia brushed a stray curl away from Belle’s cheek, straightened Preston’s collar, and exhaled with a smile that only a determined mother can give. Their photographer, an experienced professional who’d seen every kind of family moment imaginable, gave her a reassuring nod.
He knew this spot well — the angle, the light, the way the Washington Monument stood tall behind the basin like a white marble sentinel. He raised the camera to eye level, took a few test shots of the surroundings, and signaled for the children to move closer to the water’s edge.
For a moment, everything felt peaceful. Almost cinematic.
Portia positioned Belle and Preston carefully — just far enough apart for comfort, close enough for the perfect photo. The kids tried their best to cooperate. Belle squinted in the sun, pushing her hair behind her ear, while Preston shuffled restlessly, tugging at the hem of his shirt.
“Okay, sweethearts,” Portia said, clapping her hands once. “Big smiles. Let’s do this!”Continue reading…
