I remember standing in an old high school gym in Brunswick in 2017, where the air should have tasted of dust and sweat but was instead heavy with hairspray, perfume, and the faint, waxy scent of lipstick. The echo of sneakers on scuffed floors had been replaced by the sharp clatter of high heels, the rise and fall of voices rehearsing, mothers calling out names, and the steady creak of garment racks wheeled down narrow hallways like ships navigating crowded ports.
That’s where I first met Heather and Rebecca. Heather stood with quiet patience, her fingers moving gently through Rebecca’s hair, coaxing each strand into place. Rebecca, playful, curious, her laughter bubbling up like spring water, watched her mother through the mirror’s reflection. I saw the world they shared, a private rhythm that needed no explanation. A family portrait shaped by the push and pull of time, by the way seasons change before you’re ready. This work speaks of belonging, of family ties that stretch and bend but never break. It stands as an ode to the fierce, tender bond between mother and daughter, to the quiet bravery of moving forward together.
