There were red flags I didn't see at the time. She couldn't show me full wedding galleries because she'd "deleted them." But I brushed it off — we'd already worked together, I liked her, we vibed.

Then the week of my wedding, a hurricane hit Charleston. Our ceremony venue permit got pulled. I was scrambling to find a new location while dealing with a photographer who kept making excuses:

"There's a tree down on my street."
"I don't have childcare."
"I'm not sure I can make it."

I told her: if you can't come, find someone who can. She said she didn't feel comfortable sending an associate. So I told her she needed to show up.
She did. For 5 hours.

Then I got my photos. Three sneak peeks initially. That's it.

Weeks turned into months. Excuses piled up — health problems, Lightroom issues, delays. When she finally delivered the rest: 60 total images.

No photos of my brother (who was there).
No first dance.
No dance with my dad or his mom.
One single ring photo for detail shots.
No private vows (even though I watched her photograph them).

She even took a photo of my best friend throwing my veil — I know because she texted me a screenshot of her editing it. But she never delivered it.

When I asked where the rest were, she said: "I never guaranteed a certain number of images. You got the best ones."

I begged her. I asked if we could look at the RAWs together. "Maybe we can slap a black and white on the blurry ones," I said. She stopped responding. 
I cried every day for a month and a half. 

That moment lit a fire in me I genuinely cannot and don't want to put out.