Hazel’s family greeted me at the door, including all four grandparents, Carmen and Sergio Fernandez, Sarah and Howard Cohen. I peeled off a couple of wet layers and entered the apartment, a classic six in a prewar doorman building. I identified Hazel’s mother—the sun exposure and the overdeveloped calf muscles. But I got the hair color wrong. She was a redhead.

The grandmothers gathered around me. “I need a picture with Hazel,” Sarah began, “for my next holiday card.” Holiday cards. The bread and butter for a family photographer. What used to be a thoughtful gesture, a considerate note and good tidings for the holiday season, had become a self-promotional opportunity—with less reach than social media, but more of a tactile punch. My clients sent out holiday cards because they wanted their friends and family to know that they had beautiful children and a lot of money. It was a message that came across easily in my photos, if that was desired. Success, in its various forms, was what I sold, so conveying it and bringing it into relief was effortless for me.

“We have five other grandchildren,” Howard said to Sarah. “You can’t send out a picture of only one.”

“She’s the one who takes after me.” I didn’t see any physical resemblance between Sarah and her granddaughter.

“Happy fifth birthday, Hazel.” I knelt so I could look her in the eye. She had a round face and a head of red curls, like Little Orphan Annie.

“I’m still four,” she said apologetically. “My birthday is next week.”

“I see.”

Sarah led her granddaughter to the living room and sat down with Hazel in her lap. Sarah yanked Howard’s arm. “What’s her name, the girl who’s taking pictures?” she said loudly.

“Delta.” Howard put his finger to his mouth to shush his wife.

“Delta! Come here!” Sarah called to me.

Howard stood behind Sarah and Hazel for the group shot. I took several photos of them, and then Carmen and Sergio entered into the frame and leaned over Sarah’s shoulder.

“Feliz cumpleaños, Hazel!” Carmen called out to the camera. She kissed Hazel on the forehead.

Sarah’s expression morphed from joyful to irate. She turned to Howard. “I’d like one photograph with my little granddaughter. Without everyone breathing down my neck.”

One after another, family members entered the apartment: aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, dressed for the occasion. I finally caught another glimpse of Hazel’s parents. They looked amazed by their good fortune—amazed that a child such as Hazel had entered their lives. They seemed to believe in their child’s brilliance and talent, the same way people believe in God.