Chapter 2: The Family That Chose Her
I waited until Dad came home.
I didn't cry.
I didn't scream.
I simply placed my competition confirmation email, printed design sketches, and photographs of The Last Light on the kitchen table.
Then I waited.
Dad entered around seven.
He loosened his tie and smiled when he saw me.
"Hey, sweetheart. How was school?""
"Where's Vanessa?""
He looked toward the living room.
"She's helping Brianna prepare for something.""
"Can you sit down?""
My voice must have sounded different because he immediately pulled out a chair.
"What happened?""
I slid the photographs toward him.
"Brianna is entering my competition.""
Dad looked confused.
"Your competition?""
"The Young American Designers Competition. She's using my dress.""
He examined the photographs.
Then he looked at the sketch.
"Is this the blue dress?""
"Yes.""
"I thought you were finishing it.""
"I finished it. She took it.""
His eyebrows drew together.
"Maybe she borrowed it.""
"She told me she's entering it as her own design.""
Dad rubbed his forehead.
"Let's not jump to conclusions.""
"Then ask her.""
He sighed.
"Nia, I don't want another argument tonight.""
I stared at him.
"She's stealing my work.""
"She's your stepsister.""
"That doesn't make it hers.""
Before he could answer, Vanessa entered the kitchen.
She was wearing a cream-colored blouse and holding a glass of sparkling water.
"What's all this?""
Dad pointed toward the photographs.
"Nia says Brianna is entering a fashion competition with her dress.""
Vanessa didn't look surprised.
Instead, she pulled out the chair beside him.
"Well, I suppose there's no point pretending anymore.""
My heart began pounding.
"What does that mean?""
Vanessa crossed her legs.
"Brianna has been selected to represent her school in the competition.""
"That's impossible. My registration is under my name.""
She smiled.
"Registration can be complicated.""
"Not when I have all the documents.""
Brianna appeared in the doorway.
She was wearing my mother's silver necklace.
I recognized it immediately.
It had been in the wooden box.
"Can everyone stop making such a big deal?"" she complained.
I pointed at the necklace.
"Take that off.""
She touched it.
"This?""
"My mother's necklace.""
Brianna glanced at Vanessa.
Vanessa shrugged.
"She was only borrowing it.""
"You took it from my box!""
"Don't raise your voice," Vanessa said.
Dad stood.
"Enough. Let's settle this calmly.""
I turned toward him.
"Then tell Brianna to return my dress.""
He looked at Vanessa.
She gave him a small, disappointed shake of her head.
"Marcus, perhaps you should hear the whole story.""
"What story?"" I demanded.
Vanessa opened a folder.
Inside were printed copies of my sketches.
My original design photographs.
And a competition application.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
It wasn't mine.
Brianna's name appeared at the top.
The design title was Celestial Grace.
My design.
My constellations.
My silver embroidery.
Even the description used phrases I had written in my portfolio.
I picked up the application.
"Where did you get this?""
Vanessa smiled.
"You left your laptop open.""
I stared at her.
"You went through my files?""
"I was helping Brianna understand the application process.""
"You copied everything!""
Vanessa's expression hardened.
"Watch your tone.""
I turned toward Dad.
"She stole my work.""
He looked from the application to Vanessa.
"Did you really submit Nia's design?""
Vanessa didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she folded her hands.
"Marcus, you know Brianna has always been interested in fashion. She simply doesn't have the same experience. Nia has been fortunate enough to learn from her mother's old sewing materials.""
I felt sick.
"Fortunate?""
Vanessa continued.
"Brianna has the opportunity to develop her talent. Nia can always create something else.""
I looked at her.
Something inside me went quiet.
"You think I can just make another dress?""
Vanessa shrugged.
"You're young. You have plenty of time.""
"My mother's wedding lace is in that dress.""
For the first time, Vanessa's smile faltered.
But only briefly.
"Then perhaps you shouldn't have left such valuable things lying around.""
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
Dad stood between us.
"Vanessa, this isn't right.""
She looked at him.
"Marcus, do you really want to ruin Brianna's opportunity over a dress?""
"It's not just a dress.""
"Then what is it?""
He hesitated.
That hesitation hurt more than anything else.
I picked up the application.
"My name is on the original registration. My teacher has copies. The competition has my process photographs.""
Vanessa's face changed.
She reached across the table and took the paper from my hand.
"Let's not make threats.""
"I'm not threatening anyone. I'm telling you the truth.""
Brianna stepped closer.
"You're just jealous.""
I turned toward her.
"Of what?""
"That I get to stand onstage while you sit in the audience.""
She smiled.
"You know what? Maybe the judges will finally see what everyone else sees.""
"And what's that?""
"That you're not special just because your mother used to sew.""
My hands began shaking.
Dad said her name sharply.
"Brianna.""
But Vanessa immediately intervened.
"Don't punish her for speaking honestly.""
I looked at Dad one last time.
He looked exhausted.
"Sweetheart, perhaps we can find another solution.""
I almost laughed.
"Another solution?""
He lowered his voice.
"The competition is important to both girls. Maybe we can speak to the organizers and explain the situation.""
"Explain what? That my stepsister stole my dress?""
"Please, Nia.""
I pushed my chair back.
"I don't need you to explain anything.""
I went upstairs.
I locked my bedroom door and sat on the floor beside my sewing machine.
For a long time, I stared at the empty space where the wooden box had been.
Then I opened my laptop.
I downloaded every photograph I had taken during construction.
There were pictures of the fabric before cutting.
Pictures of the embroidery in progress.
Pictures of my mother's lace being attached to the neckline.
I also found the original design registration confirmation.
Everything was there.
Everything except the physical dress.
I called Mrs. Ellis.
She answered on the second ring.
"Nia? Is everything all right?""
I tried to speak, but my voice broke.
She immediately changed her tone.
"What's happened?""
I explained everything.
The stolen dress.
The copied application.
Vanessa's involvement.
Brianna's threats.
Mrs. Ellis listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she was silent for a moment.
Then she said, "Do not delete anything. Do not confront them alone. And do not withdraw your entry.""
"They'll never believe me.""
"Then we'll give them evidence they can't ignore.""
The following morning, Mrs. Ellis helped me contact the competition's administrative office.
I explained that another finalist had submitted a design identical to mine.
The coordinator, a woman named Patricia, asked me to send supporting documents.
I sent everything.
Original sketches.
Registration confirmation.
Dated photographs.
Construction videos.
Patricia replied that the issue would be reviewed.
For the first time, I felt a little hope.
Then I made another discovery.
My portfolio had been accessed from an unfamiliar email address three days before Brianna's application was submitted.
I recognized the address.
It belonged to Vanessa.
I forwarded the information to Patricia.
By lunchtime, I received a call.
"Miss Carter, we have reviewed your initial submission.""
I stood in the school hallway.
"Yes?""
"We can confirm that your design registration predates the other submission. However, because both contestants have been invited to the final presentation, we need to conduct a formal review.""
"So she can still compete?""
"At this stage, yes.""
I closed my eyes.
"Even though she copied my work?""
"We are investigating the circumstances.""
I understood.
They needed proof beyond my accusation.
I had proof.
But I also needed the dress.
That evening, I returned home and found Brianna standing in the hallway.
She was holding a garment bag.
My garment bag.
"Looking for something?"" she asked.
"Give it back.""
She raised an eyebrow.
"Why?""
"Because it's mine.""
She unzipped the bag just enough to reveal the midnight-blue fabric.
Then she smiled.
"Tomorrow, Mom is taking me to the competition's final rehearsal.""
I reached for the bag.
She stepped backward.
"Careful, Nia. You might ruin my outfit.""
"You're not wearing that dress.""
Brianna tilted her head.
"Who says?""
I looked toward Vanessa, who was watching from the staircase.
She held a small pair of scissors.
For one terrifying second, I thought she intended to cut the gown.
Instead, she examined a loose silver thread near the hem.
Then she said something that made my stomach drop.
"Actually, Brianna, I think we should remove that little piece of lace at the neckline. It looks old-fashioned.""
I lunged forward.
"Don't touch it!""
Vanessa calmly lowered the scissors.
"You're being dramatic.""
Brianna zipped the garment bag.
"See you at the competition, Nia.""
She walked upstairs.
I stood there, unable to breathe.
Because I knew exactly what was happening.
They weren't simply borrowing my dress.
They were preparing to erase every trace of my mother from it.
That night, I barely slept.
At 2:17 a.m., my phone buzzed.
It was an email from Patricia, the competition coordinator.
*Subject: URGENT — FINALIST IDENTITY VERIFICATION*
I opened it.
The first paragraph was ordinary.
The second made my blood run cold.
Miss Carter, during our review, we discovered that the contestant listed as the original creator of your design has provided additional documentation claiming ownership of the work.
I read it twice.
Then I scrolled down.
Attached was a photograph.
A photograph of a signed design agreement.
And at the bottom was a name I recognized.
May you like
Marcus Carter.
My father.
