Chapter 4: The Man Who Remembered My Mother
The morning of the competition, I stood in front of my bedroom mirror wearing a simple black dress I had bought secondhand for twelve dollars.
It wasn't impressive.
The sleeves were slightly too long, and the fabric had a faint crease near the waist.
But it was mine.
For once, I didn't care what Vanessa thought.
I placed my mother's silver thimble inside the small pocket of my jacket and checked my portfolio one last time.
Original sketches.
Construction photographs.
Registration documents.
Alteration receipts.
Everything was there.
At 8:15 a.m., I heard Brianna laughing downstairs.
"Mom, do you think the silver heels or the black ones?""
"Silver, darling. They match the embroidery.""
I closed my portfolio.
The sound of their excitement made my stomach tighten.
I knew they were going to arrive at the auditorium looking like a perfect mother-daughter team.
And I knew Vanessa would tell everyone that Brianna had worked tirelessly on the gown.
But I had something they couldn't buy.
The truth.
When I reached the kitchen, Dad was standing beside the coffee machine.
He looked at my portfolio.
"You're going?""
"Yes.""
He hesitated.
"Nia, perhaps we should talk before you leave.""
"About what?""
He glanced toward the staircase.
"Last night, I spoke to Vanessa.""
I waited.
"She says there's been a misunderstanding.""
I let out a quiet breath.
"A misunderstanding?""
"She says Brianna never intended to hurt you.""
I placed my portfolio on the counter.
"Dad, did you know they removed Mom's lace?""
His expression changed.
"No.""
"They cut it off the dress.""
He stared at me.
"Why would they do that?""
"Because Vanessa thought it looked old-fashioned.""
He lowered his eyes.
For a moment, I thought he might finally say something meaningful.
Instead, he whispered, "I wish you girls could get along.""
I picked up my portfolio.
"So do I.""
Then I walked out.
The auditorium was already crowded when I arrived.
Large banners hung from the ceiling.
CAMERAS stood along the aisles.
A long runway stretched from the stage toward the center of the room, surrounded by rows of chairs.
Contestants moved nervously between garment racks, makeup stations, and dressing rooms.
I checked in at the registration desk.
A young woman wearing a blue blazer looked at her tablet.
"Nia Carter?""
"Yes.""
She handed me a badge.
"Finalist number twelve. Your presentation slot is scheduled for 2:40 p.m.""
I nodded.
"Thank you.""
She glanced at my portfolio.
"Good luck.""
I found my assigned dressing area.
It was a small room behind the stage with several mirrors and clothing racks.
My name was printed on a card.
But there was no gown.
Of course there wasn't.
Brianna had it.
I placed my portfolio on the table and sat down.
A few minutes later, I heard heels approaching.
Vanessa entered first.
She wore a fitted navy dress, diamond earrings, and the kind of smile people mistook for kindness.
Brianna followed her.
She was carrying a garment bag.
When she unzipped it, my breath caught.
The Last Light.
The midnight-blue silk.
The silver embroidery.
The flowing organza.
But the neckline was different.
The antique lace was gone.
A new silver trim had been stitched around the collar.
Brianna noticed me looking.
"Beautiful, isn't it?""
I stood.
"You're wearing my dress.""
She rolled her eyes.
"Please don't start.""
Vanessa adjusted the garment bag.
"Nia, this is an important day. I expect you to behave appropriately.""
I looked directly at her.
"Did you bring the original sketches?""
Brianna laughed.
"Why would I need your sketches?""
"Because the judges may ask how you developed the design.""
Her smile weakened.
Vanessa stepped closer.
"Your sister has prepared her presentation. You should concentrate on yours.""
"I have.""
"Then leave her alone.""
I looked at Brianna.
"Tell them where the constellations came from.""
She folded her arms.
"From my imagination.""
"Really?""
"Yes.""
"Then explain why the pattern matches the sketches I registered two months ago.""
Brianna's cheeks reddened.
Vanessa took her arm.
"Come on, darling. We don't need to waste time.""
Before leaving, Brianna leaned toward me.
"Enjoy watching me win.""
The door closed.
I sat down again.
My hands were trembling.
Then someone knocked.
A woman in a black suit entered.
"Miss Carter?""
"Yes?""
"I'm Patricia, the competition coordinator. Mr. Cole would like to speak with you before the presentations.""
My heart skipped.
"Adrian Cole?""
She nodded.
"He's waiting in the judges' preparation room.""
I followed her through a narrow hallway.
When I entered, the silver-haired judge from the photographs was standing beside a large window.
He turned.
For several seconds, he simply looked at me.
Then his gaze dropped to the small silver thimble hanging from my pocket.
"Where did you get that?""
I touched it.
"It belonged to my mother.""
His expression changed.
"Your mother?""
"Eleanor Carter.""
He slowly removed his glasses.
"You're Eleanor's daughter?""
I nodded.
He took a step toward me.
"My goodness.""
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"I've been looking at your portfolio all morning.""
He reached for a chair.
"Please, sit down.""
I did.
"Did you know my mother?""
He gave a small, almost disbelieving laugh.
"Know her? Nia, your mother was the first person who told me I could become a designer.""
I stared at him.
He leaned against the table.
"I was nineteen when I met Eleanor. I was working in a small alterations shop and trying to save enough money to attend design school. I had talent, but I had no confidence.
One afternoon, I brought her a jacket I'd made. It was terrible.""
I almost smiled.
"What was wrong with it?""
"Almost everything.""
He laughed softly.
"She spent three hours teaching me how to correct the shoulder construction. Then she refused to take payment.""
He looked toward the window.
"She told me that one day, when I became successful, I should help someone else who needed a chance.""
I felt tears gathering.
"She never told me about you.""
"She probably didn't think it mattered. She never wanted recognition.""
He reached into his jacket and removed an old photograph.
It showed a younger Adrian standing beside my mother in front of a small sewing machine.
My mother was smiling.
I touched the photograph.
"That's her.""
"Yes.""
He watched me carefully.
"Your design reminded me of her work. Not because of the colors or the embroidery. Because of the construction.""
I looked up.
"What do you mean?""
He pointed toward my portfolio.
"Your mother had a particular way of reinforcing the waist seam. She used a hidden hand-finished technique that allowed the fabric to move without losing its shape.""
I nodded.
"She taught me that.""
"I recognized it in your photographs.""
He paused.
"Then I saw the second finalist's submission.""
My stomach tightened.
"Did you notice?""
His expression became serious.
"Miss Carter, I've been judging emerging designers for fifteen years. I know the difference between inspiration and imitation.""
I opened my portfolio.
"I brought everything.""
He looked through the sketches, photographs, and registration documents.
His expression grew increasingly troubled.
When he reached the father's declaration, he stopped.
"Who signed this?""
"My father.""
"Did you authorize it?""
"No.""
He studied the signature.
"Have you reported this?""
"Yes. The coordinator has copies.""
He nodded.
Then he asked something I wasn't expecting.
"Does your mother still have any original design notebooks?""
I swallowed.
"Not many. Most of her things were packed away after she died.""
"Could you check whether you have her old pattern book?""
I frowned.
"Why?""
He carefully closed the folder.
"Because I remember a particular collection Eleanor was working on before she became ill. A collection of dresses inspired by the night sky.""
My heart began racing.
"The constellations?""
He nodded.
"She called it A Thousand Lights. She never completed the collection.""
I looked down at my design.
The Last Light.
I had never heard that name.
But the inspiration was suddenly much clearer.
My mother had once shown me a box of sketches when I was little. I remembered stars, moons, and flowing fabric.
I had thought they were childhood drawings.
Adrian studied my face.
"Nia, did you use her old sketches?""
"No. I created my own design.""
"I believe you.""
He paused.
"But I suspect you may have inherited more than her talent.""
Before I could respond, the door opened.
Patricia entered.
"Mr. Cole, the judges are ready.""
He nodded.
Then he turned back toward me.
"One more thing. Whatever happens today, don't let anyone rush you into signing a statement you haven't read.""
I frowned.
"Why would I?""
His expression was grim.
"Because someone has already attempted to rewrite your work. I don't intend to let that happen again.""
I returned to the dressing room.
Through the hallway, I could hear the audience taking their seats.
The competition was beginning.
And Brianna was about to walk onto the runway wearing the dress that had once belonged to my dreams.
But when I entered the room, I discovered something unexpected.
My father was sitting beside Vanessa.
And Brianna was standing in front of them, holding a microphone.
She was rehearsing her speech.
"Tonight, I want to dedicate this dress to the woman who taught me to believe in myself.""
Vanessa smiled proudly.
Then Brianna looked at me.
May you like
"To my mother.""
And she began practicing her smile.
