Chapter 2: The Dress My Mother Left Behind
The pink silk had been sitting in my mother's storage box for almost three years.
I had never used it.
Not because I didn't like the color, but because every time I touched it, I remembered the last conversation I had with her.
We were sitting in her sewing room. She was wearing a faded blue cardigan, and I was complaining about a design that refused to come together.
She had pulled a bundle of pink silk from a cabinet.
"One day, you'll know what to do with this," she said.
I rolled my eyes.
"Mom, pink isn't exactly my style.""
She laughed.
"That's because you're thinking about the color instead of the feeling.""
"What feeling?""
She held the silk against the light.
"Freedom.""
I remembered that moment as I opened the box backstage.
The pink fabric caught the harsh fluorescent lighting, revealing a soft shimmer beneath its surface.
Camille leaned over my shoulder.
"Okay. That's gorgeous.""
"There's more.""
I removed several layers of ivory satin, a packet of pale feathers, and a small bundle of lightweight structural mesh.
Camille's eyes widened.
"Are you planning to make wings?""
I looked at the materials.
"Yes.""
"Actual wings?""
"Not actual flying wings, Camille.""
She laughed.
"Good. I wasn't prepared to become a bird tonight.""
For the first time in an hour, I laughed too.
Then I spread the materials across the worktable.
We had approximately three hours and forty minutes before the final runway presentation.
Three hours and forty minutes to create a gown from the remains of a disaster.
I took a deep breath.
"All right. The bodice will be structured pink silk. We'll use the surviving blue crystals as accents, but not in the original pattern.""
Camille nodded.
"And the skirt?""
"Layers. Soft, dramatic, asymmetric. I want movement.""
"And the wings?""
I picked up the ivory mesh.
"They'll begin at the shoulders and extend behind the model. Lightweight, but large enough to create a silhouette.""
Camille looked at me.
"You're going to make this work.""
"I have to.""
We started immediately.
I worked at the main sewing station while Camille organized the materials. She cut the satin, prepared the feather sections, and helped shape the mesh structure.
A young assistant named Leo noticed our work and approached.
"Do you need another set of hands?""
I looked up.
"Can you work a hand-sewing needle?""
He nodded.
"My grandmother taught me.""
"Then you're hired.""
He grinned.
"Do I get paid?""
"With eternal gratitude and whatever snacks we can steal from catering.""
"Deal.""
For the next hour, the three of us worked without stopping.
The sewing machine rattled continuously.
Pins disappeared between fabric layers.
Scissors opened and closed.
I could feel sweat gathering beneath my hairline, but I didn't stop.
Every stitch had to be deliberate.
The new gown was different from anything I had designed before. It wasn't simply a replacement for The Atlantic Dream.
It was a response.
The blue gown had represented the ocean, the strength of surviving storms, and the dreams I had carried from Atlanta.
The pink gown would represent rebirth.
I called it Wings of Denise.
The name made my throat tighten.
At one point, Camille looked at the design sketch I had drawn on a scrap of paper.
"You're really putting your mother's name on this?""
"Yes.""
"Then make it worthy of her.""
I looked at my friend.
"That's the plan.""
Across the room, Victoria watched us.
She had changed into a white silk robe, and her gold gown was now hanging behind her.
Her assistant approached her with a tablet.
"Miss Hayes, your father is asking whether the paperwork is ready.""
Victoria lowered her voice.
"Tell him it will be.""
"What about the designer?""
Victoria glanced at me.
"She's too busy sewing a costume to notice anything.""
Her assistant hesitated.
"Are you sure this is going to work?""
Victoria's expression hardened.
"Do you want your contract renewed?""
The assistant immediately looked down.
"Yes, Miss Hayes.""
"Then stop asking questions.""
I didn't hear the exchange.
I was too busy attaching the ivory feathers.
By the time the first hour had passed, the basic structure was complete.
The bodice fit Camille perfectly.
The skirt had a soft, flowing silhouette, with several asymmetrical layers of pink silk that moved like petals whenever she walked.
The ivory wings were more complicated.
I had constructed them from lightweight mesh, thin internal supports, and hundreds of carefully arranged feathers. They extended from the upper back, curving outward and upward.
They weren't enormous in a theatrical way.
They were enormous in a way that made the gown look almost otherworldly.
Camille stepped in front of the mirror.
"Okay.""
She turned slowly.
"Okay, Nia.""
I laughed nervously.
"What?""
"You're not making a dress anymore.""
"What am I making?""
She spread her arms slightly.
"An entrance.""
I smiled.
Then the sewing machine stopped.
I frowned.
"What happened?""
Leo lifted the machine's foot pedal.
"The needle snapped.""
I looked at the clock.
Two hours and twelve minutes.
"Do we have another needle?""
He searched the supply box.
"Not this size.""
My stomach tightened.
"Check the emergency kit.""
Camille looked at the wings.
"How much more do we need?""
"The upper support seam. If it isn't secured properly, the wings could shift when you turn.""
"Then we need another needle.""
Leo returned with a small package.
"Found one.""
I exhaled.
"You're a lifesaver.""
He replaced the needle, and I continued stitching.
At that moment, a familiar voice came from behind me.
"Still playing dressmaker?""
I didn't turn.
"Go away, Victoria.""
She stepped closer.
"I heard you had a little emergency.""
"Congratulations. You can hear.""
She laughed.
"Actually, I wanted to offer some advice.""
I continued sewing.
"Keep it.""
Victoria leaned against the worktable.
"Do you honestly think the judges will take this seriously? You've gone from an expensive couture gown to something that looks like a theatrical costume.""
Camille turned.
"Why are you still here?""
Victoria ignored her.
"Look at those wings. They're enormous. You might as well enter a Halloween competition.""
I finally looked up.
"At least my design has a concept.""
Her smile thinned.
"Excuse me?""
"Your gold gown is beautiful, Victoria. But it looks like something I saw in a department-store window last Christmas.""
Camille covered her mouth.
Leo suddenly became very interested in organizing thread.
Victoria's cheeks flushed.
"You have no idea who you're speaking to.""
"I know exactly who I'm speaking to.""
She stepped closer.
"You're making a mistake, Nia.""
"No. I'm fixing one.""
For a moment, her expression changed.
The smile vanished.
Then she looked toward the gown.
"Enjoy your little performance.""
She walked away.
Camille exhaled.
"That woman is going to give me gray hair.""
I smiled.
"Finish the feather detailing.""
We returned to work.
By the time the gown was nearly complete, the backstage atmosphere had changed. The other designers had begun preparing for their final presentations.
Models were lined up.
Music cues were being tested.
The audience was entering the main hall.
Then Evelyn Brooks arrived.
Evelyn was the show's host, a respected fashion journalist and television personality known for her sharp questions and even sharper opinions.
She wore a tailored black suit, diamond earrings, and an expression that suggested she rarely had to repeat herself.
She stopped beside our station.
"Who created this?""
I straightened.
"I did. Nia Carter.""
Evelyn examined the gown without touching it.
"May I?""
"Of course.""
She circled the worktable slowly.
Her eyes moved from the structured bodice to the flowing skirt, then up toward the wings.
"These are extraordinary.""
I felt my cheeks warm.
"Thank you.""
"Why pink?""
I hesitated.
"It's connected to my mother. She was a seamstress. She left me these materials before she passed away.""
Evelyn's expression softened.
"Was the original gown also connected to her?""
"Yes. Everything I create carries something she taught me.""
Evelyn looked toward the scattered blue crystals.
"Those are from the original piece?""
"Some survived the damage.""
"Damage?""
I glanced at Camille.
Before I could answer, Evelyn noticed the torn blue fabric folded beneath the worktable.
"What happened?""
I took a breath.
"Another designer pushed me into a display table. My gown was destroyed.""
Evelyn's eyes narrowed.
"Who?""
I didn't want to start an argument.
"Victoria Hayes.""
Evelyn looked toward the far side of the room.
Victoria was speaking with two members of the production staff.
"I see.""
She turned back to the pink gown.
"Well, Miss Carter, I suggest you don't hide anything.""
"What do you mean?""
"Let the audience see every detail. The wings. The embroidery.
The movement. Don't make yourself smaller because someone else wants you to disappear.""
I felt something shift inside me.
"Thank you.""
Evelyn smiled.
"Your work deserves to be seen.""
She moved toward the entrance.
Camille grabbed my hand.
"Did that just happen?""
I nodded.
"Yes.""
"She liked it.""
"She really liked it.""
For a few seconds, I allowed myself to believe that everything might be okay.
Then a production assistant hurried toward us.
"Miss Carter?""
"Yes?""
"There's a problem with your official entry.""
My stomach tightened.
"What problem?""
He held up a printed program.
I took it.
My eyes moved down the list of finalists until I found my name.
NIA CARTER.
But beside it, the words I had expected to see were gone.
The program had originally listed my entry as:
*Original Couture Design — Wings of Denise.*
Someone had crossed out the description in thick black ink.
In its place was a new label.
*Reconstructed Concept — Adapted Materials, Authorship Under Review.*
I stared at it.
"What is this?""
The assistant shifted uncomfortably.
"I'm sorry. The production office issued the revision.""
"Who authorized it?""
"I don't know.""
I looked toward Evelyn, but she was already leaving the backstage area.
Camille took the program from my hands.
"This is ridiculous.""
I turned toward the assistant.
"Who changed my entry?""
He swallowed.
"Mr. Hayes submitted a formal complaint.""
"Mr. Hayes?""
"Richard Hayes. Victoria's father.""
My mouth went dry.
"What did he claim?""
The assistant looked down.
"He provided documentation suggesting that your design may not be entirely original.""
I stared at him.
My mother had designed the foundation of my life.
But this gown?
Every seam, every pattern, every detail?
That was mine.
And suddenly, I understood why Victoria had been so confident when she watched me rebuild the dress.
She hadn't been worried about the competition.
She had been waiting for something.
Camille grabbed my arm.
"Nia, look.""
She pointed toward the printed program.
Beneath the revised description was a small line of text.
*Supporting evidence submitted by Hayes Luxury Group.*
I looked across the room.
Victoria stood beside her father, holding a champagne glass.
She raised it slightly when our eyes met.
Then she mouthed two words.
May you like
Good luck.
And I realized the destruction of my original gown might have been only the beginning.
