The Gown My Father Stole From Me

"Dad?""

The word barely came out.

My father looked at me.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then he started walking toward the table.

His cane struck the marble with a slow, uneven rhythm.

Vanessa rushed forward.

"Daniel, what are you doing here?""

He didn't look at her.

"Trying to attend my daughter's wedding reception.""

"You're supposed to be resting.""

"I've been resting for eight months, Vanessa. I'm tired of resting.""

She reached for his arm.

He pulled away.

"Don't.""

The single word stopped her.

I stood so quickly that my chair fell backward.

My father looked at the gown.

His eyes moved over the tiny glass panels, the embroidered seams, the light reflecting from the crystals.

He smiled sadly.

"Your mother would have cried if she'd seen this.""

I swallowed.

"How did you know I was here?""

"Margaret called me.""

"Why didn't you tell me about the letter?""

He lowered his eyes.

"Because I hoped I would never have to explain it.""

I stared at him.

"Did you order someone to forge my signature?""

He nodded.

"Yes.""

"On a document that could have taken everything I ever created?""

"Yes.""

The simplicity of his answer hurt more than an excuse would have.

I stepped back.

"How could you?""

My father looked toward the evidence on the table.

"I believed Vanessa was preparing to take your designs. I thought I could create a trap. A false document. Something that would expose what she intended to do.""

"You could have told me.""

"I should have.""

"You could have called me.""

"I should have.""

"You could have asked me what I wanted.""

His eyes filled.

"I should have done that, too.""

I shook my head.

"Do you know what it felt like to stand in that hospital room and wonder why you weren't telling me the truth?""

He closed his eyes.

"Yes.""

"No, you don't.""

The words came out louder than I intended.

A few guests looked away.

My father took a careful breath.

"You were the only person I ever wanted to spare from this family.""

I laughed bitterly.

"Then why was I the person you used?""

He had no answer.

Vanessa stepped forward.

"This is exactly why I told you not to come, Daniel. Camille has turned everyone against us.""

My father slowly turned.

"Us?""

She lifted her chin.

"We built this company together.""

"No. I built Laurent House. You married me.""

Her face hardened.

"I managed it when you couldn't.""

"You managed the parts I trusted you with.""

"I kept it alive.""

"You used your position to take a young woman's work.""

"She's not a child.""

"No," he said.

"She's my daughter.""

Brianna approached from behind Vanessa.

"Mom, please don't.""

Vanessa turned sharply.

"Not now, Brianna.""

Brianna looked at my father.

"Did you really make that fake agreement?""

"Yes.""

"Why?""

"Because I thought your mother was preparing to take Camille's work.""

Brianna shook her head.

"You always thought Camille was the only one who mattered.""

My father looked at her.

"That isn't true.""

"She had the studio. She had your attention. You gave her everything.""

"I gave her the resources to build something of her own.""

"And what did you give me?""

My father was silent for a moment.

Then he answered.

"I gave you too much of what you didn't earn.""

Brianna flinched.

Vanessa seized her daughter's wrist.

"Come away from him.""

Brianna pulled free.

"Mom, stop.""

"Do you have any idea what he's doing? He's humiliating us.""

"No," Brianna whispered.

"He's telling the truth.""

Vanessa stared at her.

I watched Brianna's expression change.

She wasn't looking at my father anymore.

She was looking at the gown.

At the sleeve she had grabbed.

At the place where her ring had scraped the delicate glass embroidery.

"Camille," she said quietly.

I didn't answer.

She looked down at her wedding dress.

"Mom told me you had signed everything away.""

"And you believed her.""

"She showed me the agreement.""

"So did she show you the medical records?""

Brianna's eyes filled.

"No.""

"Did she tell you I was unconscious when the document was supposedly signed?""

"No.""

"Did you ever ask?""

Brianna shook her head.

I took a breath.

"You wanted to wear my designs.""

"Yes.""

"Why?""

She looked at her mother.

"Because she said the company needed me. She said I could finally have a place of my own.""

I stared at her.

"You could have made your own collection.""

"I tried.""

"Then why didn't you?""

Her voice broke.

"Because everything I made was compared to what you made.""

I had no answer for that.

Brianna looked down at her hands.

"Mom said the stained-glass collection would be ours. She said I could present it as my first major collection and the company would belong to me one day.""

My father gripped his cane.

"She promised you the company?""

Brianna nodded.

"She said it was already arranged.""

He looked at Vanessa.

"How long have you been telling her that?""

Vanessa's face went red.

"Don't pretend you didn't promise her a future.""

"I promised both of you a family. I didn't promise either of you my daughter's work.""

Brianna took a shaky breath.

"There is something else.""

Vanessa turned.

"Don't.""

Brianna looked at me.

"The sketches didn't disappear by themselves.""

My stomach tightened.

"What do you mean?""

She wiped her cheek.

"I took photographs of them.""

The ballroom seemed to tilt.

"From my studio?""

She nodded.

"When?""

"Before your accident. And after.""

I stared at her.

"Why?""

"Mom asked me to. She said she wanted to prepare a business proposal for Dad.""

My father shut his eyes.

Brianna continued.

"I gave her the photographs. I gave her measurements, fabric notes, even the order of the panels. I thought she was going to ask Dad to let me work with you.""

"You knew I didn't authorize it.""

"I thought you would eventually agree.""

"Why?""

"Because you always wanted Dad to be happy.""

That sentence hurt in a place I hadn't expected.

Brianna stepped closer.

"I didn't know the agreement was forged. I swear I didn't.""

Vanessa laughed sharply.

"That's enough.""

Brianna looked at her.

"No, Mom. It isn't.""

She reached into the small bag hanging from her wrist and removed her phone.

"I have something.""

Vanessa's eyes widened.

"What are you doing?""

"Showing them.""

She unlocked her phone and approached Judge Harris.

"My mother sent me messages about the collection. I saved them because I thought they were important.""

Judge Harris accepted the phone.

"May I see?""

Brianna nodded.

He scrolled through several conversations.

His expression grew more serious.

"Miss Laurent, did you send these messages to your mother?""

"No. She sent them to me.""

He read one aloud.

"'Once Daniel signs off on the transfer, Camille won't be able to stop us. We can put your name on the collection and have her challenge it publicly if she wants.''"

The blood drained from Brianna's face.

Another message followed.

"'Do not mention the hospital. The document is already dated. All we need is for everyone to treat it as final.''"

I looked at Vanessa.

She stared at her daughter as if she had slapped her.

"Give me that phone.""

Brianna stepped away.

"No.""

"That's private.""

"It's evidence.""

Vanessa reached for it.

My father moved between them.

"Enough.""

She glared at him.

"You have destroyed everything.""

He looked at her.

"No, Vanessa. You did that yourself.""

Judge Harris asked Brianna to forward the messages to Daniel Price.

My attorney accepted the phone and began making copies.

For the first time, Vanessa looked genuinely frightened.

Mr. Whitmore leaned toward her.

"Vanessa, I need you to understand that I cannot continue representing you if you have withheld material evidence from me.""

She stared at him.

"You're my lawyer.""

"I am not your accomplice.""

The reception guests began whispering.

A few people moved away from Vanessa.

Others stared openly.

Brianna removed her engagement ring and placed it on the table.

"I can't do this.""

Ethan approached her.

"Brianna?""

She shook her head.

"I can't stand here and pretend this is a celebration.""

He looked at the documents.

Then at the damaged sleeve of my gown.

Then at her.

"I don't want you to pretend.""

He took her hand.

My father lowered himself into the nearest chair.

The confrontation seemed to have exhausted him.

I went to him despite everything.

"Are you all right?""

He nodded, but his breathing was shallow.

"Just tired.""

I knelt beside him.

"Did you really believe you could control Vanessa with a fake agreement?""

He looked at me.

"I believed I knew her.""

"And you didn't.""

"No.""

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket.

"There is one more thing you should have.""

He took out a small white envelope.

My name was written across it.

I opened it carefully.

Inside was a photograph of my mother.

She was standing beneath a stained-glass window, laughing, with her hands raised to the sunlight.

On the back, my father had written:

The first person who taught me that beautiful things should never belong to the person who can afford them. They belong to the person who creates them.

I looked up.

My father's eyes were wet.

"Your mother believed in you before I knew how to.""

I pressed the photograph against my chest.

"Why didn't you tell me all this sooner?""

He swallowed.

"Because I was afraid you would never forgive me.""

I looked at the man who had taught me how to sew.

The man who had held my hand in the hospital.

The man who had ordered someone to copy my signature and believed he could protect me with a lie.

"I don't know whether I can," I said.

He nodded.