Chapter 3: The Secret Her Mother Left Behind
For several seconds, nobody in the ballroom spoke.
The photograph remained raised in Eleanor Brooks's hand.
Nia stared at the image of her mother.
It had been taken eight years earlier, during a small student fashion exhibition. Her mother, Olivia Carter, wore a cream blouse and a warm smile. Nia stood beside her in a homemade dress, holding a sketchbook nearly as large as her chest.
It was one of the happiest days of Nia's childhood.
She had thought the photograph was lost.
“Where did you get that?”” Nia asked.
Eleanor lowered it.
“Your mother gave it to me.””
Nia swallowed.
“You knew my mother?””
“I did.””
Vanessa stepped forward.
“That's enough. This has nothing to do with the competition.””
Eleanor turned slowly.
“Actually, Mrs. Vale, I believe it has everything to do with it.””
Vanessa forced a laugh.
“Olivia was a lovely woman, but she had no professional background in fashion. I don't understand why we're discussing her.””
Nia flinched at the casual dismissal.
Eleanor noticed.
“Your mother wasn't a professional fashion designer,” she said.
“But she understood construction, fabric, and craftsmanship better than many people who call themselves professionals.””
Vanessa folded her arms.
“That's your opinion.””
“No,” Eleanor replied.
“It's based on thirty years of work.””
She turned toward Nia.
“When you were nine, your mother contacted me about your drawings. She sent me photographs of your first designs. I remember one in particular. A red princess dress with tiny embroidered flowers along the waist.””
Nia looked down.
“That was my first design.””
“I know. I still have the photograph.””
A wave of emotion moved across Nia's face.
“My mother told me it was silly.””
Eleanor shook her head.
“Your mother told me you were afraid people would laugh at you. She asked whether I could give you some encouragement.””
Nia's eyes began to sting.
Eleanor continued.
“I told her that talent doesn't become less valuable because the person who possesses it is young. And I told her to make sure you kept drawing.””
Nia glanced toward the photograph again.
“I did.””
“I can see that.””
Vanessa made an impatient sound.
“This is becoming ridiculous. We came here to judge a fashion competition, not listen to a sentimental family story.””
Eleanor didn't move.
“Then let's return to the fashion competition.””
She walked toward the judging desk.
“Brianna Vale, may I ask you something?””
Brianna stood rigidly beside the blue gown.
“Yes.””
“Did you design the sapphire gown?””
Brianna's eyes flickered toward Vanessa.
“Yes.””
“Did you create the original pattern?””
“Yes.””
“Did you draw the first sketch?””
Brianna hesitated.
“Yes.””
Eleanor nodded.
“Then you should have no difficulty explaining the construction.””
She pointed at the bodice.
“Why did you choose this particular internal structure?””
Brianna looked down.
“I wanted it to be fitted.””
“That's not an answer. I'm asking about the structure.””
“I wanted it to hold its shape.””
“Which technique did you use?””
Brianna pressed her lips together.
Vanessa stepped in.
“She doesn't need to explain every little technical detail.””
Eleanor looked at her.
“Every designer should be able to explain her own work.””
Brianna's cheeks turned red.
“I worked with a seamstress,” she said.
“Who was that?””
“Our family seamstress.””
“What is her name?””
Brianna glanced toward Vanessa again.
“Mrs. Patterson.””
“Was she involved in the pattern?””
“No. Just the sewing.””
Eleanor nodded.
“Then perhaps you can explain the pattern.””
Brianna swallowed.
“I don't remember.””
A judge exchanged a look with another judge.
Eleanor turned toward Nia.
“Miss Carter, would you explain the structure of this gown?””
Nia approached the blue dress.
She was careful not to touch it.
“The bodice was designed with an internal boned foundation, but the original pattern included a curved seam here.””
She pointed toward the side of the waist.
“The curve was intended to reduce pressure across the ribs. The jeweled vine was supposed to cover the seam, but it was also a visual guide to the bodice's structure.””
Eleanor nodded.
“And the skirt?””
“Each layer has a different length and stiffness. The outer satin has a softer drape, while the inner layers provide volume. The original design included a small hidden support panel at the back so the train wouldn't pull against the waist.””
Eleanor examined the dress.
Then she looked at the red gown.
“And did you use the same principles here?””
“Yes, but I changed the structure. The red gown has a stronger foundation because the crystal work adds weight.””
“How did you distribute that weight?””
Nia explained.
The conversation continued for several minutes.
With every answer, her voice became more confident.
She described fabric ratios, seam placement, crystal spacing, hidden fastenings, and the way she had tested the skirt's movement.
The judges listened.
Brianna stood silently.
Then Eleanor asked the question everyone was waiting for.
“Miss Carter, if you designed the sapphire gown first, why didn't you present it tonight?””
Nia took a breath.
“Because it was taken from me.””
Vanessa's chair scraped against the floor.
“That's a lie!””
The room fell silent.
Nia looked at her stepmother.
“I have the original drawings. I have the receipts. I have photographs of the construction. I even have a video with the original date.””
“You made those designs while living under my roof,” Vanessa snapped.
“You had access to everything because I allowed you to stay here.””
Nia's eyes sharpened.
“You allowed me to stay?””
Vanessa realized she had said too much.
She looked toward the cameras.
“That's not what I meant.””
But Nia had heard enough.
“You took my sewing machine. You locked my supplies away. You gave my sketches to Brianna. And when I asked you to return them, you told me I had no right to complain.””
Vanessa's voice dropped.
“You should be grateful.””
“For what?””
“For everything we've provided you!””
Nia looked around the ballroom.
Then she glanced at the red crystals catching the light.
“You didn't provide this.””
Vanessa stared at her.
“No. I didn't.””
“You didn't teach me to sew.””
“No.””
“You didn't teach me to design.””
Vanessa's jaw tightened.
“You're making a scene.””
Nia turned toward the audience.
“I'm telling the truth.””
Brianna suddenly stepped forward.
“Mom, stop!””
Vanessa looked at her daughter in disbelief.
“What?””
“Just stop talking.””
“Nobody asked you to speak.””
Brianna's face twisted.
“You promised me nobody would find out.””
Vanessa froze.
The sentence hung in the air.
Nia looked at Brianna.
“What did you just say?””
Brianna blinked rapidly.
“I didn't mean—”
“You promised her what?””
Vanessa grabbed her daughter's wrist.
“Brianna, come with me.””
Brianna pulled away.
“No!””
The audience watched in stunned silence.
Brianna looked at Nia.
“You don't understand. Mom said she was going to fix everything.””
Nia's voice became quiet.
“Fix what?””
“The original designs.””
Nia felt her stomach tighten.
Brianna continued.
“She told me you had agreed to let me use them.””
Nia shook her head.
“I never agreed to that.””
“I know that now.””
“Now?””
Brianna looked toward Vanessa.
Her expression was no longer arrogant. It was frightened.
“She told me you didn't care about fashion anymore. She said you were giving up because you couldn't handle the competition.””
Nia stared at her.
“And you believed her?””
Brianna didn't answer.
Nia's voice cracked.
“You watched me sew those sketches. You watched me work on that gown for months.””
Brianna wiped her eyes.
“I know.””
“You saw me crying when she took them.””
“I know.””
“And you still wore it?””
Brianna lowered her head.
“I thought if I won, everything would be different.””
Nia's face hardened.
“Different for whom?””
Brianna looked away.
Vanessa marched toward the stage.
“This is over. We're leaving.””
But Eleanor stepped between her and the runway.
“No one is stopping you from leaving, Mrs. Vale. But the judges still have a decision to make.””
Vanessa looked at her.
“What decision?””
Eleanor glanced at the documents spread across the table.
“The authenticity of the entries, for one.””
Vanessa's voice became sharp.
“You can't disqualify my daughter based on the word of an angry teenager.””
Eleanor raised an eyebrow.
“I'm not basing anything on her word.””
She pointed toward Nia's documentation.
“We have dated sketches, original receipts, construction photographs, video evidence, and a substantial technical demonstration.””
Then she looked at Brianna.
“Do you have any original design materials?””
Brianna remained silent.
Vanessa answered for her.
“Of course she does.””
“Where are they?””
“At home.””
“Can you provide them?””
Vanessa's lips parted.
No answer came.
Eleanor turned to the host.
“I would also like to request that the competition's records be reviewed. Specifically, the original registration documents and the identity of the person who submitted each design.””
The host nodded.
“Our administrative team can retrieve those records.””
Nia felt a strange mixture of relief and dread.
She had wanted to be seen.
But she had never imagined standing in front of hundreds of people while the secrets of her family were pulled apart.
A woman from the competition's administration hurried onto the stage carrying a folder.
“Mr. Reynolds,” she said to the host, “we've found something.””
The host took the folder.
“What is it?””
She glanced at Vanessa before answering.
“The registration for Brianna's gown was submitted electronically. However, the original design ownership declaration is signed by someone else.””
The host frowned.
“Someone else?””
The administrator nodded.
“Yes.””
Nia felt her heartbeat quicken.
“Who?””
The administrator opened the folder and turned it around.
A signature appeared at the bottom of the page.
*Olivia Carter.*
Nia went cold.
Her mother had been dead for three years.
She stared at the paper.
“That isn't possible.””
Vanessa's face changed.
Brianna whispered, “Mom?””
Nia stepped toward the administrator.
“May I see that?””
The woman hesitated, then handed her the document.
Nia studied the signature.
It looked like her mother's handwriting.
The same sweeping O.
The same small loop at the end of the surname.
But the date was impossible.
Her mother had died long before the registration had been submitted.
Eleanor took the paper.
“Who provided this document?””
The administrator checked the attached notes.
“Mrs. Vale.””
Everyone turned toward Vanessa.
For the first time, she had nothing to say.
Nia looked at her stepmother.
“You used my mother's name?””
Vanessa's eyes darted toward the exits.
“That's not what happened.””
“Then explain it.””
“It was a misunderstanding.””
“Her signature?””
Vanessa swallowed.
“I had permission.””
“From a woman who was dead?””
A few people gasped.
Vanessa's hands trembled.
“You have no idea what you're talking about.””
Nia held up the document.
“Then why is her signature here?””
Vanessa looked toward Brianna.
“Tell them.””
Brianna shook her head.
“No.””
“Tell them what we discussed!””
“No, Mom!””
Vanessa stepped toward her.
“Brianna, don't you dare.””
Brianna's eyes filled with tears.
Then she looked at Nia.
“Mom told me the original sketches belonged to her.””
Nia couldn't speak.
Brianna continued.
“She said your mother had left the designs to her when she died.””
“That isn't true.””
“I know.””
“How do you know?””
Brianna reached into the pocket of her blue gown and removed a small folded note.
“I found this in Mom's desk last week.””
Vanessa lunged toward her.
“Give me that!””
Brianna stepped back.
“No!””
She handed the paper to Nia.
Nia unfolded it with trembling fingers.
The handwriting was familiar.
Not Vanessa's.
Not Brianna's.
Her mother's.
It was a short note, written on pale yellow stationery.
Nia, if you ever discover that someone has used my name or taken your designs, please don't stay silent. I kept the original records because I knew what could happen. Ask Eleanor Brooks about the red envelope.
Nia read it twice.
Then a third time.
“What's the red envelope?”” she whispered.
Eleanor's expression changed.
She looked at Nia, then toward Vanessa.
“Your mother told me to keep it safe until you were old enough to understand what was inside.””
Vanessa's face went completely white.
“Eleanor,” she said, almost pleading.
“Don't.””
Nia looked up.
“What is in that envelope?””
Eleanor closed her portfolio.
Then she walked toward Nia and placed one hand gently on her shoulder.
“Something your mother wanted you to have.””
The room was silent.
Nia stared at Eleanor.
“Why didn't you give it to me before?””
“Because your mother asked me to wait until you were ready to stand up for yourself.””
Nia's throat tightened.
“Am I ready now?””
Eleanor looked at the ruby gown.
Then at the sapphire gown.
Then at Vanessa, who was now gripping the edge of the judges' table.
“I believe you are.””
Eleanor turned toward the stage manager.
“Bring me the red envelope.””
A few moments later, an assistant appeared carrying a small leather case.
Eleanor opened it.
Inside was a sealed red envelope bearing Nia's name.
But when Eleanor turned it over, Nia noticed something written across the back.
It wasn't a message from her mother.
It was a name.
*Vanessa Vale.*
And beneath it, in her mother's handwriting, were the words:
The truth about the woman who took my place.
Nia looked up.
May you like
Vanessa took one frightened step backward.
And Eleanor began breaking the seal.
