Chapter 5: The Secret My Father Kept
My father stared at the photograph for so long that the sounds of the competition seemed to fade behind us.
The black paint covered most of the glowing design, but a few thin pink lines remained visible near the edge of one petal. Under ordinary light, they looked like an accidental stain.
Dad knew better.
I could see it in his face.
“Daniel,” Vanessa said softly, “you're upsetting yourself over nothing.””
He didn't look at her.
“Who took this picture?””
“I told you. Someone sent it to me,” I replied.
“Did you recognize the room?””
“Not at first. Ethan thinks it's the prop room.””
Dad's jaw tightened.
“The prop room?””
Vanessa took a step toward him.
“Daniel, please. This isn't the time.””
He turned toward her.
“Did you know someone had painted the wings?””
She hesitated.
Only for a moment.
But it was enough.
“Nobody painted anything,” she said.
“Nia is trying to make Brianna look bad.””
Dad looked back at the photograph.
“Then why are you afraid of it?””
Vanessa's mouth opened, then closed.
I had never heard my father speak to her like that.
Not once.
For years, he had allowed her to control the temperature of every room she entered. If she was angry, he softened his voice. If she complained, he searched for a compromise. If she accused me of being difficult, he asked me to apologize so dinner could continue peacefully.
Now he was standing between us, holding a photograph of my ruined costume, and refusing to look away.
“Daniel,” Vanessa said, her voice trembling with indignation, “you cannot seriously believe your daughter over me.””
He closed his eyes briefly.
“I haven't decided what I believe.””
“Then why are you questioning me?””
“Because you keep telling me what to believe before I can ask a question.””
Silence filled the room.
I looked at my father, scarcely recognizing him.
Then the host's voice came through the wall.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the final round will begin in ten minutes!””
Vanessa seized the announcement like a lifeline.
“Brianna needs me.””
She turned toward the door.
Dad stepped aside, but before she could leave, he spoke again.
“Don't touch the costume.””
Vanessa froze.
“What?””
“Don't touch it. Don't alter it. Don't move it. If there's a problem, let the organizers handle it.””
Her eyes flashed.
“You're taking her side.””
“I'm telling you to leave the evidence alone.””
She looked at me with such naked hatred that I felt the room grow smaller.
Then she walked out.
The door remained open behind her.
For a moment, Dad and I stood in silence.
I waited for him to apologize. To explain why he had ignored my complaints for so long. To tell me he believed me.
Instead, he asked, “Where did you get the fluorescent pigment?””
I frowned.
“From a theatrical supply store. Why?””
“Did your mother teach you how to use it?””
“Yes.””
He sat down heavily.
“Of course she did.””
I moved closer.
“Dad, what's going on?””
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Your mother used to mark her original costumes with a hidden signature. She called it her rose seal.””
I felt a chill.
“The glowing rose?””
He nodded.
“She developed the technique years ago when she was working at the community theater. She used it on her most important designs. The initials were always hidden beneath the stitching.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
His eyes met mine.
“Because I thought you'd forgotten about it.””
I stared at him.
“Forgotten what?””
He looked toward the open doorway.
“Your mother didn't just leave you a sewing box, Nia. She left behind a collection of original designs. Some were sketches, some were finished costumes, and some were patterns she planned to develop later.””
“I know about the sketches.””
“Not all of them.””
He reached into his jacket and removed a folded piece of paper.
It was an old photograph, creased down the center.
A younger version of my mother stood in a theater workshop, wearing a simple black dress. Behind her was a pair of enormous crimson wings.
My breath caught.
They were unmistakably the same design.
The same sweeping shape. The same black velvet veins. The same copper framework.
Only the roses were different. My mother's version had been made with red feathers and silk leaves.
“Where did you get this?”” I whispered.
“I found it in a box in the attic a few months ago. I was looking for some old tax papers.””
I studied the photograph.
“Why didn't you show me?””
“Because I didn't know what to say.””
“Dad, it's a picture of Mom's work.””
“I know.””
“Did she make the original rose angel?””
He nodded slowly.
“She was developing it for a theater production before she got sick. She never finished the full costume.””
I looked at the photograph again.
The hidden rose seal wasn't visible, but I knew where it would be.
My mother had drawn the same shape in her notebook.
“Why does this matter now?”” I asked.
Dad looked at me with an expression I couldn't read.
“Because the design was part of a collection that your mother had hoped to license. She was in discussions with a costume company before she died.””
My stomach tightened.
“A costume company?””
“Yes. They were interested in several of her concepts, including the rose angel. After she died, the discussions stopped.””
“Why?””
He looked down at his hands.
“Because I couldn't bring myself to go through her work. I packed everything away.””
I thought of Vanessa's interest in my costume. The way she had examined the wings. The way she had asked whether I had made every part myself.
“Does Vanessa know about the collection?””
Dad didn't answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
“Dad?””
“She found the boxes last year.””
My throat tightened.
“What?””
“She was helping me clear the attic. She found your mother's sketches and asked about them. I told her they were personal keepsakes.””
“And she kept looking at them?””
“I don't know.””
I stared at him.
“You don't know?””
He flinched.
“I should have paid more attention.””
I wanted to shout at him. I wanted to ask why he always seemed to discover the truth only after the damage had been done.
Instead, I asked the one question that mattered most.
“Did Vanessa know I was making the rose angel?””
He nodded.
“She saw the photograph of your first sketch on the family computer. She asked me about it.””
“And what did you tell her?””
“That it was inspired by your mother's work.””
The room seemed to tilt.
I sat down.
“She knew.””
Dad looked miserable.
“I think so.””
“No,” I said quietly.
“She knew exactly what it was.””
He leaned forward.
“Nia, I need you to listen to me. Whatever happens tonight, don't let this turn into a fight about money or ownership. Your mother's work was important, but I don't want you to—”
“Money?””
I looked at him in disbelief.
“Dad, I spent three hundred hours making a costume. Vanessa and Brianna stole it. Someone painted over my signature. And you're worried this will turn into a fight about money?””
He recoiled.
“That's not what I meant.””
“Then what did you mean?””
He opened his mouth, but no answer came.
I stood up.
“You keep asking me to be patient. You keep telling me to avoid making things worse. But every time I do that, someone takes another piece of my life.””
“Nia—”
“No. You don't get to tell me to be quiet anymore.””
His face crumpled.
For a moment, he looked like the man who had held me when my mother died. The father who used to carry me on his shoulders at the county fair. The man who had promised that our family would always protect one another.
Then he looked away.
And I understood that loving someone didn't automatically make them brave.
“I need to get back to the competition,” I said.
He rose.
“I'm coming with you.””
“You don't have to.””
“I know.””
We returned to the backstage corridor together.
Maya hurried toward me.
“There you are! The judges are asking for you.””
“What happened?””
“Mr. Collins found the costume. It's in the prop room, and they're keeping everyone away from it.””
“Did they find out who painted it?””
“Not yet. But there's something else.””
She lowered her voice.
“Brianna is telling people you gave her the costume as a gift.””
I closed my eyes.
Of course she was.
“What about Vanessa?””
“She told the event manager that you're having an emotional episode and shouldn't be allowed onstage.””
Dad heard that.
His expression hardened.
“Who said that?””
Maya looked at him.
“Vanessa.””
He turned toward the dressing rooms.
“I'll deal with her.””
I caught his arm.
“Wait.””
He looked at me.
“Don't argue with her. Don't threaten her. Just ask the organizers to document what she's saying.””
He studied my face.
Then he nodded.
“All right.””
For the first time, he seemed willing to let me tell him what I needed instead of deciding what was best for me.
Mr. Collins appeared at the end of the corridor.
“Nia, your father, please come with me. We've located the costume.””
We followed him to a small storage room.
The crimson wings lay on a padded table. The black paint had dried into a rough, uneven layer across the center of each wing. Whoever had applied it had worked quickly, smearing the pigment over the silk and pressing the brush into the fabric.
I moved closer.
“Can it be removed?””
Mr. Collins shook his head.
“Not without risking damage to the material. The fabric technician says the paint may have bonded with the textile medium.””
I touched the edge of one petal.
My work.
My mother's design.
My name.
All of it buried beneath someone else's attempt to erase it.
Maya stood beside me, her eyes wet.
“I'm so sorry.””
I swallowed.
“It's okay.””
It wasn't.
But I wasn't going to let the person who did this decide how I felt about my own creation.
Ethan entered the room carrying a clear plastic evidence bag.
“We found this beside the table.””
Inside was a small paintbrush with a black handle.
Mr. Collins frowned.
“Did anyone identify it?””
“It's from the prop room. But there's something else.””
He held up a temporary staff badge.
The photograph was blurry, but the name was readable.
*VANESSA HAYES — EVENT VOLUNTEER.*
My father went completely still.
“That can't be right.””
Ethan looked at him.
“It's the badge that was signed out at 4:08 p.m. The person who signed for it wrote Vanessa's name.””
Dad stared at the badge.
“Who signed it out?””
“The log says Vanessa Hayes.””
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Dad turned toward me.
His voice was barely audible.
“She told me she was at the hotel arranging Brianna's makeup appointment.””
I felt a cold certainty settle over me.
Vanessa hadn't merely known about the costume.
She had come to the venue, entered the prop room, and tried to destroy the evidence.
But why?
Why would she risk being caught when Brianna was already presenting the costume as her own?
Mr. Collins closed the evidence bag.
“We'll give this to the event manager. The competition can continue, but the judges will need to decide whether Brianna's entry violates the rules.””
My father shook his head slowly.
“This is unbelievable.””
I looked at him.
“No, Dad. It's just the first time you've seen it.””
He looked as though I had struck him.
Then the stage manager appeared at the door.
“Mr. Collins, we're ready for the final round. The host is asking whether the contestants are prepared.””
Mr. Collins glanced at the wings.
“Tell him we'll proceed with the scheduled presentations. The costume evidence will remain secured.””
The stage manager nodded and left.
I stepped away from the table.
“I'm ready.””
Maya looked at me.
“Are you sure?””
I nodded.
“I'm not going to let her ruin the one thing I made for myself.””
As I walked toward the stage, I heard my father call my name.
I turned.
He stood beside the damaged wings, holding the old photograph of my mother.
“Nia,” he said, “there's something else you need to know.””
His voice trembled.
“Your mother didn't just hide her signature in the costumes. She also kept a record of every original design she created.””
I stared at him.
“Where?””
He looked toward Vanessa's dressing room.
“Your stepmother has been trying to find those records for months.””
Before I could ask why, the stage lights flashed.
The host announced the final round.
May you like
And from the auditorium, I heard Brianna's voice rise above the applause.
“I'm ready to show everyone the costume that will win me five thousand dollars!””
