Chapter 5: My Father Had Kept a Secret
I found my father in the garage that evening.
He was standing beside the old sewing machine, holding the charred remains of my original gown in both hands.
He hadn't noticed me.
For a moment, I watched him examine the blackened silk.
His shoulders were bent.
His face looked older than it had that morning.
"Dad?""
He turned sharply.
Then he carefully placed the fabric on the workbench.
"You're home early.""
I stepped inside.
"Julian Vale showed me a contract.""
Dad went completely still.
I had never seen that expression on his face before.
Not when he lost his job during the recession.
Not when he stood beside my hospital bed after the accident.
Not even when Vanessa moved into our house and began treating my mother's belongings like unwanted furniture.
He looked as though he'd been waiting for a storm that had finally arrived.
"What contract?"" he asked.
"The one about Mom's dress.""
He looked away.
I felt my stomach tighten.
"You knew.""
Dad rubbed his face.
"Nia, there's a lot you don't understand.""
"Then explain it.""
He walked toward the workbench and sat down.
For several seconds, he stared at the floor.
Finally, he spoke.
"Your mother was struggling financially in the months before the accident. She'd been taking extra commissions, trying to save enough money to rent a proper studio.""
"I know.""
"Vanessa approached her with an offer. She wanted an elaborate gown for a charity gala, something that would attract attention from wealthy donors and fashion people.""
I remembered the photograph Julian had shown us.
My mother beside a half-finished gown.
Her face bright with hope.
"Mom agreed?""
"She did. She worked on that dress for months. She wanted the commission because it paid well, and because Vanessa promised to introduce her to several people in the fashion industry.""
"What happened?""
Dad looked at me.
"Vanessa changed the terms after the gown was finished. She claimed your mother had used ideas that belonged to another designer. She refused to pay the balance.""
"But the design was Mom's.""
"I know.""
"Then why didn't you stop her?""
He closed his eyes.
"Because I made a terrible mistake.""
The words hung between us.
Dad explained that Vanessa had shown him a document claiming the gown's design belonged to a business associate. She threatened to accuse my mother of copying it and damage her reputation before she could establish her own studio.
My father had been frightened.
He was worried about legal costs, worried about our finances, and worried that my mother would be dragged into an expensive dispute.
So he signed an agreement acknowledging that the design's ownership was unresolved until the commission was paid.
He thought it would buy time.
Instead, it gave Vanessa leverage.
"Why didn't Mom tell me?"" I asked.
"She didn't want you worrying about money. You were still a child.""
I felt anger rising in my chest.
"And after she died?""
Dad's face crumpled.
"I thought the matter was over.""
"How could it be over? She never got paid.""
"I know.""
"She worked for months, Dad. She had a dream.""
"I know, Nia!""
His voice echoed through the garage.
He immediately lowered his head.
"I'm sorry.""
I stared at him.
He had always been the parent who tried to make everything better. Even when he failed, he'd found a way to keep us moving forward.
But this was different.
He had known that someone had taken advantage of my mother.
And he'd said nothing.
"Did Vanessa ever pay her anything?""
"She paid the deposit. Not the balance.""
"How much was the balance?""
Dad told me.
I almost couldn't believe the number.
It was enough to have changed our lives back then.
Enough to help my mother rent a studio.
Enough to buy a better sewing machine.
Enough to give her a chance.
"Why did you marry Vanessa?"" I whispered.
Dad looked at me as though I'd struck him.
"After your mother died, I was lost. Vanessa was there. She helped with the house, took care of you when I was working, and convinced me she wanted to give us a stable family.""
"And the contract?""
He looked down.
"I told myself it was an old disagreement. I thought the past would stay buried.""
I shook my head.
"You let her insult Mom's work while she was living in our house.""
"I didn't know she was doing that.""
"You let Brianna destroy my dress.""
His eyes filled with tears.
"I know.""
"No, Dad. You don't know.""
I stepped away from the workbench.
"Every time Brianna made fun of my eye, Vanessa stood there and smiled. Every time someone praised my designs, they found a way to make me feel small. And I kept thinking I was the problem.""
Dad stood.
"Nia, you were never the problem.""
"Then why did you let them treat me like I was?""
He reached toward me.
I stepped back.
His hand fell to his side.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, "I can't undo what happened. But I can help you put it right.""
I looked at the burned dress.
"What does that mean?""
"I'll contact a lawyer. We'll find out what rights your mother left behind. We'll make sure Vanessa cannot use her work again.""
I wanted to believe him.
I really did.
But trust was like fabric.
Once torn, it couldn't always be repaired by simply pulling the edges together.
"I need time," I said.
He nodded.
"I understand.""
I left the garage and went upstairs to my room.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I lay beneath my blanket, listening to the house settle around me.
Somewhere down the hallway, Brianna laughed at a video on her phone.
A door slammed.
Vanessa's footsteps crossed the landing.
Then everything went quiet.
I thought about my mother.
About her sketchbook.
About the letter I'd found.
And about the contract Dad had signed.
I had always believed my mother's greatest legacy was the dream she'd left me.
Now I wondered whether it was also a warning.
Never let someone else's fear convince you to surrender what you know is right.
At seven the next morning, I found an envelope beneath my bedroom door.
No name.
No return address.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed my mother standing in front of a dressmaker's mannequin, smiling beside the original sapphire gown.
Someone had written on the back:
She knew what Vanessa was planning. Ask Marcus about the night before the accident.
My hands began to shake.
The night before the accident.
I remembered that evening in fragments.
My mother had been unusually quiet at dinner.
Dad had gone outside to take a phone call.
My mother had kissed my forehead and told me she loved me.
Then she'd returned to her sewing room and worked late into the night.
I had assumed she'd been finishing a commission.
Now I wondered what she'd been trying to protect.
I took the photograph downstairs.
Dad was making coffee.
"Where did this come from?"" I asked.
He turned.
The moment he saw the image, the color drained from his face.
"Nia, where did you get that?""
"Someone left it under my door.""
He took the photograph with trembling fingers.
For several seconds, he stared at it.
Then he whispered, "I was hoping you'd never have to see this.""
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"See what?""
Dad placed the photograph on the counter.
"Your mother called me the night before the accident. She told me she'd found something in Vanessa's paperwork.""
"What did she find?""
He swallowed.
"A letter. It proved Vanessa had planned to claim the gown as her own before your mother had even finished making it.""
I gripped the edge of the counter.
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"Because your mother begged me to wait until she could speak to a lawyer. She wanted to protect you.""
"Protect me from what?""
Dad looked toward the stairs.
His voice dropped.
"From Vanessa.""
Before I could ask another question, the front door opened.
Vanessa walked in carrying a shopping bag.
She saw the photograph on the counter.
And froze.
For the first time since she'd entered our family, she didn't try to smile.
She simply stared at my father.
May you like
Then she whispered four words that made my blood turn cold.
"You promised me, Marcus.""
