Chapter 3: The Woman Who Knew My Mother
Vanessa didn't invite Margaret Whitmore inside immediately.
I heard the front door open only halfway.
"Can I help you?"" Vanessa asked.
Margaret's voice remained calm.
"I'm looking for Nia Carter.""
"Why?""
"That's a personal matter.""
"Well, I'm her stepmother. You can speak to me.""
There was a pause.
Then Margaret said something that made the entire hallway go quiet.
"Are you Vanessa Reed?""
I heard Vanessa shift.
"Yes. Why?""
"Then I believe we have met before.""
I rushed out of my bedroom.
At the bottom of the stairs stood a woman in her late sixties with silver hair, a tailored navy coat, and a leather portfolio tucked beneath one arm.
She looked exactly like the woman in my mother's photograph.
Her eyes found mine immediately.
"Nia?""
I nodded.
Margaret smiled gently.
"You have your mother's eyes.""
Vanessa stepped between us.
"Excuse me. What exactly is this about?""
Margaret looked at her.
"I would prefer to discuss it with Nia privately.""
"This is my home.""
"And Nia is the person I came to see.""
Vanessa's jaw tightened.
"She's a minor. You can't just show up and demand to speak with her.""
Margaret studied her for a moment.
Then she turned toward me.
"Would you like to speak with me?""
I glanced at Vanessa.
She gave me the look she always used when she expected obedience.
I ignored it.
"Yes.""
Margaret nodded.
"Wonderful. Is there somewhere we can sit?""
We moved into the small dining room.
Vanessa followed us.
Brianna appeared halfway down the staircase, holding her phone.
"Who's that?""
"Someone asking about Nia," Vanessa replied.
Brianna looked Margaret up and down.
"Is she from the school?""
Margaret smiled politely.
"No, dear. I'm from the fashion industry.""
Brianna immediately straightened.
"Oh. That's interesting.""
Margaret opened her portfolio.
Inside were several printed photographs.
The first showed my mother standing beside a dress covered in blue-and-white embroidery.
The second showed the same dress from behind.
The third was a close-up of a butterfly design.
My breath caught.
It was the same butterfly pattern I had embroidered onto my stolen gown.
Margaret noticed my expression.
"You recognize it.""
I nodded.
"I used that pattern in my competition dress.""
"Did you design it yourself?""
"Yes. I found an old sketch in my mother's things, but I changed the arrangement.""
Margaret's eyes softened.
"Then Eleanor's work is still alive.""
Vanessa leaned forward.
"Wait. You're saying my stepdaughter copied a famous designer?""
Margaret slowly turned toward her.
"No. I'm saying the famous designer copied nothing. Eleanor developed that technique years before either of us became successful.""
Vanessa looked confused.
Margaret continued.
"Your mother was extraordinary, Nia. She had an instinct for fabric movement that most designers spend decades trying to develop.""
I stared at the photographs.
"Why did she stop designing?""
Margaret didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she opened a second folder.
"I was hoping you might tell me something. Have you ever heard your mother mention a company called Whitmore Atelier?""
I shook my head.
Margaret placed a document on the table.
"Your mother was once a partner in that company. She developed its first signature collection. But before the collection could launch, a dispute arose over ownership.""
Vanessa suddenly stood.
"That's enough. Nia doesn't need to hear about adult business problems.""
Margaret looked up.
"Why not?""
"Because she's seventeen.""
"She is also the daughter of the woman whose work was involved.""
Vanessa folded her arms.
"I think you should leave.""
Margaret closed the folder.
"I will. But I would like to give Nia my card.""
She placed a white business card beside my hand.
*MARGARET WHITMORE*
Founder, Whitmore Fashion Foundation.
Below her name was a phone number and email address.
Margaret stood.
"Nia, I have reviewed the competition entries. I noticed your original submission.""
My heart skipped.
"You saw my dress?""
"I saw the photographs. It was beautifully constructed.""
I lowered my eyes.
"My stepsister took it.""
Margaret's expression changed.
"She took it?""
"She wanted it for her graduation dinner.""
Vanessa interrupted.
"That's a family misunderstanding.""
Margaret looked directly at her.
"Did Nia give her permission?""
Vanessa said nothing.
Brianna had appeared in the doorway.
She was still wearing my altered gown.
Margaret's eyes moved toward it.
For several seconds, she didn't speak.
Then she approached Brianna.
"Where did you get that dress?""
Brianna smiled.
"My sister made it.""
"Your sister?""
"Yes. I'm wearing it Friday.""
Margaret examined the bodice.
She noticed the missing embroidery, the uneven alteration, and the stitching that had been replaced by a professional tailor.
"Did she make this entire garment?""
Brianna shrugged.
"Pretty much.""
Margaret looked at me.
"Did you design the original pattern?""
"Yes.""
"And did you create the embroidery?""
"Every part.""
Margaret nodded slowly.
Then she turned back to Brianna.
"May I ask why you've altered it?""
Brianna seemed offended.
"Because it looks better on me.""
A silence followed.
Margaret closed her portfolio.
"I see.""
Vanessa quickly stepped forward.
"She's young. She doesn't understand how these things work.""
Margaret's voice became colder.
"Then perhaps this is a good opportunity for her to learn.""
She handed me another piece of paper.
It was an invitation to a private portfolio review at the Whitmore Fashion Foundation.
"Come tomorrow afternoon. Bring your original sketches and whatever new work you're developing.""
I hesitated.
"I don't have a finished dress anymore.""
Margaret smiled.
"Then bring the unfinished one.""
I looked at her.
"How did you know I was making another?""
She tapped the edge of my mother's photograph.
"Because Eleanor once told me something about her daughter.""
"What?""
Margaret's eyes became distant.
"She said you would probably spend your childhood trying to make people happy. But one day, when someone finally took something you loved, you would stop asking permission to become who you were meant to be.""
My throat tightened.
Vanessa looked uncomfortable.
"That's a rather dramatic thing to say.""
Margaret ignored her.
She turned toward the door.
Before leaving, she looked at the dress Brianna was wearing one last time.
"One more thing, Nia.""
"Yes?""
"Don't let anyone alter another piece of your mother's work until we understand what happened seventeen years ago.""
My stomach tightened.
"Why?""
Margaret looked at Vanessa.
"Because the butterfly pattern on that dress is not simply decoration.""
She paused.
"It's part of a registered design collection that Eleanor never officially released.""
Vanessa's face went pale.
Brianna glanced down at the gown.
"What does that mean?""
Margaret picked up her portfolio.
"It means someone may have just walked into a room wearing evidence of something that was stolen from your mother.""
The front door closed.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Vanessa grabbed my arm.
"Where did you get those old documents?""
I pulled away.
"From Mom's box.""
"Give them to me.""
"No.""
Her expression changed instantly.
"Nia, don't make me ask twice.""
I looked at her.
For the first time, I wasn't afraid of the consequences.
"Why are you so interested in them?""
Vanessa's mouth tightened.
"Because they're family property.""
"They belonged to my mother.""
"Your mother is dead. You don't understand what you're dealing with.""
"Then explain it.""
Vanessa stepped closer.
"Give me the box.""
I shook my head.
"No.""
Brianna suddenly interrupted.
"Mom, what's going on? What did that woman mean about stolen designs?""
Vanessa turned toward her.
"Go upstairs.""
"But—"
"NOW!""
Brianna flinched.
I had never seen Vanessa speak to her daughter like that.
She turned back to me.
"Stay away from that woman. And don't bring those documents anywhere.""
Then she walked into the kitchen and slammed the door.
I stood alone in the dining room.
My mother's box was upstairs.
Margaret's business card was in my pocket.
And something about Vanessa's reaction had changed everything.
That evening, after everyone went to bed, I returned to the box.
I removed every document and arranged them across my bedroom floor.
There were old photographs, handwritten letters, registration papers, and several contracts.
Most were difficult to understand.
But one document had a signature I recognized.
Vanessa Reed.
My stepmother.
The date was seventeen years earlier.
I read the first paragraph twice.
Then a third time.
It was an agreement concerning the transfer of intellectual property rights for Eleanor Carter's original fashion collection.
But the signature at the bottom was not my mother's.
It was Vanessa's.
My fingers went cold.
I turned the page.
A second signature appeared beneath it.
This time, I recognized the name immediately.
*Daniel Carter.*
My father.
The man Vanessa had always told me was too busy to understand fashion.
The man who had supposedly supported my mother's dreams.
I stared at the document.
My parents had signed something together.
Something Vanessa had been desperate to keep hidden.
Then I noticed a handwritten note in the margin.
Payment received. Original sketches transferred. Eleanor must not be informed until the collection launches.
I stopped breathing.
A second envelope lay beneath the contract.
It contained a photograph of my mother standing beside a man I had never seen before.
On the back, she had written:
The day I discovered who betrayed me.
I turned the photograph over again.
And suddenly, I understood why Margaret had looked at Vanessa the way she had.
My stepmother hadn't simply wanted my dress.
She had been terrified of what might be inside my mother's box.
But the worst part was still waiting.
May you like
Because the photograph showed the man standing beside my mother.
And he was wearing the same silver watch my father still wore every single day.
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