Chapter 1: The Dress My Mother Stole
“Mom, I want that dress.””
Maya whispered the words beside her mother, but she didn't need to say them twice.
Nia stood in front of the bedroom mirror, wearing a gray T-shirt and faded jeans. A white medical bandage covered her left eye. In her hands, she held a beautiful cream-colored dress against her body, carefully adjusting the waistline to see how it might look.
She had spent three weeks making it.
Every seam had been measured twice. Every detail had been sewn by hand. The soft cream fabric caught the afternoon sunlight, and tiny pearl decorations along the neckline made the dress look like something from an expensive boutique.
Nia smiled faintly at her reflection.
For the first time in months, she could imagine herself standing on a runway without feeling ashamed of the bandage covering her eye.
Then Maya walked into the room wearing a pink blazer and matching trousers.
Behind her came their mother, wearing an expensive burgundy dress, gold earrings, and heels that clicked sharply against the wooden floor.
Maya stopped.
Her eyes locked onto the cream dress.
She leaned toward her mother.
"Mom, I want that dress.""
Their mother didn't ask who had made it. She didn't ask how long it had taken.
She simply walked forward and grabbed the fabric.
Nia's smile disappeared.
"Mom?""
The woman pulled harder.
Nia instinctively clutched the bodice. Her arm stretched as the fabric tightened between them. She stumbled one step forward, nearly losing her balance.
"Mom, stop!""
With one final tug, her mother ripped the dress from her hands.
She immediately passed it to Maya.
Nia stared at them, breathing unevenly.
"No! I made that for the competition!""
Her mother examined the dress, smoothing its waistline with her palm.
"Maya will look better in it.""
That was her entire answer.
Not a word about Nia's work.
Not a word about the hours she'd spent sitting at her sewing machine.
Not even an apology.
Maya held the dress against herself and turned toward the mirror.
"Oh, Mom, look at this!"" she said, lifting the skirt.
"It actually fits me perfectly.""
Their mother adjusted the neckline.
"Of course it does. You know how to carry beautiful clothes.""
Nia lowered her hands.
"That's my competition dress," she repeated quietly.
Her mother finally looked at her.
"Don't start, Nia. Maya has an important presentation coming up. She needs something impressive.""
"So do I.""
Her mother gave a short, impatient laugh.
"You're entering a fashion competition with one good eye and a sewing machine that sounds like it's dying. Be realistic.""
Nia's fingers curled into her palms.
The bandage over her left eye began to itch. She resisted the urge to touch it.
Her eye condition had already cost the family money. Her mother mentioned it whenever Nia asked for anything, as if needing medical treatment meant she had forfeited every other dream.
Maya looked at herself again.
"Honestly, Mom, this is much better than anything I could have found at the mall.""
Their mother smiled.
"Then it's yours.""
Nia watched Maya admire the dress she had designed.
She wanted to scream.
Instead, she swallowed the words.
Her mother suddenly turned toward the sewing table in the corner. A large cloth bag sat beside it, filled with leftover fabric pieces Nia had collected over the past year.
Without warning, the woman grabbed the bag.
"Since you're such a talented designer, let's see what you can do.""
She tipped it upside down.
Scraps of faded cotton, torn satin, old lace, and uneven pieces of denim spilled across the floor in front of Nia's shoes.
Some pieces were barely larger than her palm.
Her mother looked down at the pile, then lifted her chin toward Nia.
"Real designer? Make another from these.""
Maya laughed softly.
"Mom, don't be mean.""
But she was already holding the cream dress close to her body.
Their mother didn't respond.
She simply turned toward the door.
"Come on, Maya. We have somewhere to be.""
Maya followed, carrying Nia's dress.
At the doorway, she glanced back.
"Maybe you can make yourself something nice for the competition, too.""
Then the door closed.
Silence settled over the room.
Nia stood motionless.
The scattered scraps lay around her feet like pieces of a broken promise.
She looked at the empty space in front of the mirror.
Then at the sewing machine.
A tear slipped beneath the edge of her bandage and rolled down her cheek.
She slowly crouched.
Her fingers touched a small piece of blue satin.
She picked it up.
Then another.
A strip of golden fabric.
A piece of red velvet.
A little square of lace.
Her breathing steadied.
"They think I need perfect fabric," she whispered.
She placed the scraps on the table.
"They don't understand what a designer can do.""
Nia pulled her chair toward the sewing machine.
Her left eye remained covered as she adjusted the thread, carefully positioning each piece with her right hand.
The machine was old. Its motor rattled whenever she pressed the pedal.
But it worked.
And that was enough.
May you like
For the first time that afternoon, Nia stopped crying.
She began to sew.
