Chapter 10: The Last Stitch
Nia couldn't take her eyes off the photograph.
Her grandmother's handwriting was unmistakable.
The rounded letters. The tiny hearts she sometimes drew beside important notes. The familiar way she underlined words twice whenever she wanted something remembered.
But the sentence at the bottom of the page was something Nia had never seen before.
*The rights to my original designs belong to the granddaughter who continues my work—not to the person who simply inherits my name.*
Nia looked at Evelyn.
"How did you get this photograph?""
"Maya sent it to me when she first approached the boutique. She wanted to demonstrate that her family had a history in fashion.""
"She told you the notebook belonged to her?""
"She said it had been passed down to her.""
Nia shook her head.
"My grandmother gave that notebook to me when I was younger. My mother took it after she died.""
Evelyn folded her hands.
"Then we need to establish what your grandmother actually intended.""
Nia looked down at the photograph again.
There were other pages visible behind the handwritten statement.
One contained a sketch of a cream evening dress.
Another showed a patchwork design made from different fabrics.
Nia's heart began racing.
"Can I see the original?""
"I don't have it. Maya brought the notebook to our first meeting, but she wouldn't leave it with me.""
Nia swallowed.
"Then I need to get it back.""
Evelyn nodded.
"But don't go alone. And don't let anyone pressure you into signing anything.""
Nia looked at Olivia.
Her friend immediately understood.
"I'm coming with you.""
That afternoon, they went to their mother's house.
The familiar front garden looked exactly as it always had. The white roses near the entrance were trimmed, and the curtains were perfectly arranged.
But Nia no longer felt like she belonged there.
She knocked.
Her mother opened the door.
Her expression changed when she saw them.
"What are you doing here?""
"I want Grandma's notebook.""
Her mother folded her arms.
"I told you. It's a family possession.""
"It was given to me.""
"Don't start arguing.""
Nia remained outside.
"Please. I just want to see it.""
Her mother looked at Olivia.
"This doesn't concern you.""
Olivia replied calmly.
"Then there shouldn't be a problem with Nia getting her own belongings.""
Their mother stepped aside.
"Fine. Come in.""
The living room smelled of furniture polish and expensive candles.
Maya sat on the sofa, scrolling through her phone.
When she saw Nia, she immediately stood.
"Why is she here?""
Nia looked at her.
"Where's Grandma's notebook?""
Maya exchanged a glance with their mother.
Then she laughed.
"You mean the design book?""
"Yes.""
Maya picked up a leather notebook from the coffee table.
Nia recognized it immediately.
The worn brown cover.
The brass clasp.
The small faded flower her grandmother had painted near the corner.
For a moment, Nia forgot to breathe.
"Give it to me.""
Maya held it against her chest.
"Why? So you can pretend all her ideas are yours too?""
Nia stepped forward.
"That notebook was given to me.""
Their mother intervened.
"Your grandmother never said that.""
"She did.""
"She gave it to the family.""
Nia looked at the notebook.
"Then why have you kept it hidden?""
Her mother didn't answer.
Maya opened the notebook and flipped through several pages.
"Look at these designs. Grandma made all of this. You can't claim them.""
"I'm not claiming Grandma's work. I'm asking for my notebook.""
Maya pointed to a sketch.
"This is the cream dress. Look at the shape. It's almost identical to yours.""
Nia examined the page.
The sketch showed a fitted cream bodice with a flowing skirt.
But there was something different.
A handwritten note appeared beneath the drawing.
For my granddaughter, who loves to turn discarded fabric into something beautiful.
Nia's eyes filled.
Her grandmother had written that years before Nia entered the competition.
Maya closed the notebook.
"See? The designs belong to the family.""
Nia looked at her.
"Then why did you tell Evelyn you created them?""
Maya's expression hardened.
"Because I was trying to build something for myself.""
"Using Grandma's work?""
"Using what we inherited!""
Nia shook her head.
"You inherited a name. You didn't inherit the hours I spent making that dress.""
Their mother suddenly took the notebook from Maya.
"Enough.""
She held it against her chest.
"Both of you are behaving like children.""
Nia looked at her.
"Then let me have it.""
Her mother hesitated.
For a brief moment, Nia saw uncertainty in her eyes.
Then the woman walked toward the hallway.
"You're not taking anything today.""
Nia followed.
"Mom, please.""
Her mother turned sharply.
"I said no!""
Nia stopped.
She looked at the woman who had raised her.
The woman who had watched her sew through the night.
The woman who had taken her dress.
The woman who had threatened to throw away her equipment.
And now she was standing between Nia and the one thing her grandmother had left behind.
"Why are you doing this?"" Nia whispered.
Her mother looked away.
"Because Maya needs this opportunity.""
"And what about me?""
"You already have your prize.""
Nia stared at her.
"My prize might help me pay for surgery. It doesn't replace my grandmother.""
Silence filled the room.
Maya lowered her phone.
For the first time, she didn't make a joke.
Nia turned toward the door.
"Keep the notebook for now.""
Her mother looked surprised.
"What?""
"I'll get a copy of Grandma's pages through the proper channels. I'm not going to fight you for something she wanted me to have.""
Nia left with Olivia.
But before the door closed, Maya called after her.
"You're not going to win this time!""
Nia didn't turn around.
She had spent too much of her life trying to win her family's approval.
She wasn't doing it anymore.
The following morning, Evelyn accompanied Nia to the committee office.
They brought the photographs of the notebook, Nia's original sketches, the dated construction photographs, and the documentation from the competition.
Thomas Reed reviewed everything.
He studied the grandmother's handwritten statement.
Then he looked at the photograph of the cream dress.
"Has the original notebook been made available for independent examination?""
"Not yet," Nia replied.
Thomas nodded.
"We can request that the relevant pages be provided. We won't make a decision based solely on a photograph.""
Evelyn agreed.
"That's reasonable.""
Thomas turned to Nia.
"Your original patchwork design documentation remains strong. The photographs establish a clear development process, and the construction notes are consistent with the finished garment.""
Nia leaned forward.
"So the complaint?""
"We haven't found evidence supporting the allegation that your winning dress was copied. The review is nearing completion.""
Nia released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Thomas continued.
"The committee also needs to distinguish your original competition entry from the separate dispute involving the cream dress.""
Nia nodded.
"Understood.""
He closed the folder.
"We'll contact you with the final decision.""
Two days later, Nia received an email.
The committee had completed its review.
Her award would proceed according to the original competition terms.
The complaint had not established that her patchwork design was copied from another designer.
Nia read the message three times.
Then she called Olivia.
"They're releasing the prize!""
Olivia screamed so loudly that Nia had to move the phone away from her ear.
"You're kidding!""
"I'm not!""
"Oh, Nia!""
For several seconds, neither of them said anything.
Then Nia began to cry.
This time, they were tears of relief.
That afternoon, she visited the eye clinic.
The specialist examined her carefully and reviewed the latest imaging.
He explained that the proposed surgery was a realistic option, subject to final medical assessment and the usual risks.
Nia listened to every word.
"Will it restore all my vision?""
The doctor shook his head gently.
"I can't promise that. But the procedure may help preserve your remaining vision and potentially improve some of your visual function.""
Nia nodded.
"I understand.""
"We'll need to complete a few more tests before confirming the surgical plan.""
She looked at the appointment papers.
For the first time, the future didn't seem completely closed.
When she left the clinic, she received another call.
It was Evelyn.
"Nia, I have some good news.""
"What happened?""
"The boutique's owner has approved your first collection.""
Nia stopped walking.
"Really?""
"Yes. Three original designs. We'll provide the workspace, materials, and a paid design agreement.""
Nia covered her mouth.
"Thank you.""
"Don't thank me yet. I expect you to work hard.""
Nia laughed.
"I will.""
"And there's something else. Your mother contacted me again.""
Nia's smile faded.
"What did she want?""
"She asked whether Maya could still participate in the collection.""
Nia closed her eyes.
"What did you say?""
"I told her that any collaboration would depend on the designer's qualifications and original work. I also told her that I would not accept a design presented under someone else's name.""
Nia smiled faintly.
"Thank you.""
"You're welcome. Bring your notebook tomorrow.""
That evening, Nia returned to her apartment.
Her sewing machine was still missing.
Her mother hadn't returned it.
But Olivia had found a secondhand machine through a local sewing group, and they had arranged to collect it the next morning.
Nia sat at the table and opened a fresh sketchbook.
She drew a new silhouette.
Then another.
She began thinking about fabrics she could combine, textures she could experiment with, and colors she had never used before.
Her phone vibrated.
A message from Maya appeared.
*Maya:* Mom wants to talk.
Nia stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
*Maya:* She's willing to give Grandma's notebook back if you stop telling people about the cream dress.
Nia read the message slowly.
She typed her response.
*Nia:* I won't hide the truth to protect a lie.
She put the phone down.
A few minutes later, someone knocked.
Nia opened the door.
Her mother stood outside holding the brown leather notebook.
Her burgundy dress had been replaced by a simple gray cardigan.
For once, she looked tired.
"I brought this back," she said.
Nia stared at the notebook.
"Why?""
Her mother looked down.
"Because it belongs here.""
Nia accepted it carefully.
Her fingers brushed the familiar cover.
"Thank you.""
Her mother remained in the doorway.
"Your sister is upset.""
Nia didn't respond.
"She thinks you've taken everything away from her.""
Nia looked up.
"I didn't take anything from Maya.""
Her mother sighed.
"She wanted to succeed.""
"So did I.""
The woman looked toward the sewing table.
"I know.""
Nia waited.
Her mother struggled to find the next words.
"I thought Maya needed more help than you did. You were always independent. You never asked for much.""
Nia felt something tighten in her chest.
"I didn't ask because I knew you would say no.""
Her mother lowered her eyes.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then she said:
"I should have listened.""
It wasn't a full apology.
It didn't return the years Nia had spent feeling invisible.
It didn't erase the stolen dress or the threats.
But it was the first time her mother had acknowledged the hurt without blaming Nia for it.
Nia held the notebook against her chest.
"I don't know if I can forgive everything right now.""
Her mother nodded.
"I understand.""
"Maybe one day. But things have to change.""
Her mother looked at her.
"What do you mean?""
"You can't decide what happens to my work. You can't give my designs to Maya. And you can't use my medical condition to make me feel guilty whenever I disagree with you.""
Her mother swallowed.
"All right.""
Nia stepped back.
"I have work to do.""
Her mother nodded and left.
Nia closed the door.
She sat at the table and opened her grandmother's notebook.
The pages smelled faintly of old paper and lavender.
She turned slowly through the sketches until she reached the handwritten sentence.
For my granddaughter, who loves to turn discarded fabric into something beautiful.
Nia smiled through her tears.
She placed the notebook beside her new sketchbook.
The following morning, Olivia arrived with the secondhand sewing machine.
Together, they carried it upstairs.
Nia placed it on the table, connected the power cord, and tested the pedal.
The machine hummed softly.
She selected a piece of blue satin.
Then a strip of golden cotton.
Then a small piece of burgundy velvet.
The same colors she had used on the night everything changed.
She placed them together and began drawing a new design.
Not a replacement for the cream dress.
Not a response to Maya.
Not a desperate attempt to prove her worth.
Something entirely her own.
Months later, the boutique displayed Nia's first collection in its front windows.
Her designs sold steadily, and Evelyn invited her to develop a second collection.
Her eye surgery was completed after the final medical assessments, with her treatment and recovery carefully monitored by her specialist. The outcome wasn't a perfect restoration, but the procedure gave her a better chance of preserving the vision she still had.
The bandage eventually disappeared.
The scars and memories didn't.
On opening night, Nia stood inside the boutique wearing a simple patchwork jacket made from the remaining scraps of her original competition dress.
Olivia approached with a smile.
"How does it feel?""
Nia looked around at the dresses displayed beneath the lights.
"It feels like the beginning.""
Across the room, her mother stood quietly beside Maya.
Maya looked at the collection for a long time.
Finally, she approached Nia.
"That jacket looks familiar.""
Nia touched the sleeve.
"It should. Some of the fabric came from the scraps Mom threw at my feet.""
Maya lowered her eyes.
"I'm sorry I took your dress.""
Nia studied her sister.
"Thank you for saying that.""
Maya glanced toward the display.
"Do you think someday I could learn how to sew?""
Nia considered the question.
"Maybe. But if you want to make something, you have to make it yourself.""
Maya nodded.
Nia turned toward the largest display window.
At its center stood a colorful evening gown.
Its seams were visible.
Its fabrics were different.
Its imperfections were intentional.
A small card beside it read:
*NIA CARTER — MADE FROM WHAT OTHERS THREW AWAY.*
Nia smiled.
Her mother had once believed that discarded fabric could never become something valuable.
Now strangers were paying to see what Nia could create from it.
She reached into her pocket and touched the small brass clasp of her grandmother's notebook.
Then she whispered:
"I finished it, Grandma.""
The sewing machine was waiting upstairs.
There were more designs to create, more dreams to pursue, and more mornings when she would wake up with a reason to keep going.
Nia had lost her first dress.
May you like
But she had found her own voice.
And this time, nobody else would decide what her hands were capable of making.
