Chapter 1 - The Dress on the Bed
The first thing Nia Carter heard was the sound of scissors.
Snip.
Snip.
Then a longer, tearing sound that made her stop in the doorway of her bedroom.
Her stepsister, Brielle, was sitting on Nia's bed with a pair of silver sewing scissors in her right hand. Spread across her knees was a pale-pink satin dress.
Nia's graduation dress.
For a moment, her mind refused to understand what she was seeing.
Then Brielle lifted the skirt and cut straight through another section.
“BRIELLE!”
Nia rushed forward.
“What are you doing? Stop!”
Brielle leaned away, holding the scissors beyond her reach.
“Relax. I was fixing it.”
“Fixing it?”
Nia stared at the ruined fabric.
The delicate bodice had been split open. One shoulder strap dangled uselessly. Several uneven cuts ran through the skirt.
She had bought that dress three weeks earlier after saving money from her weekend job at a bakery in Charlotte.
Eight months of early Saturday mornings.
Eight months of turning down trips with friends.
Eight months of putting away five dollars here and twenty dollars there until she finally had $286.60.
It was the first expensive thing she had ever bought entirely with her own money.
And Brielle had destroyed it in minutes.
“Why would you do this?” Nia whispered.
Brielle shrugged.
“Honestly? It looked ridiculous on you anyway.”
Nia grabbed the dress.
A piece of the skirt fell onto the carpet.
She sank to her knees.
“You knew how hard I worked for this.”
“Then buy another one.”
“With what money?”
Before Brielle could answer, Patrice appeared in the doorway.
Nia looked up immediately.
“Patrice, look what she did!”
Her stepmother glanced at the dress.
Then at Brielle.
Then back at Nia.
“Oh, for goodness' sake.”
Nia blinked.
“She's cutting up my graduation dress!”
Patrice folded her arms.
“Stop being dramatic. It's just a dress.”
The room went quiet.
Nia felt something inside her sink.
“Just a dress?”
“Brielle probably didn't mean for it to get this far.”
Brielle laughed.
“I meant every cut.”
“Brielle,” Patrice said mildly.
“What? I did her a favor. That dress was embarrassing.”
Nia looked between them.
Neither woman appeared remotely concerned about the tears rolling down her cheeks.
Then a man's voice came from the hallway.
“Who did this?”
Andre Carter stood in the doorway.
He had arrived home from work still wearing his navy mechanic's uniform. His lunch cooler hung from one hand.
His eyes were fixed on the ruined dress.
“I'm asking a question.”
Brielle leaned against the headboard.
“I did.”
Andre placed his cooler on the floor.
“Why?”
“Because it looked cheap.”
He stared at her.
“That's your explanation?”
Brielle rolled her eyes.
“Please. You're acting like somebody died.”
Patrice stepped toward her husband.
“Andre, honey, let's not make a huge situation out of something so small.”
Andre turned toward her.
“Small?”
“It's only fabric. We can replace it.”
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he walked across the room.
Brielle smiled, apparently expecting him to examine the dress.
Instead, Andre stopped beside the bed.
A Louis Vuitton handbag rested against Brielle's pillows.
It was the expensive bag Patrice had purchased for her nineteenth birthday.
Andre picked it up.
Brielle straightened.
“Hey. What are you doing?”
He held out his hand for the scissors.
Brielle's smile vanished.
“Don't touch that!”
Andre took the scissors from the mattress, slipped one blade beneath the handbag's leather strap, and closed the handles.
The strap separated with a sharp snap.
Brielle screamed.
“ARE YOU CRAZY? THAT BAG COST THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS!”
Andre set the damaged bag on the bed.
“Calm down.”
He looked directly at Patrice.
“It's just a piece of leather.”
Patrice covered her mouth.
Brielle stared at the severed strap.
“You ruined my bag!”
Andre glanced toward the torn pink dress.
“Now you know what ruined feels like.”
Then he lowered the scissors.
“Both of you, pack what you need for tonight.”
Patrice stepped forward.
“You cannot throw us out of our own home!”
“I'm asking you to stay with your sister tonight. If you refuse, Nia and I will leave. We're not having another conversation like this under the same roof.”
Brielle began crying over the handbag.
Patrice wrapped an arm around her.
Neither looked at Nia.
Andre reached into his pocket and handed Nia his car keys.
“Come on, sweetheart. We're getting you another dress.”
Nia stared at the keys.
She had imagined her father defending her before.
She had never imagined it happening like this.
But instead of feeling relieved, she looked down at the shredded fabric in her hands.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Why did you only believe me when you finally saw it yourself?”
Andre stopped moving.
Nia looked up at him.
May you like
“Because I've been telling you what they've been doing for almost three years.”
And for the first time that evening, her father had no answer.
