Chapter 3: The Woman Who Tried to Erase Me
I arrived at the competition office the following morning carrying three things: my original sketches, photographs of the dress during construction, and Grandma's sewing box.
The building stood in downtown Atlanta, its glass entrance reflecting the pale morning sunlight.
My mother was already there.
So was Maya.
They sat across from the competition director, speaking in low voices.
When Maya spotted me, she smiled.
“Look who decided to show up.””
My mother immediately stood.
“Olivia, you shouldn't be here.””
I tightened my grip on the sewing box.
“I received a call from the director.””
Patricia turned toward the woman behind the desk.
“She's confused. Her eyesight has been deteriorating, and she's been under considerable stress.””
The director, a woman named Denise Walker, looked uncomfortable.
“Mrs. Parker, I invited Olivia here because her name appears on the original design registration.””
Maya's smile disappeared.
My mother quickly recovered.
“That's a clerical mistake.””
I placed my sketches on the desk.
“No, it isn't.””
Denise opened the folder.
Inside were six months of photographs showing the gown taking shape.
The first image showed the unfinished bodice.
The second showed the lace sleeves.
The third showed my hands attaching the pearls.
Every photograph carried a date.
Maya leaned forward.
“Those pictures don't prove anything.””
I turned toward her.
“Look at the third photograph.””
She glanced down.
“What's your point?””
“That's the inside of the left sleeve. There's a tiny blue thread beneath the lace. I accidentally caught it while sewing the seam. It's still there.””
Denise looked at the competition submission.
“Can we inspect the dress?””
My mother shook her head.
“That isn't necessary.””
Denise raised an eyebrow.
“Actually, it is.””
Maya's face tightened.
“Fine. It's in the garment room.””
We walked down a corridor into a large fitting area.
My stolen gown hung inside a transparent garment cover.
Even from several feet away, I could recognize every detail.
The pearl embroidery.
The silk.
The delicate lace.
And the tiny butterfly hidden beneath the lining.
Denise carefully turned the sleeve inside out.
A small blue thread was visible beneath the lace.
She looked at Maya.
“Can you explain this?””
Maya crossed her arms.
“I don't know. Maybe the manufacturer made a mistake.””
“There is no manufacturer,” I said.
“I made it by hand.””
My mother stepped between us.
“Olivia has always been jealous of Maya. She's been struggling with her condition, and this competition has become an obsession.””
I looked at her.
“You know that's not true.””
Patricia ignored me.
“Denise, I filed a complaint because I believe Olivia may have copied Maya's work. My younger daughter has been developing her collection for months.””
I felt something inside me go strangely quiet.
She hadn't just stolen my dress.
She had prepared a story to make me look like the thief.
Denise closed the garment cover.
“Mrs. Parker, the photographs Olivia provided predate the competition submission. We will need to investigate the ownership claim before the final judging.””
Maya grabbed my arm.
“You're ruining everything!””
I pulled away.
“You did that yourself.””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Mom said you wouldn't fight us.””
I stared at her.
For the first time, Maya looked less like the confident woman who had stolen my gown and more like a frightened child waiting for someone else to solve her problems.
“Why did you believe her?”” I asked.
She looked away.
My mother grabbed her handbag.
“This meeting is over.””
Denise stood.
“Not yet. There is one more issue.””
She opened a drawer and removed a sealed envelope.
The front bore my grandmother's name.
Eleanor Parker.
My mother froze.
I noticed it immediately.
Her fingers tightened around the handbag strap.
“Where did you get that?”” Patricia demanded.
Denise looked at her.
“It was delivered to the competition office three weeks ago by the administrator of the Eleanor Parker Design Archive. The instructions were clear. It was to remain sealed until a disputed design bearing the butterfly signature was submitted.””
Maya looked between them.
“What does that mean?””
Denise placed the envelope on the table.
“It means your grandmother anticipated a dispute involving one of her original designs.””
My mother moved toward the envelope.
“Don't open that.””
Denise stepped back.
“Mrs. Parker, this document is addressed to Olivia.””
“She's not entitled to it!””
I stared at my mother.
“How do you know what's inside?””
For the first time, she had no answer.
Denise carefully broke the seal.
Inside were several legal documents, an old photograph, and a handwritten letter.
The photograph showed Grandma standing in front of her fashion studio.
Beside her was a little girl wearing a cream-colored dress.
I recognized the girl.
It was me.
I couldn't have been more than five years old.
On the back, Grandma had written:
My first apprentice. My only intended successor.
Denise unfolded the letter.
“Before I read this,” she said, “I need to verify something.””
She looked directly at my mother.
“Patricia, did you ever receive a copy of Eleanor's original design agreement?””
My mother went completely still.
Then she whispered, “That agreement was supposed to be destroyed.””
Maya's mouth fell open.
I looked at the papers.
My grandmother's signature appeared on the first page.
Mine appeared on the second.
But there was another name listed beneath the section marked Previous Custodian of the Archive.
Patricia Parker.
My mother.
Denise slowly turned the final page.
“Olivia,” she said, “your grandmother didn't just leave you her design collection.””
She paused.
“She left you the legal rights to every original design in that collection, including the gown your sister is wearing.””
Maya took a step backward.
My mother reached for the document.
And then Denise read the final sentence aloud.
“Any person who knowingly claims authorship of an archived design without authorization shall forfeit their eligibility for the competition and may be subject to further legal action.””
Nobody spoke.
Then Maya looked at my mother.
“Mom?””
Patricia didn't answer.
Instead, she stared at the photograph of Grandma and me.
And I finally understood why she'd been so desperate to keep that envelope closed.
May you like
Because the dress wasn't the only thing she'd stolen from me.
She had been hiding the truth about my grandmother's inheritance for years.
