Chapter 2: The Secret Beneath the Sketches
At 1:17 a.m., Maya was asleep on my bedroom floor, wrapped in a blanket, while I sat at my sewing machine staring at my mother's note.
It was yellowed at the edges, with a faint coffee stain across one corner.
There were only two sentences.
Elise, someday my daughter will understand what these wings mean. Please make sure she gets the chance to finish what I started.
I read it again.
Then again.
"Who's Elise?"" I whispered.
Maya lifted her head.
"Is that the famous designer?""
"I don't know.""
"Elise Monroe? The woman judging the Atlanta competition?""
I looked at her.
She sat upright.
"Nia, that's definitely her. She's the reason half the people entering this competition want to become designers.""
I unfolded the note completely.
There was no address. No phone number. Just Elise's name and my mother's signature.
"How did Mom know her?""
Maya studied the paper.
"Maybe they worked together.""
"Mom never told me she knew anyone famous.""
"People have lives before they become our parents.""
I ran my finger across the handwriting.
There was something else that bothered me. My mother had specifically mentioned the butterfly wings, even though the sketch itself was hidden inside a book that I had inherited after she died.
It felt like she'd left me a message.
And I had only just learned how to read it.
Maya stood and walked to the sewing table.
"All right. Emotional mysteries later. What's our fabric situation?""
I opened the bottom drawer.
Inside were leftover pieces from old projects: navy satin, black mesh, translucent organza, and a roll of metallic thread I'd bought months earlier.
"Not enough for the whole design," I admitted.
Maya looked toward the closet.
"What about the curtains?""
"Those are my curtains.""
"You're not planning to sleep for three days anyway.""
I laughed for the first time since Brianna destroyed the gown.
By sunrise, the bedroom looked like a small fashion studio after a tornado.
We measured the bodice, cut the satin, and shaped the first butterfly panel. Maya painted faint silver patterns onto the organza while I worked on the seams.
The design was difficult. The wings needed to hold their shape without looking stiff. They had to unfold when I turned, then fall naturally behind me.
At nine that morning, I burned my finger on the iron.
At eleven, Maya spilled an entire cup of coffee onto the first wing.
At noon, I discovered that the bodice was two inches too narrow.
"I hate butterflies," Maya announced.
"You loved them yesterday.""
"Yesterday they were on paper. Paper doesn't need to be fitted.""
Despite everything, we kept working.
Around two, my father knocked.
I quickly covered the wings with a bedsheet.
He opened the door without waiting.
"Nia, Vanessa says you're using the electricity all night.""
"I'm working.""
"On what?""
"A dress.""
He looked at the covered sewing table.
"Didn't we just have this conversation?""
I stood.
"The competition hasn't happened yet.""
"Your other dress was destroyed.""
"That doesn't mean I can't enter.""
He glanced at Maya.
"Does your mother know you're sleeping here?""
Maya crossed her arms.
"She does. She also knows why.""
My father ignored her.
"Nia, I don't want another scene on Friday. Brianna is entering the competition, and I expect you to behave respectfully.""
I stared at him.
"Why is Brianna entering?""
"She's interested in fashion.""
"Since when?""
"That's not your concern.""
I stepped closer.
"She's using a dress I made.""
My father lowered his voice.
"Vanessa arranged a seamstress to repair it. You should be thankful the family is trying to help.""
"Help Brianna steal my work?""
His jaw tightened.
"Enough. You always turn everything into a competition between you and her.""
"Because she keeps taking things from me!""
He looked toward Maya again.
"Maybe you need to spend less time with people who encourage this attitude.""
Then he left.
Maya waited until his footsteps disappeared.
"Your father is acting strange.""
I returned to the sewing machine.
"He's always like this.""
"No. Not like this.""
She picked up the mother's note.
"Do you think he knows Elise?""
I looked at the doorway.
"I don't know.""
That evening, Vanessa came into my room holding a small box.
She placed it on the bed.
"Your father thought you might need something.""
I opened it.
Inside was a silver bracelet.
For one foolish second, I thought it was an apology.
Then Vanessa spoke.
"Brianna is very nervous about Friday. You could give her the butterfly design. It would save everyone a lot of trouble.""
I closed the box.
"No.""
She sighed.
"Don't be childish.""
"It's my design.""
"Your father has already invested a lot in Brianna's future.""
I stared at her.
"What does that have to do with me?""
Vanessa leaned closer.
"You're talented, Nia. But talent doesn't mean everything belongs to you.""
I stood.
"Get out.""
Her smile disappeared.
"One day, you'll understand how lucky you are that Marcus took you in after your mother died.""
The words hit harder than she expected.
My father had married Vanessa six months after Mom's funeral. I had spent years trying to make our new household feel like a family.
Apparently, Vanessa still considered me a guest.
She walked toward the door, then turned.
"Think carefully about Friday. Not everyone gets a second chance.""
When she left, Maya locked the bedroom door.
"That woman is planning something.""
I looked down at the butterfly gown.
"So are we.""
At 3:42 a.m. on Friday, the final wing was attached.
Maya stepped back.
The gown shimmered under the desk lamp. The butterflies seemed almost alive, their silver veins catching the light with every movement.
She covered her mouth.
"Nia.""
I turned slowly.
"Does it work?""
She shook her head.
"It doesn't just work. It's beautiful.""
For the first time in four months, I felt like my mother was standing beside me.
I put on the dress.
The bodice fitted perfectly. The wings unfolded as I turned, revealing layered patterns that looked like a butterfly emerging from darkness.
Maya grabbed her phone.
"Don't move.""
She took several photographs.
Then she sent one to me.
"Keep this. Nobody gets to claim they made this dress.""
I smiled.
But my phone vibrated before I could answer.
An unknown number had sent me a message.
Do not wear the butterfly gown to the competition. Ask your father what happened to your mother's designs.
I read it twice.
Then my phone vibrated again.
May you like
A second message appeared.
He knows why Elise Monroe has been looking for you.
