Chapter 1: The Dress That Was Never Hers
The first time I saw my stepsister wearing my mother's wedding lace, she was standing in front of my bedroom mirror, admiring herself in a dress that had taken me four months to create.
She looked at me through the reflection and smiled.
"Honestly, Emily, I don't know why you're so upset. It was just sitting in your room.""
I couldn't speak.
The midnight-blue gown hugged her waist perfectly. Silver embroidery shimmered beneath the afternoon sunlight coming through my window. Along the sleeves, delicate pieces of antique ivory lace formed tiny floral patterns.
My mother's lace.
The lace from the wedding dress she'd worn before she died.
And Brianna was wearing every last piece of it.
"Take it off," I whispered.
My stepsister tilted her head.
"What?""
"Take. It. Off.""
She turned around, placing her hands on her hips.
"You're being dramatic.""
"I'm serious, Brianna. That dress belongs to me.""
She laughed.
"Actually, it belongs to whoever can make it look good.""
I stepped forward, reaching for the sleeve.
She pulled away.
"Don't touch me!""
"That's my mother's lace!""
Before she could answer, Vanessa, my stepmother, appeared in the doorway holding a cup of coffee.
She glanced at Brianna, then at me.
"What is all this noise?""
"Mom, Emily is freaking out again," Brianna complained.
"She says I stole her dress.""
Vanessa took a slow sip.
"Well, technically, Brianna is wearing it now. So perhaps you should stop making a scene.""
I stared at her.
"Vanessa, I made that dress. I spent every night working on it. The competition is in three days.""
She placed her coffee on my desk.
"And Brianna needs that scholarship more than you do.""
I almost laughed.
"What does that have to do with my dress?""
"Everything. She's been accepted into the final competition, and this gown could give her the advantage she needs.""
"She's not the designer!""
Vanessa's expression hardened.
"Lower your voice.""
"No. She stole my work!""
Vanessa stepped between us.
"If you touch my daughter again, you'll regret it.""
Brianna smiled behind her mother's shoulder.
It was the kind of smile people wore when they knew someone else would take the punishment for them.
I backed away, shaking.
That dress wasn't simply an entry for the Young American Couture Competition.
It was the first thing I'd created that made me feel close to my mother again.
Seven years earlier, when I was eleven, my mother, Margaret Carter, had died from complications following a sudden illness.
She had been a talented seamstress who worked from a tiny studio behind our old house in Atlanta.
I remembered sitting on the floor beside her while she repaired wedding dresses, surrounded by spools of thread and fabric scraps.
"Never throw away something beautiful just because it's old, sweetheart," she'd tell me.
"Sometimes the oldest things carry the most important stories.""
Before she died, she'd given me her wedding veil and several pieces of lace from her dress.
I'd kept them in a wooden box.
When Dad married Vanessa two years later, that box was one of the few things I refused to let anyone touch.
Now, Brianna had turned my mother's memories into her personal opportunity.
I ran downstairs.
Dad was sitting at the kitchen island, reading something on his tablet.
"Dad!""
He didn't look up.
"What happened?""
"Brianna took my competition dress.""
He sighed.
"Emily, not this again.""
"She is wearing it right now!""
Vanessa followed me into the kitchen.
"Your daughter is making accusations," she announced.
Dad finally lowered his tablet.
"Can we have one peaceful afternoon?""
I stared at him.
"I have photographs of the dress while I was making it. I have my sketches. I have videos. Everything is dated.""
Vanessa crossed her arms.
"Then show them to the competition. I'm sure they'll understand that Brianna simply borrowed it.""
"Borrowed it?"" I repeated.
"She's entering it under her name!""
Dad rubbed his forehead.
"Emily, stop fighting with your sister.""
"She's not my sister!""
The kitchen went silent.
Dad's face changed.
"Go upstairs.""
I stood there for several seconds, waiting for him to defend me.
He didn't.
That evening, I locked myself in my bedroom and opened my laptop.
I had submitted my original sketches six weeks earlier. My application included photographs of the gown at different stages of construction.
I also had a folder containing videos of me sewing the lace into the sleeves.
I uploaded everything to a cloud account Vanessa didn't know existed.
Then I emailed the competition organizers.
I explained that my original design had been taken without permission and might be presented by another contestant.
I attached the evidence.
At 11:47 p.m., I received a response.
Dear Miss Carter, we have received your complaint. Please provide any additional documentation establishing ownership of the materials used in your design.
I stared at the screen.
I could do that.
The following morning, I went to my mother's old wooden box.
I wanted to photograph the remaining lace and compare it with the gown.
But when I opened the lid, my stomach tightened.
The box was nearly empty.
The veil was gone.
So were the remaining pieces of lace.
Someone had taken them.
I rushed downstairs.
Vanessa was sitting at the dining table, organizing paperwork.
"Where's my mother's wedding veil?""
She didn't look up.
"Good morning to you too.""
"Where is it?""
"Probably somewhere in the storage room.""
"I checked. It's gone.""
Vanessa slowly placed her pen down.
"Perhaps you should stop treating old fabric like a family heirloom.""
I felt cold.
"You took it.""
She smiled faintly.
"Be careful about accusing people, Emily.""
Then Brianna entered the room wearing my mother's pearl earrings.
She touched one of them.
"Mom says these look better on me.""
I stared at her.
"Those were my mother's.""
Brianna leaned closer.
"Then I guess she won't mind.""
I grabbed my phone and photographed the earrings.
For the first time, I noticed something else.
The little gold clasp on Brianna's left earring had a distinctive engraved mark.
It matched a photograph of my mother wearing the exact same pair.
And beneath that photograph, I found something I'd never noticed before.
A handwritten note.
For Emily, when she is ready to understand what belongs to her.
I zoomed in.
There was a date underneath.
March 14.
May you like
The same date Vanessa would later claim I'd signed away my design.
And suddenly, I wondered whether stealing my dress had been only the beginning.
