Chapter 5: The Night Before the Competition
I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Brianna standing in front of the mirror, wearing my gown and practicing the smile she planned to show the judges.
I imagined Vanessa introducing her as a rising fashion talent.
I imagined Dad applauding.
And I imagined myself sitting somewhere in the audience, watching strangers celebrate work that had cost me three months of my life.
At three in the morning, I gave up trying to sleep.
I switched on my desk lamp and opened my sketchbook.
The first page contained the original design.
A simple white gown with sculpted shoulders and a flowing skirt.
It was beautiful in its own way, but it lacked the boldness of the final piece.
I turned the page.
There were the first sketches of the revised design, drawn after Brianna poured paint across the satin.
I remembered how hopeless I had felt that afternoon.
I remembered sitting on the floor, crying until I could barely see.
And I remembered the moment when I had stopped trying to save the original dress and started creating something new.
The paint had been intended to destroy my work.
Instead, it had forced me to imagine something I would never have designed otherwise.
I ran my fingers over the paper.
Then I turned to a blank page and began drawing a new gown.
Not because I needed another dress.
Because I wanted to remember that my creativity didn't depend on the satin Brianna had taken.
I sketched a structured bodice with delicate folded panels and a skirt made from overlapping layers.
This time, I imagined deep green, silver, and soft ivory.
I drew until the window began to brighten.
At six thirty, I heard Dad moving around downstairs.
I washed my face, dressed for school, and carried my portfolio into the kitchen.
Dad was standing beside the coffee maker.
He looked tired.
For a moment, I thought he might ask about my cheek or apologize for what had happened.
Instead, he glanced at the folder.
“What is that?””
“My design portfolio.””
He frowned.
“Why do you need that?””
“Because I'm going to the competition.””
He stared at me.
“Nia, I thought we agreed there would be no trouble.””
“We didn't agree on anything.””
His jaw tightened.
“Don't start.””
“I'm not starting anything, Dad.””
“Then why can't you let Brianna have her moment?””
I looked at him.
“Because it's my work.””
“She isn't trying to hurt you.””
I thought about the blue paint.
The slap.
The garment bag.
The false registration.
“Maybe she isn't trying to hurt me,” I said quietly.
“But she knows she's taking something that belongs to me.””
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“You're making assumptions.””
“Did you ask her whether she designed the gown?””
He didn't answer.
“Did you ask why she registered herself as the designer?””
His eyes moved toward me.
“What are you talking about?””
I opened my portfolio and took out a copy of the competition rules.
“I checked the requirements. The person who designed the gown has to be identified accurately.””
Dad scanned the page.
Then he handed it back.
“I'm sure Vanessa has taken care of the details.””
That was when I realized he wasn't going to help me.
Not because he didn't understand.
But because understanding would force him to choose between the truth and the comfortable arrangement he had built with Vanessa.
He wanted the problem to disappear.
And if I stayed quiet, he could pretend it had.
“I have to go,” I said.
“Nia.””
I stopped at the kitchen doorway.
“Please don't embarrass this family.””
I looked back at him.
“I won't.””
He seemed relieved.
Then I added, “I won't lie for it, either.””
I left before he could respond.
At school, Maya found me near the lockers.
She took one look at my face and immediately asked what had happened.
I told her about the conversation with Dad.
She shook her head.
“I'm sorry.””
“It's fine.””
“No, it isn't.””
I leaned against the locker.
“I just wish he would stand up for me once.””
Maya was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, “Maybe he will someday. But you can't spend your entire life waiting for someone else to decide you're worth defending.””
I looked at her.
She smiled gently.
“You know what I think?””
“What?””
“I think you're going to walk into that competition with your head up, tell the truth, and leave knowing you didn't let them turn you into someone you're not.””
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“What if nobody believes me?””
“Then you'll still have told the truth.””
She squeezed my shoulder.
“And if they do believe you, make sure you're ready for what comes next.””
I thought about that all day.
What would happen if the judges believed me?
Would Vanessa be furious?
Would Brianna deny everything?
Would Dad finally see what had been happening in his own house?
I didn't know.
But I knew I couldn't keep protecting their feelings at the expense of my own future.
That afternoon, I went to Mrs. Alvarez's shop to collect the last photographs for my portfolio.
She had printed them on high-quality paper and arranged them in a neat stack.
“I made two copies,” she said.
“One for you and one to keep here.””
“Thank you.””
She looked at my face.
“Did something happen?””
I hesitated.
Then I told her about the slap.
Mrs. Alvarez's expression darkened.
“Nia, that is not acceptable.””
“I know.””
“Does your father know?””
“Yes.””
“And what did he do?””
I looked away.
“He asked me not to embarrass the family.””
She closed her eyes for a moment.
When she opened them, her voice was gentle but firm.
“Listen carefully. You are not responsible for protecting the reputation of people who mistreat you.””
I felt my eyes sting.
She placed the photographs in my hands.
“Your work is yours. Your name is yours. And you don't need anyone's permission to tell the truth about either one.””
I nodded.
Then she gave me a small envelope.
Inside was a letter confirming that I had worked at her alterations shop and had developed my sewing skills under her supervision.
“You don't need to use it unless you want to,” she explained.
“But I thought it might help demonstrate your experience.””
I stared at the letter.
“You didn't have to do this.””
“I know.””
She smiled.
“That's what support looks like, sweetheart. Someone doing something because they believe you deserve it.””
I hugged her before I could stop myself.
For a few seconds, I let myself cry.
Not because I felt helpless.
Because someone had finally offered me the kind of kindness I had spent so long hoping to receive at home.
When I returned that evening, Vanessa had arranged the living room as though we were preparing for a major celebration.
The garment bag lay across the sofa.
A pair of expensive heels sat beside it.
Brianna stood in front of the mirror, practicing poses.
“Turn your shoulders,” Vanessa instructed.
“The train looks better when you stand at an angle.””
Brianna adjusted her posture.
“Like this?””
“Perfect.””
She turned and noticed me.
“Look who's back.””
I continued toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?”” Vanessa asked.
“Upstairs.””
“Dinner will be ready soon.””
“I'll eat later.””
Her expression hardened.
“Don't start acting difficult again.””
I stopped.
“I'm not.””
“Then sit down and be part of the family for once.””
I looked at her.
The word family seemed to appear whenever Vanessa wanted obedience.
It disappeared whenever I needed protection.
“I have work to finish,” I said.
Brianna laughed.
“What work? Sewing another ugly dress?””
I turned toward her.
“No. Preparing my portfolio.””
Her smile faltered.
Vanessa stepped between us.
“Enough. Both of you.””
Then she looked at me.
“You will not attend that competition tomorrow.””
I stared at her.
“Excuse me?””
“You heard me.””
“You can't stop me from going.””
“As long as you're living under this roof, you will respect the rules of this household.””
“What rule says I can't attend a public competition?””
“The rule that says you don't sabotage your sister.””
I felt a bitter laugh rising in my throat.
“By telling the truth?””
Vanessa's face turned red.
“You are an ungrateful, spiteful girl.””
“I'm a seventeen-year-old who made a dress.””
“And now you're determined to destroy Brianna's opportunity.””
“I didn't register her as the designer.””
Brianna stepped forward.
“Mom, she's doing it again!””
Vanessa turned toward her daughter.
“Go upstairs, sweetheart.””
“But—”
“Now.””
Brianna hesitated before taking the stairs.
Vanessa waited until she was gone.
Then she lowered her voice.
“Let me explain something to you, Nia. Your father has worked very hard to give this family a stable life. Brianna has an opportunity tomorrow, and I will not allow you to ruin it because you can't stand seeing her succeed.””
I looked at her.
“Then tell her to use her own work.””
Her eyes narrowed.
“You think you're clever.””
“No.””
“You think those little sketches and photographs make you important?””
I held her gaze.
“They make it clear who created the dress.””
For a second, she looked almost frightened.
Then she stepped closer.
“You will stay home tomorrow.””
I didn't move.
“No.””
The word came out quietly.
But it was the first time I had said it to her without apologizing afterward.
Vanessa stared at me.
“What did you say?””
“I said no.””
Her mouth tightened.
“You have no idea what you're doing.””
“Maybe not.””
I lifted my portfolio.
“But I'm going.””
I walked upstairs before she could answer.
For the next hour, I heard her moving around the house, opening cupboards and closing doors harder than necessary.
At nine, Dad knocked on my bedroom door.
I let him in.
He stood beside my sewing table, looking uncomfortable.
“Vanessa says you intend to attend the competition.””
“Yes.””
He sighed.
“Nia, I don't want this family torn apart over a dress.””
I looked at him.
“Then why are you letting them tear me apart over it?””
He blinked.
I continued before I lost my nerve.
“You keep asking me to make things easier for everyone else. You asked me to accept the ruined dress. You asked me to accept Brianna taking the new one. You asked me to accept being hit.””
Dad's face changed.
“I never asked you to accept being hit.””
“You told me everyone could have handled things better.””
He looked down.
“I was trying to calm things down.””
“You were trying to make the problem go away.””
Silence filled the room.
For a moment, I saw something like shame in his expression.
Then he said, “I just want you to think carefully about what you're doing tomorrow.””
“I have.””
He nodded stiffly.
“Good night, Nia.””
He left.
I sat on the edge of my bed, feeling both exhausted and strangely calm.
I had spent years trying to find the right words to make Dad understand me.
Tonight, I had finally said what I needed to say.
Whether he chose to listen was no longer something I could control.
I packed my portfolio, placed the letter from Mrs. Alvarez inside, and checked that every photograph was in order.
Then I laid out the clothes I planned to wear.
A simple black dress.
Comfortable shoes.
No designer labels.
No attempt to compete with Brianna's appearance.
I wasn't going there to be a model.
I was going there as the person who had created the gown.
Before turning off the lamp, I opened my phone and checked my messages.
Mrs. Alvarez had sent one more note.
The guest designer reviewed your submission. She would like to speak with you tomorrow if you're available.
I read it twice.
Then I typed back.
I'll be there.
I placed the phone beside my bed.
Outside my window, the neighborhood was quiet.
Tomorrow, Brianna would walk into the hotel believing the gown had made her a designer.
Vanessa would believe that her control over our household had guaranteed her daughter's success.
And Dad would hope that I stayed silent long enough for the day to pass without an argument.
They had planned everything around the assumption that I would be too frightened to challenge them.
But they had forgotten one important thing.
May you like
I had never needed their permission to create something beautiful.
And I didn't need it to defend what I had made.
