“Think carefully.”
“I already told you.”
“Did Olivia tell you to stop before you cut?”
Brooke’s eyes flickered.
“No.”
Diane’s stomach dropped.
There.
A second lie with time to choose differently.
“Brooke.”
“What?”
“The room camera recorded you.”
Silence.
Brooke went completely still.
Diane watched the knowledge arrive.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
She knew exactly what the camera might contain.
“That is creepy.”
Diane almost laughed.
“That is your first answer?”
“You have a camera in her bedroom?”
“It points at her workspace and door.”
“That is still insane.”
“Michael approved it after her things were being moved.”
Brooke stood.
“You filmed me without permission.”
“You entered someone else’s room and cut her dress.”
“It wasn't like that.”
Diane unlocked the phone.
Brooke grabbed her purse.
“I don't need to watch.”
“No.”
Diane stepped sideways.
“You do.”
“Mom.”
“Watch.”
She played the clip.
Brooke looked for three seconds.
Then away.
“You cannot tell from that angle.”
Diane stopped the video.
“What can I not tell?”
“She kept saying it fit wrong.”
“Did she ask you to cut the outer panel?”
Brooke said nothing.
“Did she tell you to stop?”
Silence.
“Did you cut after she said stop?”
Brooke’s face hardened.
“Fine.”
The word came sharp.
“Yes.”
Diane stared.
Not denial now.
Defiance.
“Why?”
Brooke looked away.
“Because she was acting like the stupid dress was the most important thing in the world.”
“So you ruined it?”
“I did not ruin it.”
“You cut through the silk.”
“It can be fixed.”
“Not invisibly.”
“Then redesign it.”
“You know how competitions work.”
Brooke laughed bitterly.
“Oh, please.”
Diane stared.
“You knew.”
Brooke’s eyes filled now.
Anger more than sadness.
“You think I don't know?”
“Know what?”
“Every rule.”
“Every portfolio requirement.”
“Every fabric she likes.”
“Every stupid stitch because you talk about nothing else.”
Diane stopped.
Brooke continued.
“You send me pictures.”
“Look what Olivia made.”
“Look what Olivia draped.”
“Look at this seam.”
“Look at this sketch.”
“You never sent people my work like that.”
“You did not want me to.”
“I wanted you to care.”
Diane’s face changed.
“I did.”
“No.”
Brooke shook her head.
“You wanted me to become you.”
“That isn't the same.”
Diane stared.
Brooke had attended a private design college for one year.
Then withdrew.
At the time, she said the program was toxic.
Diane believed her.
Later, Diane learned Brooke had been put on academic probation after submitting a group project containing uncredited work from another student.
Not formal plagiarism, the college said after mediation.
But enough concern that Brooke lost a faculty sponsorship.
She left before the next term.
Diane never discussed it with friends.
Never with Michael’s family.
She called it a mismatch.
Brooke started fashion content online instead.
Styling.
Thrift transformations.
Brand partnerships.
She had a decent following now.
Enough to earn money.
Enough for a small apartment.
Diane thought they had moved on.
Apparently not.
Brooke continued.
“Then Olivia comes along.”
“She touches a sewing machine and suddenly it's different.”