We left the room without knowing whether I would be allowed onto the runway. In the hallway, Sienna caught up with me and grabbed my elbow. I pulled away before she could tighten her hold.
"You planned this," she hissed. "You knew I'd need the dress, so you hid your name in it."
"I hid my name in my own dress before you ever asked to borrow it," I said. "There's a difference."
My mother stepped beside her. "You're destroying your sister's future over a piece of fabric."
I looked at them both, and something I had been afraid to say came out very quietly. "No. I'm trying to stop you from destroying mine."
The answer came an hour before the evening presentation. Helena called us back into the conference room and explained that the technical judges had matched my original patterns, fitting photographs, construction notes, and concealed signature to the physical garment. Sienna had provided no comparable record of creating the dress. Her sponsored entry had been withdrawn from consideration, and the committee would correct the public program to identify me as the sole designer and maker of *Second Sunrise*. I would be allowed to present the gown, provided I agreed to speak truthfully about the work without turning the runway into a family dispute.
I nodded so quickly that Imani squeezed my hand beneath the table. Sienna left before the meeting was over. My mother stayed just long enough to say the decision would hurt our family's reputation. For the first time, her words did not make me rush to repair the harm she'd named. A reputation built on taking credit from one of your children was not something I was obliged to protect.
The hours before the show passed strangely. A coordinator brought the gown to the fitting area and asked whether I wanted one of the program's models to wear it. I said yes. My design had been fitted to my measurements, but the adjustable inner stay Evelyn taught me to make allowed another wearer to move comfortably in it. We made careful adjustments and tightened the flower that had come loose when the dress was taken from my room. I sewed it back myself, working with the familiar needle between my fingers while strangers moved around us preparing lights and music.
Across the room, designers were steaming garments, checking hems, and calming nervous models. I had expected the event to be filled with people who already knew exactly what they were doing. Instead, I saw hands shaking as people fastened buttons and mouths silently counting stitches. It comforted me to realize that talent didn't make anyone immune to fear. We all cared so much about our work that the thought of showing it to the world was terrifying.
Just before the runway began, I found a quiet corner and called my mother's phone. She answered on the second ring, and for one moment I wanted to ask her to come watch. But I heard Sienna crying in the background, and my mother said, "I hope you're satisfied now."