"That's a lot of pressure."
I grinned.
"Then I'll send you options."
Our workshop created a simple evening dress for her.
It was elegant, comfortable, and designed around her preferences.
When she arrived for the fitting, she stood in front of the mirror with her hands over her mouth.
For a long moment, she didn't speak.
Then she looked toward me.
"I've never worn anything like this."
I smiled.
"How does it feel?"
She touched the fabric.
Then whispered, "Like I'm supposed to be here."
I felt my throat tighten.
I stepped beside her.
"You are."
My parents arrived the evening before the show.
My mother walked into the studio carrying a homemade cake.
I stared.
"Mom."
She smiled.
"What?"
"We have caterers."
She looked offended.
"Do your caterers know how you like chocolate frosting?"
I laughed.
"No."
"Then this is necessary."
My father followed carrying a small toolbox.
I raised one eyebrow.
"Dad, why do you have tools?"
He looked at me as though the answer were obvious.
"Because things break."
I burst into laughter.
My mother shook her head.
"He insisted."
We spent the evening in the workshop.
My parents met the employees.
Examined the garments.
And listened as the team described the work that had gone into reconstructing the collection.
My father became fascinated by the newer industrial machines.
Within twenty minutes, he was discussing maintenance schedules with the production technician.
My mother examined the pale-yellow gown.
The original one.
The dress I wore when the investor threw money at me.
It had been cleaned, repaired, and carefully pressed.
The damaged fabric near the waist had been restored by our technical team.
I planned to wear it again.
Not on the runway.
At the end of the presentation, when I would finally reveal my identity publicly.
My mother stood beside the gown for a long time.
Then looked toward me.
"Do you remember when you drew this?"
I nodded.
"After that awful shift."
She smiled sadly.
"You came home so upset."
I looked toward the dress.
"I thought I'd never get out of that restaurant."
My mother reached for my hand.
"You did."
I nodded.
She squeezed my fingers.
Then whispered, "And you brought other people with you."
I felt my eyes fill.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then my father approached carrying a small piece of fabric.