I had long thought my time had passed. Design had been my dream, but life took over: first my husband, then my child, the house, and responsibilities. But at sixty, I felt I still had the chance to create.
When I got the email that my project had reached the finals of a prestigious design competition, I cried—joy, fear, everything. This project wasn’t just any design; it was built on memories with my son, Daniel. I had used his childhood drawings to create motifs, merging them with modern trends.
I shared the news with Daniel over dinner. “Are you sure?” he asked. “You’ve always been afraid of change.” He was right. But I had to try.
“Then you need the perfect outfit,” he said.
“Daniel, I’m a designer, not a model,” I replied. But he insisted, pulling up stores on his phone.
Before we finished, Daniel surprised me by saying, “I’m buying a ring.” My heart swelled. My son was about to take a major step in his life.
A few days later, I stood in a modern office, nervous but confident in my project. Other contestants were young and trendy. When it was my turn, I presented my work—floral patterns inspired by Daniel’s childhood drawings. People seemed engaged.
But then the competition director singled me out. She praised my project but undermined it by saying, “Success isn’t just about ideas; it’s about image.” I felt humiliated.
The next day, Daniel introduced me to his fiancée, Rosalind—the same woman who had humiliated me at the competition. She smiled sweetly, but I knew the truth. Later, she hinted that I should stay quiet about what happened for the sake of my son’s happiness.
Soon after, I found my project missing from my studio. Rosalind had stolen it. She later showcased it as her own, claiming it was a new, revolutionary design.
At an engagement party, I finally confronted her. Daniel recognized my designs in her campaign. Rosalind admitted she had stolen them and planned to take credit after the success. Daniel was furious. “We’re done,” he said, ending his relationship with her.
That night, Daniel and I went to the park, sharing cake under the stars. I had lost the competition, but I had regained my dignity and, more importantly, my son.
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