Chapter 6

Later that afternoon, the director told me my suspension was put on hold, and my request to be reassigned was approved.

The catch? I got kicked off the main brand project and dumped onto a team that was basically on the chopping block, stuck designing maternity dresses nobody even cared about.

My coworkers said I got a raw deal.

"That group hasn't done anything in half a year. You're getting benched," someone whispered.

As I gathered my files, my fingertip paused over the words "maternity dresses."

The paper carried a faint scent of ink.

Suddenly, I laughed.

Maya picked me up that evening, and after I told her what happened, she cursed, "They're basically sending you to the boonies."

I buckled my seatbelt, watching the streetlights blur past outside the window. "Then I'll turn the boonies into my own turf."

Maya turned to look at me.

I rested my hand on my belly. Nothing was moving yet, but in the middle of all this wreckage, it felt like I'd finally found something to hold onto, a lifeline.

"I'm going to design a wedding dress."

"For who?"

"For every woman who's sick of wedding dresses that squeeze the life out of her waist."

The maternity dress team was small, three of us.

There was Aunt Donna, a pattern maker who was about to retire, Lily Taylor, a fresh-out-of-college intern, and me.

Our office was right next to the warehouse. The walls were peeling, the AC blew out dusty air, and the desks were piled high with old fabric swatches and last season's samples.

When I walked in, Lily jumped up. "Olivia, I've heard about you. That pearl shoulder dress you made was a huge hit."

Aunt Donna, with her reading glasses perched on her nose, looked up at me.

"knowing how to sketch isn't enough. Maternity wear is a real challenge, waistlines change every day, and you have to allow extra space in the chest, shoulders, and hem. Too much, and it looks frumpy; too little, and it's downright uncomfortable," Aunt Donna said.

I nodded. "I'd appreciate your guidance."

Aunt Donna paused mid-cut with her scissors, but didn't say anything else critical.

From that day on, I was always the first one in and the last one out.

Fabric slipped through my fingers, silk always felt cool against my skin, satin was slick, and soft tulle always got staticky and stuck to my arms, no matter how much I tried to shake it off.

I started keeping track of how my body was changing.

Every morning, brushing my teeth made me gag, the smell of coffee made me nauseous, standing too long left my back aching, and at night, my calves would seize up.

I wrote it all down in my notebook.

Pregnant women shouldn't be hidden away.

They should be able to hold their heads high, look beautiful, and stand out in a crowd, without being shoved back into the shadows because someone says, "Why go to all that trouble when you're pregnant?"

When the first sample was finished, Aunt Donna ran her fingers over the pleats at the waistline, one eyebrow arching. "Who taught you to give it that much ease?"

"I tried it myself," I said.

She stared at me for a few seconds, her gaze dropping to my still-flat stomach, but she didn't say anything.

She handed me the scissors. "Add another three-quarters of an inch here. It'll be more comfortable when you sit down."

I took the scissors from her, the metal handle still warm from her hand.

During that time, Ethan didn't disappear.

He switched numbers and kept messaging me.

Ethan: [You've lost weight.

[I heard you moved to the warehouse team.

[Don't be stubborn. Come back and talk.]

When I didn't reply, he sent someone to talk to me.

Ryan cornered me in the break room once, holding a coffee and flashing a sleazy grin.

Ryan said, "Olivia, Ethan's been in a bad mood lately. You should let it go. Chloe's some young thing. He'll get bored and move on. Are you really going to hand her your rightful place?"

I set my cup down in the sink. "His real partner?"

He thought I was starting to give in and leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Come on, it's normal for guys to mess around a little. Put up with it, and you'll still be the one he comes home to."

I turned the faucet on full blast.

Cold water blasted into the cup, spraying his pants.

Ryan jumped back. "Are you crazy?"

I turned off the water.

"If you shove that filthy crap in my face again, I'll splash it right in yours." I said.

His face darkened, and he pointed at me. "Wait."

I didn't have to wait long.