Chapter 4
Laurel blinked for a second, then gave a firm nod.
"Cristian. Perfect. A thousand times better than that pathetic name—Frankie."
We looked at each other and laughed.
A new day had truly begun.
Life with a newborn was pure chaos.
As a first-time mom, I fumbled through every task like a blindfolded soldier in a minefield.
Cristian was sweet, but babies never slept on a schedule—feedings, diaper changes, soothing him to sleep, repeat.
Most days, I looked like a zombie with giant dark circles and unwashed hair.
My design progress slowed to a crawl.
Thankfully, Laurel's side hustle was booming, and she slapped her chest confidently. "What're you worried about? I'll feed you two. Just focus on creating! Our baby girl—uh, I mean boy—is my future patron of the arts."
Still, I couldn't really let myself become a burden.
Every spare minute when Cristian napped, I used to sketch.
Even late at night after feedings, I forced myself to squeeze out a few more lines.
And strangely, exhaustion and stress seemed to spark something magical.
My designs began to take shape—cool, resilient, like flowers blooming in ruins.
Laurel posted my pieces online.
The response was overwhelming.
[Carlee's work is stunning—please take commissions!]
[Every design feels like it has a soul; please consider producing more.]
[Has the artist gone through something? There's a beauty in the brokenness and rebirth.]
Orders started lining up.
Prices began climbing, too.
Eventually, I rented a tiny studio apartment and moved out with Cristian.
I couldn't keep intruding on Laurel's life.
She bawled like a baby when I left.
"Eloise, you heartless woman—got a son and forgot your bestie?" she sniffled. "You better bring my godson around often, or I'm crashing your place."
The little apartment was sun-drenched.
I decorated it with love and care.
Sketches hung on the walls.
In the crib, Cristian slept soundly.
Looking at everything around me, I felt whole and grounded.
When Cristian turned three, one of my pieces won an award on a niche, high-end online design platform.
The prize wasn't much, but it gave me real confidence.
The platform's curator reached out, said he loved my work, and asked if I'd be interested in showcasing at a new designers' exhibition.
It was a rare opportunity.
I hesitated for a long time.
In the end, I said yes.
Cristian had started preschool, so I finally had my mornings free.
I needed a bigger stage, not just for his future, but to prove to myself that I was no one's shadow.
The day of the exhibition arrived.
I wore the only elegant outfit I owned—a cream-colored skirt suit.
With a touch of light makeup, I looked into the mirror.
The uncertainty and fear that once filled my eyes had faded.
Now, there was calm, and something quietly unshakable.
Laurel even took the day off to cheer me on.
"Carlee Steele makes her grand debut," she grinned. "Get ready, world. Prepare to be dazzled."
My booth was tucked away in a quiet corner.
The series I was presenting was called Newborn.
It featured intricate veins of tree leaves inlaid with small, warm-toned pearls.
Each piece symbolized hope born from ruin, strength drawn from pain.
Every design carried a fragment of my love for Cristian, and the long road I had walked to get here.
To my surprise, the feedback was phenomenal.
Buyers and brand reps stopped by, asked questions, left business cards.
I was parched from talking nonstop—but exhilarated.
"Carlee?" a warm voice said beside me.
I looked up.
A well-dressed man in a sleek gray suit stood there.
He looked to be in his thirties, scholarly and elegant, with gold-rimmed glasses.
"Hi, I'm Bentley Butler, founder of Bentley Studio," he said with a gentle smile, handing me his card. "I'm in love with your 'Newborn' collection—especially that leaf brooch. It's brimming with life and story."
I knew the name.
Bentley Studio was a renowned boutique in the local design world, known for featuring elegant, story-driven collections.
Getting featured by them was a dream for many up-and-coming designers.
I fought back the surge of excitement and kept my tone steady. "Mr. Butler, thank you. That means a lot."
We started talking—about inspirations, materials, and potential collaborations.
Bentley was sharp, sincere, and never once condescending.
We clicked instantly.
He even said that he wanted to feature my entire Newborn collection and give me a dedicated corner in their flagship store.
It felt like a miracle had fallen from the sky.
The joy was almost dizzying.
"Eloise, would you mind sharing your contact info?" he asked, pulling out his phone. "We can discuss the details later."
"Of course," I said, grabbing mine quickly.
Just as we were exchanging contact details, I felt an icy, razor-sharp gaze slicing through the crowd like a knife.
My back stiffened.
Instinctively, I looked up.
And in that moment, it felt like an invisible hand reached into my chest and squeezed my heart tight.
Across the not-so-distant crowd stood Frankie.