Chapter 1 - The Weight of Cold Cash
The quiet in my alteration shop felt heavier than usual after the call went dead.
I picked up the tailor’s chalk again, but my hand was shaking so badly that the line wavered across the wool trousers.
Five thousand dollars was nearly six months of commercial rent in this small Hickory plaza.
Troy came in twenty minutes later, bringing a paper cup of lukewarm tea and smelling like motor oil from the machine shop down the highway.
He took one look at my face, set the cup on the cutting table, and pulled the chalk out of my fingers.
"What happened, Maya?" he asked, his voice steady and low.
I told him everything without stopping, from June’s casual voice on the phone to my mother’s rehearsed lecture about staying out of the way.
Troy stood completely still, his jaw tightening until the muscle ticked beneath his stubble.
"She has your dress in her closet right now," he said, staring at the empty dress form where the satin gown had lived for six weeks.
"She doesn't see it as my work," I answered, feeling the sting behind my eyes turn into something cold and hard.
"She thinks of it as a favor from someone who doesn't count in front of her new in-laws."
Troy reached into his pocket and placed his phone on the table.
"You aren't sending her a single dollar, and you aren't letting her wear that gown down the aisle like she bought it at a boutique."
May you like
I looked down at the receipt book where every yard of Duchess satin, every spool of French silk thread, and every hidden hook had been cataloged.
I hadn’t billed her because I thought we were family, but June had just set the market price for our relationship.
