Chapter 5: Becoming My Own Miracle

Back home, I got myself together. I signed up for a bunch of online courses on fashion design, learning from teachers and doing my own research. I laughed at my own beginner mistakes, but kept going.

I bought a sketchbook, filled it with ideas. I watched YouTube tutorials late into the night, determined to make up for lost time.

I wasn’t doing this because I couldn’t let go, or because I wanted to compete with Dana, or because I wanted anything to do with Evan’s company. I did it because I liked it. I’d wanted to major in design in college, but I’d listened to Evan and gave up. Now, I wanted to do what I liked, for myself.

For the first time, I was living on my own terms.

I threw myself into studying, losing track of everything else. After I moved back home, we started getting huge packages full of my favorite snacks. I knew who sent them.

The return address was always the same. I rolled my eyes, tossing the boxes in the pantry.

For years, Evan had a habit of sending me snacks regularly. But we’d broken up—what was he trying to do? Seriously, what was the point?

I texted him: Stop sending me snacks.

My fingers trembled as I hit send. I was done playing his games.

He replied instantly: Harper, don’t overthink it. You’ll always be the little sister I care for.

I scoffed, deleting the message without replying.

I replied: We’ve broken up. Keeping my distance is my way of respecting myself. I don’t want any more contact with you.

The message felt final. I blocked his number, determined not to look back.

At Thanksgiving, Evan came home, bringing Dana. He even brought gifts to my house, knocked forever, but we pretended no one was home. After he left, my dad sighed, "Time to move."

We packed up our lives, leaving behind the ghosts of the past.

Everyone in the old school apartment complex knew about me and Evan. Now that we’d broken up, it was awkward to face everyone’s curiosity. Since my parents had retired, it didn’t matter where we lived, so after the holidays, they started house-hunting. We bought a fully renovated place and moved in three months later.

The new house was bright and airy, full of possibility. I painted my room yellow, hung up my sketches, and started fresh.

Learning was tough. I’d always been interested in design, but once I started studying it seriously, I realized I was totally clueless.

I spent hours hunched over my laptop, frustrated by every mistake. But I refused to give up. No way was I going to quit now.

The dense theory and difficult assignments nearly broke me. I thought about quitting so many times—why not just find an easy job? Why put myself through this?

Every time I wanted to quit, I remembered the feeling of being left behind. I was determined to prove—to myself, if no one else—that I could do this.

But giving up would have killed me. Why could others succeed, but not me? Was I really dumber than everyone else?

I pushed through the doubts, one assignment at a time.

I discovered I had a stubborn streak. Every time, I gritted my teeth and got through it. At first, the online teacher always used my homework as a negative example. Later, she’d say, "No big mistakes, but not creative either."

Her criticism stung, but I took it as a challenge. I worked harder, stayed up later, determined to improve. Bring it on.

Finally, one day, she said, "Technique is still immature, but there’s a spark of creativity here. Congratulations, you’re starting to get it."

The words felt like winning the lottery. I cried, not out of sadness, but relief.

That day, I cried in front of my computer. It was worth it.

For the first time, I felt proud of myself.

There’s nothing like the fulfillment that comes from achieving something through your own effort.

I realized I didn’t need anyone’s approval but my own.

I thought back to my days with Evan. He was always so excellent—top student, successful after graduation. Everyone praised him, and I basked in his reflected glory.

But living in someone else’s shadow isn’t living. I wanted my own light.

I was proud of him. But now I understood: no matter how successful someone else is, it doesn’t give you confidence. True confidence comes from your own achievements.

The trophies on his shelf meant nothing to me now. I wanted my own.

No matter how successful Evan was, standing next to him never gave me confidence. Only I could give that to myself.

I looked in the mirror and saw someone strong, someone capable. For the first time, I liked what I saw.

I didn’t know what Evan was thinking. He was the one who fell out of love and broke up with me, so why was he acting like he couldn’t let go now?

He’d send me emails, leave voicemails, even show up at my favorite coffee shop. I ignored them all.

I blocked him, but he’d just contact me from a new number.

He was relentless, but I refused to give in. Not this time.

"Harper, even though we broke up, we grew up together. There’s no need to be enemies. You don’t have to leave town because of me. Your parents are getting older—you shouldn’t make them take care of you."

His messages were full of concern, but I saw through them. He didn’t want to lose control.

I took a deep breath and replied as patiently as I could: "I have my own plans. Where I live is my choice—not yours. And since my parents are older, it’s good for me to be here to look after them."

I hit send, feeling a surge of satisfaction. I was in charge now.

"Come on," he seemed to laugh. "Harper, you don’t know how to take care of anyone. You can’t even tie your shoes or use the stove—you’re totally helpless. Don’t be stubborn. Come back. You’re my neighbor’s little sister—I’ll always look out for you."

His arrogance was infuriating. I gritted my teeth, determined to prove him wrong.

I realized for the first time just how arrogant he was.

He didn’t see me as an equal—just someone to manage.

My tone was serious. "No one is born knowing everything—they learn. I didn’t know how before because you insisted on doing everything for me. Now, not only can I use the stove, I can cook a dozen simple home-cooked dishes. Last week, I even arranged full health checkups for my parents—they said I’m the one in charge now. See? I can live just fine without you."

I sent a photo of the dinner I’d cooked—proof that I was doing just fine. Take that.

"Harper, stop being stubborn—"

His words bounced off me. I was done listening.

"Who’s being stubborn—you or me? Evan, let me remind you again: we’ve broken up. I don’t want anything to do with a man who has a girlfriend. What exactly do you want? Can’t you accept that I can live without you? Stop being so arrogant—and so shameless!"

The silence that followed was deafening. I knew I’d finally gotten through to him.

Maybe he’d never heard me talk so harshly before, because he was silent for a long time before hanging up.

I sat back, feeling lighter than I had in years.

One day, my online course teacher sent me a link—it was for a statewide fashion design competition, hosted by Blackridge Group and several partner organizations.

I stared at the screen, heart pounding. This was my chance.

She said, "Your designs have a spark. Give it a try."

Her encouragement meant everything. I clicked the link, filled out the application, and hit submit.

I signed up.

I didn’t tell anyone—not even my parents. This was just for me.

I didn’t expect to win—just wanted the experience and to see other great work.

I spent nights sketching, revising, doubting myself, then sketching again. It was exhausting, but exhilarating.

After three rounds of selection, I actually made it to the finals—the top ten.

When I got the email, I screamed so loud my mom came running. I’d never been so proud.

At the finals, I sat in the audience as the Blackridge design director read my name. "Third place goes to Harper."

Everything went quiet. I could only hear my own heart pounding. I’d actually won?

I pinched myself, just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

A sense of achievement filled my chest—there’s nothing like earning something through your own hard work. I’d never felt that before. I hugged the trophy tight.

The trophy felt heavy in my hands, a symbol of everything I’d overcome.

After getting my award, I clung to the trophy, dazed through the whole ceremony, smiling uncontrollably.

My cheeks hurt from smiling, but I didn’t care. I’d earned this.

After the ceremony, as the crowd dispersed, Ms. Chambers, the brilliant design director who’d handed me my trophy, came over to shake hands with each winner.

She was tall, elegant, with a kind smile. I felt starstruck.

She smiled and asked if I’d like to join Blackridge’s design department. My heart skipped a beat.

I nearly dropped my trophy. My dream job—offered to me, just like that.

I was stunned. Blackridge’s design department? Me?

I stammered a yes, my hands shaking with excitement.

My body reacted before my brain—I nodded before I could even answer.

I couldn’t believe it. I’d done it.

Director Chambers reached out her hand. "Welcome to Blackridge."

Her handshake was firm, her smile genuine. I felt like I was finally where I belonged.

Blackridge Group was truly a Fortune 500 company. If I had to sum up the work environment in one word: intense.

The office was a whirlwind of creativity and ambition. I’d never seen anything like it.

There was little office drama—everyone was focused on their work. The office was already buzzing by 8 a.m., and the lights were still on after 9 p.m.

People stayed late because they wanted to, not because they had to. The energy was contagious.

Everyone worked with incredible energy and passion. But Blackridge was generous with overtime pay, so no one minded.

There were catered dinners, late-night brainstorming sessions, and the constant hum of inspiration.

This also meant everyone worked together smoothly and efficiently. I thought I’d struggle to keep up, but after two weeks, I wasn’t tired at all—instead, I was full of drive. Every time my work was recognized, I felt a rush of excitement.

I thrived under the pressure, surprising even myself.

I never knew I was such a career woman. Who knew?

I looked forward to Mondays, counted down to project launches. I’d found my calling.

Even more exciting, when the company was planning a new product, they decided to use my "Dogwood Rain" series.

I nearly fainted when I heard the news. My designs—on the shelves, in stores, worn by real people.

I was still doubting myself when Director Chambers gave me full affirmation. "Your designs fit our theme perfectly—fresh and creative. I knew I was right about you, Harper!"

Her words were the best kind of validation. I felt like I could do anything.

Her words felt like a strawberry slushie on a hot summer day—utterly refreshing.

I called my parents, crying tears of joy. They were so proud, they threw me a little party at home.

After the product launched, sales were booming. At the celebration dinner, I was so happy I had a glass of wine.

We toasted to new beginnings, to hard work paying off. I felt unstoppable.