Chapter 333: A Second Chance To Dream

Isobel smiled quietly.

She was glad to see this change.

Her attention then shifted to a small wooden table beside the window. A blue notebook lay open beside several fabric swatches.

Curious, she picked it up.

The moment she flipped through the pages, she discovered that it was filled with sketches of clothing designs.

There were dresses of different lengths, skirts with unusual cuts, children’s outfits with delicate embroidery, and even a few elegant gowns. Some drawings were accompanied by handwritten notes about fabric choices, colors, and embellishments.

Isobel’s eyebrows rose.

"Cousin, did you draw all of these?"

"Yes."

"All by yourself?"

Alena nodded.

"Alena, these are wonderful!"

She turned another page, then another.

"Why haven’t you told me about this talent of yours? Have you ever considered studying fashion design?"

For a moment, Alena’s expression brightened.

Then, almost as quickly, the light in her eyes faded.

"I wouldn’t know where to start, Bel."

"Why not?"

Alena hesitated before forcing a small smile.

"I’m already in my late twenties. I have two children. Who would want to accept someone like me in a fashion design school?"

She lowered her gaze to the notebook.

"Besides, I don’t think I can afford to go back to school. There are so many things I need to take care of."

Isobel studied her for a moment.

"Do you remember Dawn Amali?"

Alena nodded.

"She owns a fashion design school. I’ll introduce you to her. I’m sure she’d be willing to help you explore your options."

Alena looked up.

"Really?"

"Of course. And don’t give me that look. You’re not too old to learn something new."

Isobel placed the notebook back on the table.

"There’s no age limit to pursuing a dream, Lena. You just need to give yourself a chance."

Alena remained silent.

A dream.

It had been so long since she had allowed herself to think about one.

Back in high school, Alena had been fascinated by clothes and fashion.

While other girls spent their free time talking about celebrities and boys, she often found herself studying the dresses in fashion magazines she found in the school library. She wondered how the garments were constructed and what kind of fabric had been used.

She particularly loved the intricate details—the delicate lace around a neckline, the careful arrangement of pleats, the way a simple piece of fabric could be transformed into something beautiful through a person’s imagination.

She had taken dressmaking as an elective, and it quickly became her favorite subject.

Her classmates had noticed her talent.

Some of the wealthier girls would even give her money to make clothes for their Barbie dolls they collected from childhood. They supplied the lace, ribbons, buttons, and other embellishments, while she did the cutting and sewing.

At first, she simply copied designs she found on the internet.

But eventually, she began experimenting.

She would alter the sleeves, change the neckline, add little details, and combine different styles until she came up with something of her own.

She still remembered the excitement she felt whenever she finished a design. She would hold the tiny garment in her hands, turning it from side to side, admiring how the pieces of fabric had come together.

Back then, she had imagined that one day she would have her own fashion studio.

She had even dreamed of seeing her creations displayed in shop windows, worn by people who appreciated her work.

But dreams were expensive.

And for a girl who grew up with very little, even the simplest ambition could feel like an impossible luxury.

After graduating from high school, she couldn’t afford to pursue a college degree. There had been no money for tuition, transportation, or even the basic expenses that came with studying.

Like many young women in their village, she eventually married young and tried to build a life around the opportunities available to her.

The years passed.

One responsibility followed another. Marriage, motherhood, household expenses, and the endless demands of daily life gradually consumed whatever little time she had for herself.

Her sewing skills became nothing more than something she occasionally used to mend clothes.

Her notebooks were abandoned.

Her dreams were forgotten.

Or perhaps, she corrected herself, she had simply buried them so deeply that she no longer dared to look for them.

And then came everything that had happened in her marriage.

Her husband dumped her for a rich woman.

The memories were still painful. There were moments when she could almost hear the cruel words again, feel the humiliation all over again, and remember how small and powerless she had felt.

And just when she thought she has healed and moved on, an even worse fate awaited her.

There had been a time when she questioned her own worth.

She had wondered whether she was destined to spend the rest of her life merely enduring whatever circumstances placed before her.

Even after leaving that painful Chapter behind, the emotional scars hadn’t disappeared.

Some nights, she still woke up with a heavy heart. Sometimes, the smallest reminder of her past was enough to make her withdraw into herself.

But lately, something had begun to change.

It started with the children.

When she first sat down at the sewing machine, she had only wanted to make something nice for Randy and Yana. She wanted to see them dressed in clothes she had made with her own hands.

Then she began sketching.

One design became two. Two became five.

Before she knew it, she was spending hours thinking about patterns, colors, fabrics, and the little details that could make an ordinary dress special.

For the first time in a long while, she found herself looking forward to tomorrow.

And she realized that she missed this feeling.

She missed having something to be excited about.

Something to look forward to.

Something that was hers.

Perhaps she had spent too many years believing that her circumstances defined the limits of her life.

But was that really true?

She was no longer the helpless young woman who had once believed she had no choice but to accept whatever life offered her.

She had survived things she never thought she could endure. She had two beautiful children who depended on her, and although her life was far from perfect, she was finally beginning to find her footing again.

Could she really allow herself to dream once more?

Her eyes drifted toward the blue notebook on the table.

The pages were filled with unfinished ideas, little sketches, and designs that had existed only in her imagination.

Yet, for the first time, they no longer looked like childish fantasies.

They looked like possibilities.