It was the day before graduation, and I was standing in front of the mirror, twirling in it.
“Megan, you can’t be serious,” she said, clutching a glass of wine. “You want to wear that to prom?”
I nodded, holding the garment bag close. “It was my mom’s. I’ve always dreamed of wearing it.”
She raised her eyebrows and set her glass down a little too hard. “Megan, that dress is decades old. You’re going to look like you pulled it out of a thrift store donation bin.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “It’s not about the look. It’s about the memory.”
She stepped closer, pointing sharply at the bag. “You can’t wear that rag! You’ll disgrace our family. You’re part of my family now, and I won’t have people thinking we can’t afford to dress our daughter properly.”
“I’m not your daughter,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
Her jaw tightened. “Well, maybe if you acted like one, we wouldn’t have these problems. You’re wearing the designer dress I picked out, the one that cost thousands!”
