If you couldn’t tell already, my stepmom only cared about appearances.
That night, I cried with the dress crumpled in my arms, whispering apologies to a mother who couldn’t hear me. But I made up my mind—I would wear it, no matter what Stephanie thought. I wouldn’t let her erase my mom from this house. Not completely.
When my dad came home, I didn’t tell him about the argument.
He apologized for having to work a double shift on prom day. As a regional manager at a warehouse company, end-of-quarter demands had pulled him in.
“I’ll be back by the time you return,” he promised, kissing my forehead. “I want to see my girl looking like a princess in her mother’s dress.”
