Three years after my mom died, my dad’s new wife treated me like an unwanted guest in my own home. When prom season arrived, she spent hundreds on her daughter and handed me the ugliest dress she could find. She thought the whole school would laugh at me. Instead, she ended the night in tears.
Three years after my mother died, our house still felt like it was holding its breath.
Dad and I had learned to move through the quiet together, pretending the empty chair at the table wasn’t the loudest thing in the room.
Then Dad started dating Alexis, and within four months she and her daughter, Brianna, moved into our home.
One of the first things Alexis did was box up every last thing that had belonged to my mother.
Within four months she and her daughter, Brianna, moved into our home.
Brianna was my age, went to my school, and from the very beginning, neither of them liked me. They were discreet about it at first, but got bolder as time passed.
“Brianna, sweetheart, your hair looks gorgeous today,” Alexis said one morning, sliding a plate of pancakes across the counter.
I reached for the syrup, and Alexis pulled it back an inch. “Emma, you might want to skip that.”
“Yeah,” Brianna added, “or we’ll need to get a special chair in here for you.”
Dad glanced over the newspaper but didn’t say anything. I’d given up on hoping for him to intervene.
As prom season approached, I started dreading meal times.
At school, it was the same loop on a different stage.
Brianna walked the hallway like she owned the place, and crowds parted for her and her friends.
I kept my head down and counted the months until graduation.
“Three months, Em,” Jenna whispered, bumping my shoulder at our lockers. “Three months and you’re free. Your stepmother won’t be able to touch you anymore.”
I smiled, because she was right, and because counting down the days until I left for college was the only thing keeping me upright.
“Your stepmother won’t be able to touch you anymore.”
Prom season hit the school like a weather front. Posters bloomed on every wall, and Brianna talked about her dream dresses at every meal, even when no one asked.
“Mom, did you see the one with the crystal bodice? It’s $600.”
“Whatever you want, baby.”
Dad cleared his throat over his coffee one Saturday morning.
“I want both girls to have nice dresses,” he said, reaching for his wallet. “Alexis, take this and pick something for each of them.”
Prom season hit the school like a weather front.
He counted out the bills slowly and slid them across the table. Alexis covered his hand with hers and squeezed.
“Of course, Mark. I’ll find something perfect for both of them.”
She looked at me when she said it, and for the first time ever, she smiled at me like I was a daughter.
It was such a small thing, but I felt a flicker of emotion, the kind I should have known better than to trust.
For the first time ever, she smiled at me like I was a daughter.
“Thank you, Alexis,” I said.
“Of course, dear,” she said off-handedly.
I went to bed that night thinking Alexis was finally trying.
I was just falling asleep when I heard something… it sounded like footsteps in the attic. I listened for a moment, but heard nothing more.
The following evening Alexis came home carrying two long garment bags over her arm.
I heard something… it sounded like footsteps in the attic.
One garment bag was a little puffy, suggesting a ruffled skirt, perhaps. The other draped over her arm so limply it looked empty.
“Try them on, girls,” she said. “I want to see your faces.”
That flicker of hope I had carried since the previous day died the second I unzipped the garment bag in my bedroom.
The faint scent of mothballs wafted up as I lifted the dress free. It was a dull mustard-gold, the fabric stiff and slightly faded, the cut nothing like anything girls were wearing that year.
“I want to see your faces.”
Brianna had already torn into hers across the hall, shrieking with delight.
“Mom, it’s perfect! Oh my God, look at it!”
I heard the rustle of expensive fabric, then her footsteps thundering toward my room.
She stopped in my doorway in a floor-length ice-blue gown that shimmered under the light. The bodice was beaded. The skirt fell like water.
Brianna took one look at my dress and burst out laughing.
“Mom, it’s perfect! Oh my God, look at it!”
“Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Mom, you have to see this.”
Alexis appeared behind her, hands clasped, wearing an expression I could only describe as wounded.
“What’s wrong with it?” she asked.
“It’s hideous,” Brianna said.
“I spent hours looking for that dress. Hours. It’s the perfect dress for Emma.”
I held it up against my body. “Alexis, it looks like something from a thrift store.”
“It’s the perfect dress for Emma.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry. I just mean, it doesn’t look new.”