My stepmom laughed at the prom dress my little brother made for me out of our late mom’s jeans.
By the end of the night, everyone knew exactly who she was.
I’m seventeen.
My brother Noah is fifteen.
Our mom died when I was twelve. Dad remarried Carla two years later. Then last year Dad died suddenly from a heart attack, and everything in our house changed overnight.
Carla took control of everything.
Bills. Accounts. Mail. Money.
Mom had left savings for Noah and me. Dad always said it was meant for “important things.” School. College. Big moments.
Apparently, Carla had a different idea of what “important” meant.
Prom came up about a month ago.
She was sitting at the kitchen table scrolling through her phone when I said carefully, “Prom is in three weeks. I need a dress.”
She didn’t even look up.
