09/16/2025
I'm 17F, and in my senior year in a small Michigan town. I work at CVS after school, babysit on weekends, and I've saved every crumpled bill I could in an old Folgers can under my bed for a prom dress. By March, I had $312. Enough for a clearance dress at Dillard's, and maybe heels.
Prom's a big deal for me. My mom died when I was 12, and I always told myself she'd see me in something sparkly from heaven.
Dad got remarried to Linda when I was 14. Her daughter, Hailey, is my age. We aren't close.
One Thursday, I came home to Hailey squealing in the kitchen, standing on a chair in a lilac gown that screamed boutique. Linda smiled at me, sweet as pie: "And you can borrow one of my cocktail dresses. Be practical."
I ignored her and went upstairs. But when I checked under my bed, the Folgers can was GONE.
"Anybody seen my red coffee can?" I yelled.
Linda appeared in my doorway. "Oh! I borrowed it. We needed the money. You don't need a silly dress. And your dad will be out of town, so NOBODY is here for pictures with you anyway."
My chest burned. "You spent my prom savings on Hailey's dress."
"It's family money," she said, smug.
That night, I texted Alex, my date: I think I'm gonna skip.
Prom week blurred past. Girls traded clutch bags, Hailey floated through the halls, and Linda chirped about lash appointments. I just worked shifts, bagged prescriptions, and tried to pretend prom was a movie I wasn't in.
The morning of the dance, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling fan. Then, HOOONK.
A red SUV pulled up under my window. A woman in jeans and sunglasses stepped out. I didn't recognize her. She grinned up at me, and shouted:
"Get dressed, kid. We've got places to be. And trust me, your stepmom's payback? It's gonna be epic." ⬇️
