11/08/2025
My stepmom RUINED the skirt I made from my late dad's ties to honor him during my prom.
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When my dad died, I was left with my stepmother, Carla — who didn't shed a single tear. At the funeral, while I could barely stand, she leaned over and hissed, "You're embarrassing yourself. Stop crying — he's gone."
Two weeks later, she cleaned out dad's closet, tossing his favorite collection of ties into a trash bag.
"They're not junk. They're his," I begged.
She rolled her eyes. "HE'S NOT COMING BACK FOR THEM. GROW UP."
I saved them when she wasn't looking. Each still smelled faintly like my dad's cologne.
Prom was coming up. I didn't want to go, but I knew Dad would've wanted me to. So I decided to honor him and stitched those ties into a skirt. Each pattern held a memory — his job interview, my recital, Christmas mornings.
When I tried it on, I whispered, "He'd love this."
The night before prom, I hung it on my closet door.
The next morning, I smelled Carla's perfume in my room. The skirt was on the floor — RIPPED APART, ties scattered like bones.
I screamed.
Carla appeared, sipping coffee.
"That thing was HIDEOUS anyway. DO NOT PRETEND TO BE A PATHETIC ORPHAN!"
"You destroyed the last thing I had of Dad's!"
She smirked. "He's DEAD, not magic. Get over it."
But karma was faster then I thought, as police lights flashed outside. A knock.
Carla froze.
The officer came in and looked at me. “You live here?”
“Yes… why?”
He turned to Carla.
“We’re here for Mrs. Miller. ⬇️
