Prom night was supposed to be my one night to feel like I belonged. I had a date with Taylor the girl with the loud laugh and the freckles who said yes as long as I promised to dance. Dad even took me suit shopping. I picked a navy three-piece; Stuart, my stepbrother, chose charcoal. Leslie, my stepmother, had always favored Stuart. She didn’t yell or hit, but she erased me in small ways smaller meals, worn-out clothes, broken phones that never got replaced. And now, she had one last trick.
On prom day, I came home to find my suit in shreds on my bed. Not torn by accident — deliberately destroyed. Leslie claimed she’d been “airing it out” on the lawn and “accidentally” ran over it with the mower. Stuart’s suit? Perfectly fine. Dad believed her. But our neighbor, Mrs. Elizaveta, saw everything — and filmed it. In the video, Leslie laid my suit on the grass, started the mower, and destroyed it without a flicker of emotion. I sent the clip to Dad.
An hour later, he appeared in my doorway, silent. He walked into Stuart’s room, took his suit, and handed it to me. “Put it on, son. I’ll pay for a cab. Go enjoy your night.” Leslie screamed, Stuart complained, but I left with the suit and a lightness I hadn’t felt in years. Prom was amazing Taylor smiled, we danced, and for one night, I forgot everything.
When I got home, the house was half-empty. Leslie and Stuart were gone. Dad sat at the kitchen table, shadows under his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “No more stepmoms. Just me, being your dad.” It wasn’t just the night I went to prom it was the night someone finally believed me.