When I came downstairs in my dream prom dress, my stepmother, Carol, was standing in the living room wearing the exact same outfit. She claimed it was to “support” me, but her smirk told the truth—it was sabotage.After my mom died, Dad married Carol, who at first seemed sweet. She wrote me notes, helped with homework, and pretended to care.
But soon the mask slipped. Behind Dad’s back, she belittled me, mocked my dreams, and twisted things so I always looked ungrateful. Dad never saw through it, and I stayed quiet to keep him happy.Prom was supposed to be my night. I’d saved for years for that midnight blue satin dress. But Carol stole the moment, showing up in an identical gown.
At prom, she even crashed the event, trying to outshine me. Instead, she tripped, spilled punch all over herself, and became the laughingstock of the night—“Creepy Carol,” as my classmates dubbed her.Back home, she blamed me, but when Dad heard the cruel words she’d whispered—“No one will be looking at you anyway”—he finally saw her true colors. His anger was cold and protective, something I’d never seen before.
Later, Carol texted me an apology, admitting she was jealous of my youth, my confidence, and the bond I had with my dad. But I never replied.That night I learned something powerful: when someone tries to dim your light, life has a way of making them stumble in their own darkness.