At
first, Jane made efforts to be a supportive stepmother, even inviting me along
to her and Amy's nail appointments. However, as time passed, their bond grew
stronger, leaving me feeling excluded. "Maybe Amy's just going through a
phase," my father suggested during our ice cream outing, where I confided
in him. "Perhaps she needs some extra time with her mom." I learned
to accept it, understanding that despite Jane referring to me as her daughter,
I wouldn't truly be treated as such. Then, as we entered our final year of
school, prom emerged as the highlight of our social calendar. Though hesitant
to admit it to my father, I was eagerly anticipating prom—especially since
Mason and I were finally dating, making the day feel magical. I also knew that
while my father would cover the cost of my dream dress, I wanted to earn it
myself. "If Dad buys yours, he'll have to buy Amy's too," I reasoned
with myself. So, I took on extra shifts at the diner where I worked, doing
whatever it took to save up for my dress. In the weeks leading up to prom, I
even picked up babysitting gigs to boost my funds. Eventually, I had enough for
the dress of my dreams. Dad drove me to the store and patiently waited as I
tried it on. When I emerged, he couldn't hide his pride. "Oh, Elsa,"
he exclaimed. "You look absolutely beautiful, darling." That was all
the validation I needed from him. At the register, Dad hesitated, asking,
"Are you sure you want to pay for it yourself? Because I'd do it in a
heartbeat." I politely declined and insisted on covering the cost myself.
“But
you can buy me a waffle,” I grinned. Then, my picture-perfect dream shattered.
A few hours later, I walked into the house after my shift at the diner. Amy and
Jane were sitting in the living room, wiping my grandmother’s silver teapot.
With pieces from my dress. I shrieked. “Honey,” Jane asked, the picture of
concern. “What’s wrong?” “That’s my dress!” I said, picking up a piece. Oh!”
Jane exclaimed. “It was your prom dress?” “You did this?” I asked, unable to
breathe properly. “Well, yes,” Jane said smugly. “But I thought that I was
cutting up some secondhand dress. It didn’t look prom-worthy. So, I thought I’d
use it to polish the silver and the windows.” I couldn’t take it any longer. I burst
out crying — the tears dropping fast onto my clothes. i heard Dad’s heavy
footsteps from somewhere in the house, but it was clear that Jane didn’t.
Because she stood up, walking closer to me. “Now, now, Elsa,” she said. “You
should have known better; you cannot be more beautiful than Amy. Amy is taking
prom queen title. You cannot outshine her.” I looked up at her, trying to
understand how she could be so horrible to me. I wasn’t a stranger to Jane, but
she treated me as though she didn’t care about me at all. Maybe she didn’t. But
then her face went pale. “What did you just say?” Dad demanded from behind me.
The room went silent, my father’s anger thick and heavy. “Did you do this,
Jane?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. “I can fix it,” Jane stuttered.
Dad stormed to his and Jane’s bedroom, bringing a dress with him — it was the
same color as her custom wedding dress, but I knew it wasn’t the exact dress.
He ripped the dress with his hands, the sound of the tear taking over the
silence. Jane screamed, clearly mistaking the dress for her wedding dress.
“Dad,” I said, trying to calm him down. But my father just shook his head. He
threw the pieces of the dress at her. “Fix this,” he said. My dad wasn’t insane
— although he was livid, there was no way he would actually rip up Jane’s
wedding dress. “I’m done,” he said. “You can’t keep hurting my child.” After
the confrontation, my prom dreams dwindled. But I took a moment to reflect on
what it meant to me. It was supposed to be magical. The thought of missing out
on it, of being denied that experience because of a senseless act of jealousy,
was more painful than I could express. On the day of prom, my father fetched me
from school, a box in the car. “It’s your dress, darling,” he said. “You go and
have fun tonight. Now, let’s get your hair done.” On the way home, my father
told me that he wanted to divorce Jane. “I’ve been blind to her treatment of
you for too long, Elsa. It’s done now. The future is for you and I, and the
fights we’ll have about college,” he grinned.
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