Woman Cuts Her Stepdaughter’s Prom Dress to Pieces — Dad Has..

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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