When I was seven, my mom disappeared — no note, no reason, just gone. My dad did his best, until he remarried. Twice. Leslie, the last one, came with casseroles, fake kindness, and her smug son, Stuart, who instantly became the star of the house.
At first, Leslie didn’t scream or scold. She erased. My clothes got downgraded, my phone stopped charging, my plate always had less. And if I complained? “Tom just wants attention,” she’d purr to my dad, twisting every truth.
When prom rolled around, I finally felt a glimpse of excitement. I’d asked Taylor, and she said yes — freckles, bright smile, and all. My dad even took us suit shopping. I chose a navy three-piece. For once, I wanted to feel like I belonged.
But prom day didn’t bring music or magic. I came home to find my suit — in shreds. Torn. Destroyed. Not stolen. Not missing. Ruined. And I knew exactly who did it…I confronted Leslie. She swore it was an accident — something about “airing out the smell” and “a lawnmower mishap.” Strange how Stuart’s suit survived just fine. My dad believed her, of course. Said I should just wear slacks.
But luck was on my side. Our neighbor, Mrs. Elizaveta — old, nosy, sweet — had been filming birds from her porch. She caught everything. Leslie, placing my suit on the lawn like a ritual. Then mowing over it, calm and cold.
I sent the video to my dad. He called me minutes later. Silent. Then finally, “Tom… I’m so sorry.” It was the first time he really saw me. The truth. The years of quiet cruelty. All of it.
Leslie never saw it coming. She thought she’d buried me under her lies. But what she really did… was set everything in motion. And prom? It turned out to be unforgettable — just not for the reasons she hoped.
