I am 17. My brother, Noah, is 15.
Our mom died when I was 12. Dad remarried Carla two years later. Then Dad died last year from a heart attack, and the whole house changed overnight.
Prom came up a month ago.
She took over the bills, the accounts, the mail, everything. Mom had left money for Noah and me. Dad always said it was for “important things.” School. College. Big milestones.
Apparently, Carla decided her definition of “important” was different.
Prom came up a month ago.
She was in the kitchen scrolling on her phone when I said, “Prom is in three weeks. I need a dress.”
“Prom dresses are a ridiculous waste of money.”
“Mom left money for things like this.”
“No one wants to see you prancing around in some overpriced princess costume.”
That made her laugh. Not a real one. One of those little cruel ones.
Then she finally looked at me and said, “That money keeps this house running now. And honestly? No one wants to see you prancing around in some overpriced princess costume.”
“So there’s money for that.”
“Watch your tone.”
“You’re using our money.”
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