Our mother died when I was twelve. Dad remarried Carla two years later, and after Dad suddenly died of a heart attack last year, everything in the house changed overnight.
Carla took control of everything — bills, bank accounts, mail. Mom had left money for Noah and me, and Dad always said it was for important moments: college, school expenses, life milestones.
Apparently, Carla had decided that those things didn’t matter anymore.
A month before the prom, I mentioned that I needed a dress.
Carla barely looked up from her phone.
“Graduation dresses are a waste of stupid money.”
“Mom left money for things like this,” I reminded her.
She let out a cold laugh.
“That money now keeps this house running. And honestly, who wants to see you parading in an expensive and ridiculous princess dress?”
I felt my throat close.
“So there’s money for your appointments in the living room, but not for this?”
“Take care of your attitude.”
“You’re spending our money.”
She hit the counter with her hand and stood up.
“I’m the one who keeps this family afloat. You have no idea how expensive it is to live.”
“Dad said the money belonged to us.”
His expression instantly hardened.
“Your father was terrible at money and even worse by setting limits.”
I ran up the stairs and cried on the pillow like I was a little girl again.
Later that night, I heard Noah standing outside my door. He finally came in wearing a bunch of old denim jeans.
Mom’s jeans.
He carefully placed them on my bed.
“Do you trust me?” He asked quietly.
I looked at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Last year I took seam, remember?”
“Do you know how to sew?”
“I can try,” he said quickly. “I mean… if it’s silly, forget it.”
I grabbed his wrist before he could pull away.
Leave a Comment