Elsa has to put up with a stepsister and stepmother who don’t want her around after her father remarries. But Elsa’s father intervenes when they put her prom dress in danger.
A week prior to my prom, which was my last school dance, Jane took on the character of the bad stepmother.
Six years ago, my dad and Jane got married, following a protracted divorce from my mother. Amy, Jane’s daughter, also moved in with her.
My dad said, “You and Amy are the same age.” “I think there will be a great rapport between you two.”
I answered, “I don’t think so.” “She hasn’t really said anything to me.”
Dad said, “Elsa.” “Give it some time.”
Since my school was closer to home and she believed it would help us bond, Jane enrolled Amy there.
At first, Jane made an effort to be a nice stepmother, even inviting me to join her and Amy for their nail sessions. However, as we grew older, they grew closer and eventually shut me out entirely.
When we went for ice cream, my father replied, “Maybe Amy’s just going through something,” and I told him. “Perhaps all she needs is more time with her mom.”
I came to terms with the fact that, despite Jane calling me her daughter, I would never be her daughter.
Then, as our last year of education approached, prom swiftly rose to the top of the social schedule.
I was looking forward to prom since Mason and I were finally dating, and I knew it would be an amazing day, even if I didn’t want to tell my father.
I also knew that although my father would finance the purchase of my ideal outfit, I want to earn it on my own.
I told myself that if Dad buys yours, he had to purchase Amy’s too.
In order to add to my dress budget, I took on extra shifts at the diner where I worked. I fit childcare into my schedule a few weeks before prom. I had saved up enough for my ideal dress at last.
Dad patiently waited for me to try it on after dropping me off at the store. He smiled at me as I stepped outside.
“Oh,” he said to Elsa. “Darling, you look beautiful.”
All I required from him was that.
“Are you certain you want to cover the cost yourself?” When were we at the till, Dad asked? “Because I’ll jump at the chance to do it.”
I declined and bought the dress nevertheless.
I smiled and said, “But you can buy me a waffle.”
My idyllic fantasy was then dashed.
I entered the residence a few hours later following my job at the diner. In the living room, Amy and Jane were cleaning my grandmother’s silver teapot.
using fragments of my clothing.
I cried out.
“Honey,” Jane enquired, her expression worried. “What’s off?”
“It’s my dress!” Picking up a piece, I said.
“Oh!” Jane shouted. “That was your dress for prom?”
“You carried out this?” Not being able to breathe properly, I inquired.
“Well, yes,” Jane gloated. However, I mistakenly believed that I was chopping up used clothing. It was not worthy of a prom. I therefore reasoned that I would use it to polish the windows and the silver.
I was at my breaking point. I started crying and my tears quickly fell onto my clothes.
Somewhere in the house, I heard Dad’s heavy footsteps, but Jane obviously didn’t.
Because she got to her feet and moved toward me.
“Elsa, now, now,” she uttered. You couldn’t possibly be more gorgeous than Amy; you ought to have known better. Amy is going to be the prom queen. You are unable to surpass her.
I tried to figure out how she could be so awful to me as I stared up at her. Jane didn’t seem to care about me at all, even though we weren’t strangers.
Perhaps she didn’t.
However, her face became pallid.
“What were you saying?” Dad called out to me from behind.
With a thick and heavy fury, my father became silent in the room.
He questioned, “Did you do this, Jane?”
He didn’t hold out for a response.
“I can make it right,” Jane stumbled.
The outfit that Dad brought with him to their bedroom was the same color as Jane’s handmade wedding dress, but I knew it wasn’t the exact one.
With his hands, he tore the dress, filling the quiet with the sound of the tears.
Jane shrieked, obviously thinking the dress was her bridal gown.
“Dad,” I replied, attempting to soothe him.
My dad, though, just shook his head. He hurled the fragments of the gown towards her.
Fix this, he commanded.
My dad wasn’t crazy; even though he was furious, he couldn’t possibly tear up Jane’s bridal gown.
“I’m done,” he declared. “You must stop abusing my child.”
After the altercation, I had fewer prom dreams. However, I paused to consider what it meant to me.
It was meant to work like magic. It hurt more than words could say to think of missing it, of being robbed of that pleasure by a needless jealous deed.
My father picked me up from school the day of prom, a box in the car.
It’s your dress, sweetheart,” he remarked. “Go have fun tonight, please. Let’s get your hair done now.
My father informed me he wanted to divorce Jane on the way home.
“Elsa, I’ve been oblivious to her treatment of you for far too long. It is now finished. He smiled, “The future is for you and me, and the arguments we’ll have over college.
Do you have any comparable stories?
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