I Had to Skip My Prom Because My Stepmom Stole the Money I’d Saved for My Dress – On the Morning of Prom, a Red SUV Rolled up to My House

I believed my prom fantasies were over before they even started since secrets spread quickly in a small Michigan town. Then something unexpected pulled into my driveway on prom morning.

In a little Michigan town, where everyone knows your favorite soda and your deepest tragedy, I am a senior at the age of 17. I worked outside of school to save money for a prom outfit, but my stepmother embezzled the money. Fortunately, a rescuer in a red SUV showed up.

In our little town, my classmates joke that you can’t sneeze at the gas station without it going viral on the PTA group chat. Here, the crossing guard is aware of your GPA, and the Rite Aid salesperson is aware of your favorite gum.

After school, I work part-time at CVS, mopping aisles and replenishing shelves on weekdays when the mustachioed old pharmacist loses his spectacles. I watch kids on the weekends.

“Keep the change, sweetheart,” people murmured when they gave me a tip, and every crumpled dollar went into an old red Folgers coffee can beneath my bed. It has more capacity than cash. My dream was in it.

I’ve been dreaming about the big day while browsing Instagram and bookmarking pictures of satin and tulle since ninth school. Please understand that I wasn’t searching for a crazy couture item. All I needed was something straightforward and enchanted that would give me a sense of belonging in a world where everything worked perfectly.

My mother, who died when I was twelve, used to say, “I want your life to have sparkle.” Ever since, I’ve convinced myself that she would see me wearing something dazzling from heaven. Like a race to the finish line, I’ve been chasing brilliance.

I was 14 when my dad got married again. At that point, Linda arrived. She arrived with her know-it-all tone, her impeccable posture, and her designer perfumes. In her junior year, her daughter Hailey, who is my age, came in with us.

Although we weren’t close, we weren’t adversaries either. I had my world, and she had hers. Our paths occasionally crossed in line for the bathroom mirror or beside the refrigerator, but for the most part, we lived like people on the same train going in different directions.

When February arrived, prom fever also arrived. At school, the girls started group chats about Pinterest boards and color themes. Dates and playlists were the main topics of conversation around campus.

Linda was infected as well. As if it were a science fair project, she slapped a “Prom Planning Board” on the refrigerator. It included checklists for hair trials, shoes, nails, spray tans, the location, and corsage etiquette.

She used a glitter gel pen to underline Hailey’s name after writing it in a glittery purple ink. What’s my name? Not even a single bullet.

I didn’t mind, though. Silently, I was saving.

The coffee can had $312 by March! That morning, I had counted it twice. I had enough money for a pair of kitten heels that wouldn’t crush my ankles, a cheap clearance dress at Dillard’s, and, if I happened to find one on sale, a cheap hair curler.

On my phone, I also had a checklist:

Dress: less than $200

Shoes: possibly from a bargain store

Hair: YouTube do-it-yourself curls

Makeup: my one lovely palette and inexpensive foundation

Buttonhole corsage: for my prom date and neighbor, Alex

I had no relationship with Alex. We simply decided to travel together. He is the type of man who brings his dog to the pharmacy purely for the purpose of letting the young children pet it. I would characterize him as humorous and innocuous. I enjoyed him.

I came home one Thursday from work to the scent of oily takeaway and the high-pitched squeal of Hailey’s laughter. After kicking off my shoes and dropping my luggage, I followed the commotion to the kitchen.

Hailey was spinning while standing on a chair in a lilac outfit covered in sequins that glistened like a frozen lake. Still hanging off the side was the price tag. A clothing bag from a store I knew from TikTok was on the table.

It was the type of business where you get a drink as you browse.

Hailey spun around and asked, “Do you like it?” “Mom said every girl deserves her dream dress.”

Tight-lipped, I grinned. “It’s really pretty.”

Linda turned to face me, her face warm and radiant. “And you, sweetheart, can borrow one of my cocktail dresses. We can hem it, glam it up. Practical, right?”

“I’ve been saving for mine,” I answered, raising my eyebrows.

After blinking, Linda smiled sympathetically at me, which made my stomach turn. “Oh, honey. I thought you were saving for college. Because prom is just one night. Tuition lasts forever.”

I felt sick to my stomach.

I made an effort to speak quietly. “I still want to choose my own dress.”

She motioned for a third scoop of ice cream as if I were a toddler. “You’ll thank me later.”

I pivoted and proceeded upstairs. I had a constricted chest. All I had to do to feel better was to see my can and touch the metal lid.

However, I felt nothing when I knelt down, reached beneath my bed, and waited for the chilly touch of the can. I looked again, but nothing was there.

As I ran across my room, my hands started to shake. A closet? No. Drawers on a desk? No. Behind the bookcase? No.

I yelled out, “Dad!” “Have you seen my coffee can? The red one?”

He appeared worn out as he left the living room, his eyes dark and his tie unfastened. “What coffee can?”

“The one under my bed,” I answered, raising my voice as I descended. “It had my savings.”

I shouted, “Anybody seen my red coffee can?” in the hopes that my sister and stepmother would respond more favorably.

As if she had been waiting for her cue, Linda emerged in the doorway. “Oh, that! I meant to tell you—I borrowed it earlier.”

I went cold. “Borrowed?”

She said, “For the electric bill,” with ease. “We had a gap in our budget. And your dad’s commission check hasn’t come in. You’ll get it back.”

“How much was in there?” furrowed his brow.

By whisper, “Three hundred and twelve,” I said.

Linda remained unflinching. “We needed it. We bought a dress for Hailey. And you’re being emotional. You don’t need a silly dress. Anyway, you’re not going to prom because your dad is out of town that weekend, so nobody would be here for pictures with you anyway.”

I clenched my teeth as I stood there.

Linda’s head cocked. “You’re a smart girl. You understand sacrifice.”

I glanced over her to Hailey, who was still spinning around in the corridor, her dress’s rhinestones gleaming in the sunlight. I noticed the $489 receipt protruding from Linda’s purse.

“You used my money to buy Hailey’s dress?”

Linda’s grin grew strained. “It’s family money. We share things here. You’ll thank me in 10 years when you’re not drowning in loans.”

Dad massaged his temples as if the surroundings were weighing him down. He said, “We’ll make it right,”

“When?” I inquired. “Prom is in nine days.”

He said, “We’ll… talk,” which is Dad jargon for nothing.

Upstairs, I sobbed until my pillow was soaked. It wasn’t the fabric, but I detested crying over a dress. The sparkle was the main focus.

Alex texted that evening, “We got our tickets.”

I looked at it for a while. Then answered: I believe I’ll skip.

I gave him a shrug emoji to give the impression that I didn’t care when he asked why, explaining that it was due to money and family matters. I was not particularly interested in becoming involved.

He immediately said, “Oh, I’m sorry.” I’m still your date even if you decide not to go.

The days were hazy. Girls traded clutch purses and distributed nail appointment cards like invitations to a private club. Humming to herself, Hailey drifted along the corridors. Linda raved about appointments for lashes and tanning.

I pretended prom wasn’t a movie I was in, remained silent, and continued working my shifts and packing prescription drugs. On prom night, I told my father, “I’m not going.”

He said, “You sure, kiddo?”

“Yeah. I’m done.”

Linda gave a contented nod. “Practical.”

The sun woke me up early the following morning. Since prom was off the table, I didn’t have to get up so early. Numb, I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling. Like an eclipse I’d chosen not to watch, I couldn’t stop thinking about prom without me.

Until a loud honk reached my ears!

It’s a loud, joyous honk rather than a fast beep. I took a quick look outside.

A red SUV was present. It was well-known. Then someone I didn’t recognize emerged wearing jeans, sunglasses, and braided hair. Aunt Carla was there!

“Get dressed!” she said, smiling and placing her hands on her hips as she gazed up at my window. “We’ve got places to be!”

My mom’s younger sister, Carla, lives two towns away and has a vanilla and yard work odor. We hadn’t discussed prom, but we text on holidays and birthdays. I didn’t let her know I wouldn’t be going.

Still partially in my jammies, I hurried downstairs. “What are you doing here?”

She smiled. “I heard someone needed saving.”

“Aunt Carla, you didn’t have to—”

She opened the car door. “You can yell at me later. Right now, we have three stops: coffee, magic, and payback. Come on, go get ready quickly.”

We took a car to a strip mall that I had never seen before, the kind that had a tailor, a nail salon, and a doughnut shop named Patty’s that still only accepts cash. A to-go cup was slipped into my palm by my aunt. “Decaf latte,” she murmured.

“Your mom always pretended she liked black coffee, but she didn’t. She said decaf made her feel like a lady. Don’t ask me why.”

My throat constricted. “How did you—?”

She gave a shrug. “Your dad texted me a photo last night. Of you on the couch, looking like someone canceled Christmas. I asked questions. He answered some. I asked better questions. He answered the rest.”

My eyes were burning. “He shouldn’t have—”

Her words, “He should’ve,” “He should’ve months ago.”

Mrs. Alvarez, the tailor who can adjust a hem with a glance, was the second stop. She looked over her glasses when the bell rung.

She said, “Is this her?” to Carla.

“This is the girl.”

A dress waited on a form in the back room. Delicate flowers are embroidered around the waist of soft blue chiffon. There was no shouting. It sang!

“It’s vintage. It was your aunt’s dress. In 1999, she wore it to a spring formal and kissed a boy named Mike under the bleachers. We… updated it.”

Through my tears, I chuckled.

I put it on. It fit like a secret. The waist fit perfectly, and the zipper didn’t protest. Mrs. Alvarez adjusted quickly and expertly. The third stop was Patty’s for doughnuts and a hair salon in the back area that resembled a fairy godmother’s garage.

Aunt Carla said, “Your mom would have lost her mind over this look. You have her smile,” as she brushed on gloss and blush and twisted my hair into beautiful waves.

I muttered, “I look like me,” since it seemed significant.

Just after one, we pulled into my driveway.

Aunt Carla put the car in park and stared at me. “Okay. Last part.”

“I thought magic was the dress and hair.”

There was steel beneath her grin. “Magic is justice.”

Inside, Linda was posing for pictures with Hailey near the fireplace.

When she spotted me, her expression fell.

“Oh,” she said. “You… found something.”

Dad appeared to be struggling to breathe while standing close to the mantel.

“We found a lot of things. Including your boutique receipt and that ATM withdrawal from this address,” my aunt said as she moved in behind me.

Linda’s grin became unreadable. “Excuse me?”

“Call it borrowed or call it theft. Either way, you took a teenage girl’s money and told her to be ‘practical’ while you used her money to buy your daughter’s dress. Then you told her to skip the one thing she’d been dreaming about since her mother died. You sound like a poem I don’t want to read.”

The color left Hailey’s face. “Mom… you said—”

Linda yelled, “I said what I needed to say,” “We have bills. And she doesn’t need a dress to—”

Aunt Carla took a step forward and asked, “To feel like her life has sparkle?” “That’s what my sister promised to her daughter before she died. That she’d have sparkle. I was there.”

Linda’s cheeks flushed. “You’re being dramatic.”

“And you’re going to give her the money,” Dad replied. “Or leave.”

Swearing something about a bank run, Linda snatched up her pocketbook and hurried off.

Hailey, eyes wide, murmured, “I didn’t know. I swear.”

Saying, “I believe you,”

Like a puppet whose strings were cut, Dad slumped onto the couch. A hand was placed on his shoulder by Aunt Carla. “You can be the dad she needs,” she added. “Right now.”

He gave a nod. “I’m sorry, kiddo,” he told me. “I should’ve protected you. And your mom’s memory.”

I believed him for the first time in months.

Although Linda furiously gave back the pilfered cash, she also declared that she and Hailey were heading out together. She was shocked when Hailey declined to accompany her, opting instead to attend prom with me. Linda became enraged, insulted us, and left.

I was carrying a bracelet with small star charms when I opened the door to Alex that night. “I know you’re anti-flowers because your cat will eat them,” he replied.

I grinned. “Sparkle.”

Bad lemonade, loud music, and sticky flooring were all part of prom. It was also pleasure, forgiving, dancing, and laughter.

Hailey joined us at 10 p.m., still wearing her dress, grounded instead of floating.

Her words, “You look beautiful,”

“So do you,” I said. “Thanks for coming.”

She grinned. “Thanks for not shutting the door.”

Together, we snapped a picture with the tagline, “Stepsisters, not stepmonsters.”

At midnight, I got home and found a sticky note on my mirror. Below it is a star sticker with Aunt Carla’s handwriting: “Your mom would have been proud. —C.”

Dad sat us down the following morning. He had transferred funds to a different account. “Taken a break” at her sister’s, Linda said. My father paid Patty’s for the hair and snacks and Mrs. Alvarez for the modifications. The $312 was still in the envelope he gave me.

Saying, “I don’t need it now,”

“You needed it when you needed it,” he stated.

By the end of June, Linda had moved out, and in August, Dad filed for divorce. Fireworks weren’t involved. Something cleaner was involved. To open a window in a stuffy room, for example.