Brooke yanked the zipper on my prom dress even after I told her to stop. There was a loud rip, sharp and final, and the seam split straight down the back like paper.
I’d worked for months to buy that dress. And in one second, she destroyed it just to laugh. I stood there frozen while the soft blue fabric sagged in my hands.
Brooke smirked.
There was a loud rip, sharp and final…
Sharon, my dad’s second wife, leaned in the doorway with her arms folded, smiling like she had been waiting for it.
“Oops,” Brooke said, tossing the dress onto my bed. “Maybe if you didn’t buy cheap stuff, it wouldn’t tear.”
“I asked you not to touch it. I was clear, Brooke! This was important to me… You knew that. I’ve been talking about this for months.”
Sharon tilted her head like I was being dramatic. “Don’t be so uptight, Tessa. Learn to share. You and Brooke are sisters after all.”
“Maybe if you didn’t buy cheap stuff, it wouldn’t tear.”
“This was important,” I said, and my voice cracked anyway. “I saved for it.”
“Whatever. It’s not like it was expensive,” Brooke said, rolling her eyes. Then she added, like she couldn’t help herself, “And you don’t even have a date. Who are you trying to impress?”
“Your dad’s out of town, sweetheart,” Sharon said, smiling. “Who are you even taking pictures with?”
“And you don’t even have a date. Who are you trying to impress?”
They walked away laughing, like they hadn’t just ripped the one thing I’d wanted since I was 11.
Prom was one night. I knew that. But that dress was my proof. Proof that I could work hard, plan ahead, and still get something beautiful even after my mom died and everything in our house shifted.
I sat on the edge of my bed with the torn seam in my hands and stared at it like staring could undo it. I reached for my phone to text my dad.
Prom was one night. I knew that.
My screen lit up with a message from Nic.
“Hey, Tess. You good?”
Before I could answer, another message came through.
“Just saw the TikTok. Be there in five. Bring the dress.”
My stomach dropped.
“Hey, Tess. You good?”
I opened TikTok; a video posted by my stepsister popped up.
Brooke was in her room, laughing hysterically. Sharon was in the background with that same smug smile.
The caption read: “Laugh if you ripped your sister’s cheap prom dress 🤣💀”
The comments were already piling up. Some were nasty, but most were angry.
“Laugh if you ripped your sister’s cheap prom dress 🤣💀”
“That’s cruel.”
“Why is the mom SMILING?”
“Report it.”
Then a new notification popped up, and my eyes locked on it.
“That’s cruel.”
Prom Committee Group Chat:
“Prom committee members are expected to model respectful behavior. We have been made aware of a video posted today. This is a formal warning. Remove it immediately or you will be removed from our group.”
Brooke was on the prom committee. She’d bragged about it for weeks, like it proved she mattered more than everyone else.
My phone buzzed with another text from Nic.
“Prom committee members are expected to model respectful behavior.”
“Screenshot everything. People are reporting it.”
I took screenshots so fast my thumb hurt, after the group message, I knew that Brooke would have to remove the video eventually.
Outside, a car door shut, and moments later, there was a knock on the front door.
I opened the front door and there was Nic, standing on the porch like he belonged there. Nic was five years older than me. He was the son of my mom’s best friend, Macey. When I was little, he used to pull me on a sled at Thanksgiving while the adults drank cider and pretended everything was fine.
I took screenshots so fast my thumb hurt.
After my mom died, he didn’t hover. He just showed up sometimes, quietly, like I still mattered.
“Bring the dress, Tessa. Come on.”
“You didn’t even ask what happened.”
“I didn’t have to,” he said.
I swallowed hard and ran back to my room. The dress was still on the bed like a limp body. I stuffed it into a plastic bag with shaking hands.
“Bring the dress, Tessa. Come on.”
“Now everyone has seen it,” I said, getting into the truck.
“They saw what Brooke did,” he said. “That’s not on you.”
I pressed my forehead to the glass. “Sharon watched. She smiled.”
Nic’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. I saw that part.”
“Sharon watched. She smiled.”
We drove for a few minutes in silence.
“I’m taking you to my mom,” Nic said after a moment.
“Macey?” My voice came out small. “I haven’t seen her in forever.”
“She’s still in the same shop,” Nic said. “And she still fixes what matters.”
“I’m taking you to my mom.”
We pulled up behind a little flower shop. In the back was Macey’s boutique, ivy curling around the windows and a tiny bell above the door. When we walked in, the room smelled like lavender and clean fabric and something warm.
Macey looked up from her worktable.
The second she saw me, her face softened like she’d been holding a place for me.
Macey looked up from her worktable.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said quietly. “You’ve got her eyes.”
That did it.
My throat closed and the tears came fast, ugly, and hot.
Macey didn’t ask me to explain. She just crossed the room and wrapped me in her arms. Nic stood close with one hand on my shoulder.
“You’ve got her eyes.”
When I could breathe again, I handed over the plastic bag. Macey pulled the dress out carefully. She held it up, turned it, and ran her fingers along the shredded seam.
“Brutal,” she muttered, then looked at me. “But not beyond saving.”
“You can fix it?”
“Sweetheart, I’ve brought worse back from the dead. And this one? This one matters.”
She set the dress on the table, grabbed pins, thread, scissors.
“You can fix it?”
“Sit,” she said, pointing to a stool. “And breathe.”
For the next couple hours, Macey worked like she was on a mission. She clipped and pinned and stitched. She measured and adjusted and talked enough to keep me grounded.
“I made your mom’s rehearsal dinner dress,” she said, smoothing the fabric. “She wanted it simple with clean lines and minimal beading. But she picked one detail that made it hers.”
“I didn’t know,” I said, watching her hands.
She clipped and pinned and stitched.
“Your mom was the kind of woman who didn’t announce everything she carried. She just carried it.”
Nic leaned against a shelf, watching quietly. Macey added beadwork along the cuffs and a small detail at the neckline.
“Jane would have loved this color on you,” Macey said.
“I keep thinking… if she could see me…”
Macey’s voice remained steady. “Then she’d see what I see. A girl who got knocked down and still showed up.”
“Jane would have loved this color on you.”
When she finished, she stepped back.
“All right,” she said. “Try it.”
I went behind the curtain and pulled it on carefully. It fit like it was meant for me. When I stepped out, Nic’s eyebrows lifted.
“Okay,” he said, half laughing. “That’s ridiculous. No one’s even going to remember anyone else.”
It fit like it was meant for me.
“You think?”
“I know,” he said. Then his voice softened. “Your mom would’ve loved it.”
Macey nodded. “Now. Go have your night.”
By the time we got back to my house, my eyes were dry and my spine felt straighter.
“Your mom would’ve loved it.”
I didn’t go inside. I didn’t want to see Brooke. I didn’t want to see Sharon. Nic drove me straight to prom.
At the entrance, he parked and looked at me.
“You ready?” he asked.
“No.”
He nodded like that was fine. “Good. Do it anyway. Have fun! I’ll pick you up later, I promise.”
Nic drove me straight to prom
I stepped out of the truck. The gym doors were open, and the music was already bouncing off the walls. There were twinkle lights hanging from the ceiling, and the air smelled like perfume, punch, and too much cologne.
I walked in alone.
The lights hit the dress and the beadwork caught like tiny stars. For a second, nobody spoke.
My heart thudded hard in my throat.
I walked in alone.
Then a girl near the entrance said, loud enough for people behind her to hear, “Wait… are you the girl from that video?”
My stomach dropped. But her face wasn’t amused, she looked concerned… for me.
“That’s your dress?” she continued. “You fixed it? It’s literally the prettiest one here.”
My stomach dropped.
Another girl nodded fast. “Yeah. You look amazing.”
A boy behind them muttered, “Brooke posted that like it was funny. It wasn’t.”
Across the room, I saw Brooke near the punch bowl, her head snapped up at the last comment. Of course, she’d heard it; her cheeks turned red so fast it looked painful. Her own dress looked flawless, but her expression wasn’t.
“Brooke posted that like it was funny. It wasn’t.”
She was glued to her phone like she could force it to save her.
I walked deeper into the gym.
People looked, but not in the way Brooke wanted. Nobody was laughing at me or making me feel small. Instead, they looked as though they were seeing me for the first time.
A girl from my homeroom came up and touched my sleeve.
People looked, but not in the way Brooke wanted.
“Where did you get this?” she asked, eyes wide. “It’s stunning.”
“A friend helped me fix it,” I said. “After someone tried to ruin it.”
“Yeah… we saw.”
I took pictures with classmates, I danced and laughed more than I ever imagined. Nothing was perfect, but I wasn’t hiding that anymore.
I danced and laughed more than I ever imagined.
Across the room, Brooke kept checking the entrance. Every few minutes, she lifted her phone, typed, stopped, typed again. Then her screen lit up and I saw her face go blank. She typed fast, then froze mid-motion and kept reading.
“Are you kidding me?” she hissed to nobody in particular.
She shoved her phone into her clutch and looked toward the door again. My stepsister looked like someone waiting for a rescue that wasn’t coming. She spun around and marched across the hallway. And then she was gone.
“Are you kidding me?”
I didn’t chase her, I didn’t smirk. I just turned back to my friends and enjoyed my night. Because this wasn’t about destroying Brooke, clearly karma was catching up with her — based on her reaction to those texts.
I spotted Sharon by the raffle table. She was talking to Mrs. Talbot, the PTA mom who sponsored half the school events and acted like she owned the building. Sharon was smiling too hard, like she was trying to out-smile the truth.
Mrs. Talbot listened for a second, then her expression tightened.
I didn’t chase her, I didn’t smirk.
“I saw the video,” she said, not loud, not dramatic.
Sharon’s smile stuttered. “It was just kids being kids.”
“No. It was cruelty. And you were standing there smiling.”
“I didn’t mean…” Sharon said, blinking fast.
“It was just kids being kids.”
“I do not sponsor families who think humiliation is funny. I am calling the principal Monday about prom committee standards,” Mrs. Talbot continued. “And I’m pulling your name off the committee list.”
Sharon’s fingers clenched around her purse strap.
Then she walked away.
Sharon froze. For the first time, she looked like someone realizing the room was not on her side.
Then she walked away.
But around us, prom kept moving on. Songs ended and new ones started. People took photos and traded jackets and acted like this was the biggest night of their lives.
But the truth sat under everything: Brooke had tried to turn me into a joke. And instead, she turned herself into a warning.
Near the end of the night, I saw Brooke leave early. She kept glancing back at the doors like maybe her date would suddenly appear and make it all okay.
I saw Brooke leave early.
Nobody did.
Nic was waiting by his truck with his arms folded, jacket open like he’d been standing there awhile. When he saw me, he straightened.
“Well?” he asked softly.
I rested my hand on the truck door..
“It was more than enough,” I said.
“Well?”
He nodded once, like he understood exactly what I meant.
As we drove home, I stared out the window at the quiet streets and the porch lights and the little pockets of life behind curtains.
When we pulled into my driveway, I didn’t rush out. I grabbed my phone and sent everything to my dad; the screenshots, the photo of the ripped dress, and the video.
I didn’t rush out.
I typed one sentence and hit send:
“I need you to see what happened while you were gone.”
“Do you think… she saw me?” I asked, sitting in the passenger seat for a moment.
“Tess, I don’t think your mom has taken her eyes off you since she… passed.”
I typed one sentence…
That night, I stepped into the backyard barefoot and let the grass cool my feet.
And for the first time in a long time, I believed it.
“Thanks, Mom,” I whispered.
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