The night before prom, Gia is ready to lay out her clothes and have an easy night. But as she opens her closet to take out her dress, she finds it missing. Later, she discovers that her stepmother, Cindy, had returned the dress to the store… What on earth could be the reason?
My mom died when I was ten.
It was sudden, like the world had just stopped spinning. One minute, she was tucking me into bed, and the next, she was gone.
Flowers on a headstone | Source: Midjourney
“I’ll always be with you, Gia,” she said one day as she tucked me in, her hands shaking wildly. “Whether I’m right next to you or not, I’ll always be here. Do you understand?”
I remember nodding sleepily as she kissed my cheek.
Losing her crushed my dad and me in ways I still can’t put into words. We were just completely… lost.
A woman tucking her daughter into bed | Source: Midjourney
Then, a few years later, Dad married someone new. Cindy. Now, Cindy wasn’t evil or cruel or anything like that. If I’m being honest, she tried. She smiled a lot, bought me gifts, and cooked things that I enjoyed eating. She even waited for me to come home from school, ready to make me a toasted sandwich while asking me about my day.
But no matter what Cindy did, she wasn’t my mom. My heart just didn’t seem to let her in. And because of that, we never really clicked on a personal level.
A smiling couple | Source: Midjourney
Fast forward to senior year:
I’m 17 and waiting for prom. And for the first time in forever, I felt excited about something. Dad gave me a budget for a dress, and I spent weeks scouring the internet for ideas.
When I finally found it, a gorgeous deep-blue gown that made me feel like an actual princess, I knew that it was the one.
A smiling teenage girl | Source: Midjourney
“That’s it, Gia!” my friend Selene said as I stepped out of the dressing room.
“You think?” I asked. “You really think so?”
“Yes! Your eyes pop with the blue, and your skin looks so good with it. This is it, Gia. Don’t even waste your time looking for another dress.”
I smiled.
“Fine, let’s focus on you now,” I said.
A teenage girl in a dressing room | Source: Midjourney
Standing in front of the mirror at the boutique, I felt like I could see the old me again, the one from before my life flipped upside down. There was a light in my eyes again.
Everything seemed perfect. For once, it felt like the universe was giving me a break. But that all shattered the day before prom.
I got home from school, ready to get into a bubble bath, shave, wash my hair, and have an early night. I was going to lay everything out before I went to bed — my dress, shoes, makeup options, all of it.
A teenage girl’s vanity | Source: Midjourney
I ran up the stairs and flung my closet door open, hoping to give my dress a look-over before I got into the bath.
But it wasn’t there.
All I saw was the empty hanger.
I blinked hard, as if somehow my dream dress would magically appear before my eyes. Of course, it didn’t.
Where on earth is my dress?
An empty hanger | Source: Midjourney
I yanked things off hangers and tore through drawers. Maybe I’d been careless and shoved it somewhere, right?
But deep down, I knew I hadn’t. I was so paranoid about wrinkling the dress that I had taken clothes off the hanger the day I brought it home. That dress had been the centerpiece of my week. I would never have misplaced it.
I ran downstairs, hoping to see my dad. He would have answers.
A close up of a teenage girl | Source: Midjourney
Instead, Cindy was sitting at the kitchen island, cutting into veggies and sipping her tea like nothing was wrong.
“Gigi,” she said, using a name that only my dad called me. “Dad is away for the night because of work. He said that he’ll try to be back in time to see you off tomorrow.”
How could she talk like nothing happened? Like nothing was wrong?
A woman busy in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“Cindy!” I exclaimed. “Have you seen my prom dress? It’s gone!”
She looked up, completely calm, like I hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of the kitchen. I was starting to feel panicked. I could taste bitterness on my tongue. I was on the verge of a breakdown.
“Oh, that? Gia, I returned that to the store.”
“You did what?” I gasped.
A shocked teenage girl | Source: Midjourney
It felt like my brain had short-circuited.
“I returned it,” she repeated as if she was telling me she’d picked up groceries at the store. “It just didn’t seem right, Gigi. It was too grown-up for you.”
I stood there, unable to move.
“How could you do that? Prom is tomorrow evening! Why would you touch my stuff without asking me?”
A close up of a woman | Source: Midjourney
Cindy tilted her head like I was overreacting.
“You’ll understand tomorrow,” she said quietly, sipping her tea.
Her nonchalance lit something inside me. I couldn’t believe she was acting so casual, like she hadn’t just taken the one thing I’d been looking forward to for months and thrown it in the trash.
I stormed up to my room, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. I buried my face in my pillow, tears soaking into the fabric.
An upset girl | Source: Midjourney
How could she do this to me?
That night, I cried myself to sleep, my anger burning hot and bitter. I felt betrayed. She had no right to mess with my dress. She had no right to interfere with my prom.
But what did I expect?
Cindy wasn’t my mother.
An upset girl in her bed | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, I woke up to the heavy weight of disappointment. I didn’t even want to go to prom anymore.
What was the point?
But Selene wasn’t having it.
“You need to find out why she did it,” she said over the phone. “It’s weird, right? Like, she has to have a reason. Just… talk to her, Gia.”
A girl talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
I rolled my eyes.
“There’s no reason good enough for what she did.”
“Maybe,” Selene said. “But don’t you want to know?”
Selene had a point, and she knew it. So, against my better judgment, I dragged myself out of bed and went downstairs.
A girl talking on a phone | Source: Midjourney
Cindy was waiting for me, dressed in jeans and an old sweatshirt, looking more nervous than I’d ever seen her.
“Come with me, Gigi,” she said quietly.
I stared at her for a long second. A part of me wanted to blow her off entirely. But there was something in her voice, something soft.
A close up of a woman | Source: Midjourney
Without a word, I followed her to her bedroom.
There was a box on her bed, wrapped in a bow.
“This belonged to your mom,” Cindy whispered, her voice catching. “I found it while cleaning a few weeks ago. I’ve been wanting to turn the attic into something new, like a little reading room.”
I froze.
A box on a bed | Source: Midjourney
My heart hammered in my chest as she peeled away the tissue paper, revealing an elegant, vintage white dress. It was stunning — lace sleeves, delicate beadwork, the kind of timeless beauty that would never go out of style.
Cindy glanced up at me, her hands trembling slightly.
“I thought maybe you’d like to wear it. To prom. When I returned the blue dress, I took this one to be dry-cleaned.”
A dress in a box | Source: Midjourney
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even think.
All the anger, all the resentment, all the hurt I’d held onto melted into shock.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you, my darling,” Cindy whispered. “I just thought that this way, your mom could be with you. I will never replace her, Gia. But I wanted to give you something that mattered.”
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
Tears welled up in my eyes before I could stop them. All this time, I’d been so sure she was trying to ruin my prom. But instead, she was giving me the most meaningful gift she ever could.
That night, I wore my mom’s dress to prom.
As soon as I slipped it on, I felt her with me, like she was wrapping me in a hug. The dress fit perfectly. Cindy helped me with my hair, and for the first time, I saw her not as someone trying to replace my mom, but as someone who cared. For me. Deeply.
A crying teenage girl | Source: Midjourney
When I walked downstairs, my dad was waiting. His eyes widened, and his breath caught.
“Thank goodness I made it,” he said, tears brimming in his eyes. “You look just like Mom!”
A close up of a man | Source: Midjourney
The prom was magical. And as I danced with my friends, I saw once again that Cindy hadn’t stolen anything from me. She’d given me something priceless.
A way to feel connected with my mom again. And I felt so beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
A teenage girl in her prom dress | Source: Midjourney
When I got home, Cindy was sitting on the couch wrapped in a blanket.
“You’re waiting up for me?” I asked, kicking off my shoes.
“Of course, my darling,” she said. “I wanted to know how your night went. And I’ve got ice cream in the freezer. Mint choc-chip. Your favorite. We can eat it while you tell me.”
That’s when I broke down. In that moment, I knew Cindy wasn’t just my dad’s wife. She was someone who loved me, too.
And maybe, just maybe, that was going to be enough.
A woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
What would you have done?
If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you:
I Opened My Closet on the Morning of Prom to Find My Dress Covered in Black Paint – But Karma Was Not Sleeping
When I found my dream prom dress destroyed by black paint, I thought everything was lost. Little did I know, karma was waiting in the wings, ready to turn the cruel plan upside down and ruin the day some people tried to make perfect at my expense.
I was 18, a senior in high school, and prom was all I could think about. I was supposed to dance with my friends, wear the perfect dress, and make memories.
A smiling high school senior | Source: Midjourney
After months of saving, I finally bought the most beautiful baby blue gown. It was everything I’d ever dreamed of — elegant and classic, making me feel like a princess.
My dad was just as excited as I was. The only bitter moment was that my mom wouldn’t be there to see me. She had passed away years ago, and since then, it had just been me, Dad, and my stepmom, Carol.
A girl at a funeral | Source: Midjourney
Now, Carol was… well, she was complicated.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
My Landlord Kicked Us Out for a Week So His Brother Could Stay In the House We Rent
When Nancy’s landlord demanded she and her three daughters vacate their rental home for a week, she thought life couldn’t get worse. But a surprise meeting with the landlord’s brother revealed a shocking betrayal.
Our house isn’t much, but it’s ours. The floors creak with every step, and the paint in the kitchen is peeling so badly that I’ve started calling it “abstract art.”
An old house | Source: Pexels
Still, it’s home. My daughters, Lily, Emma, and Sophie, make it feel that way, with their laughter and the little things they do that remind me why I push so hard.
Money was always on my mind. My job as a waitress barely covered our rent and bills. There was no cushion, no backup plan. If something went wrong, I didn’t know what we’d do.
The phone rang the next day while I was hanging out laundry to dry.
A woman hanging laundry | Source: Pexels
“Hello?” I answered, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder.
“Nancy, it’s Peterson.”
His voice made my stomach tighten. “Oh, hi, Mr. Peterson. Is everything okay?”
“I need you out of the house for a week,” he said, as casually as if he were asking me to water his plants.
A woman talking on her phone | Source: Pexels
“What?” I froze, a pair of Sophie’s socks still in my hands.
“My brother’s coming to town, and he needs a place to stay. I told him he could use your house.”
I thought I must’ve misheard him. “Wait—this is my home. We have a lease!”
“Don’t start with that lease nonsense,” he snapped. “Remember when you were late on rent last month? I could’ve kicked you out then, but I didn’t. You owe me.”
An angry man talking on his phone | Source: Freepik
I gripped the phone tighter. “I was late by one day,” I said, my voice shaking. “My daughter was sick. I explained that to you—”
“Doesn’t matter,” he interrupted. “You’ve got till Friday to get out. Be gone, or maybe you won’t come back at all.”
“Mr. Peterson, please,” I said, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
An expressive woman talking | Source: Pexels
“Not my problem,” he said coldly, and then the line went dead.
I sat on the couch, staring at the phone in my hand. My heart pounded in my ears, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
“Mama, what’s wrong?” Lily, my oldest, asked from the doorway, her eyes filled with concern.
I forced a smile. “Nothing, sweetheart. Go play with your sisters.”
A woman talking to her daughter | Source: Pexels
But it wasn’t nothing. I had no savings, no family nearby, and no way to fight back. If I stood up to Peterson, he’d find an excuse to evict us for good.
By Thursday night, I’d packed what little we could carry into a few bags. The girls were full of questions, but I didn’t know how to explain what was happening.
“We’re going on an adventure,” I told them, trying to sound cheerful.
A woman packing together with her daughter | Source: Pexels
“Is it far?” Sophie asked, clutching Mr. Floppy to her chest.
“Not too far,” I said, avoiding her gaze.
The hostel was worse than I expected. The room was tiny, barely big enough for the four of us, and the walls were so thin we could hear every cough, every creak, every loud voice from the other side.
A woman in a hostel | Source: Freepik
“Mama, it’s noisy,” Emma said, pressing her hands over her ears.
“I know, sweetie,” I said softly, stroking her hair.
Lily tried to distract her sisters by playing I Spy, but it didn’t work for long. Sophie’s little face crumpled, and tears started streaming down her cheeks.
“Where’s Mr. Floppy?” she cried, her voice breaking.
A crying child | Source: Pexels
My stomach sank. In the rush to leave, I’d forgotten her bunny.
“He’s still at home,” I said, my throat tightening.
“I can’t sleep without him!” Sophie sobbed, clutching my arm.
I wrapped her in my arms and held her close, whispering that it would be okay. But I knew it wasn’t okay.
A woman hugging her crying child | Source: Freepik
That night, as Sophie cried herself to sleep, I stared at the cracked ceiling, feeling completely helpless.
By the fourth night, Sophie’s crying hadn’t stopped. Every sob felt like a knife to my heart.
“Please, Mama,” she whispered, her voice raw. “I want Mr. Floppy.”
I held her tightly, rocking her back and forth.
A crying girl | Source: Pexels
I couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’ll get him,” I whispered, more to myself than to her.
I didn’t know how, but I had to try.
I parked down the street, my heart pounding as I stared at the house. What if they didn’t let me in? What if Mr. Peterson was there? But Sophie’s tear-streaked face wouldn’t leave my mind.
A thoughtful woman in front of her house | Source: Midjourney
I took a deep breath and walked up to the door, Sophie’s desperate “please” echoing in my ears. My knuckles rapped against the wood, and I held my breath.
The door opened, and a man I’d never seen before stood there. He was tall, with a kind face and sharp green eyes.
“Can I help you?” he asked, looking puzzled.
A man in front of his house | Source: Midjourney
“Hi,” I stammered. “I—I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m the tenant here. My daughter left her stuffed bunny inside, and I was hoping I could grab it.”
He blinked at me. “Wait. You live here?”
“Yes,” I said, feeling a lump form in my throat. “But Mr. Peterson told us we had to leave for a week because you were staying here.”
A sad woman in the doorway | Source: Pexels
His brows furrowed. “What? My brother said the place was empty and ready for me to move in for a bit.”
I couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. “It’s not empty. This is my home. My kids and I are crammed into a hostel across town. My youngest can’t sleep because she doesn’t have her bunny.”
A sad young woman talking to a man | Source: Midjourney
His face darkened, and for a second, I thought he was angry at me. Instead, he muttered, “That son of a…” He stopped himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice softer now. “I had no idea. Come in, and we’ll find the bunny.”
A serious young man opening his door | Source: Midjourney
He stepped aside, and I hesitated before walking in. The familiar smell of home hit me, and my eyes burned with tears I refused to let fall. Jack—he introduced himself as Jack—helped me search Sophie’s room, which looked untouched.
“Here he is,” Jack said, pulling Mr. Floppy from under the bed.
A pink stuffed bunny under a bed | Source: Midjourney
I held the bunny close, imagining Sophie’s joy. “Thank you,” I said, my voice trembling.
“Tell me everything,” Jack said, sitting on the edge of Sophie’s bed. “What exactly did my brother say to you?”
I hesitated but told him everything: the call, the threats, the hostel. He listened quietly, his jaw tightening with every word.
A couple talking | Source: Midjourney
When I finished, he stood and pulled out his phone. “This isn’t right,” he said.
“Wait—what are you doing?”
“Fixing this,” he said, dialing.
The conversation that followed was heated, though I could only hear his side.
A serious man on his phone | Source: Pexels
“You kicked a single mom and her kids out of their home? For me?” Jack’s voice was sharp. “No, you’re not getting away with this. Fix it now, or I will.”
He hung up and turned to me. “Pack your things at the hostel. You’re coming back tonight.”
I blinked, not sure I’d heard him right. “What about you?”
“I’ll find somewhere else to stay,” he said firmly. “I can’t stay here after what my brother pulled. And he’ll cover your rent for the next six months.”
A smiling man talking to a woman | Source: Midjourney
That evening, Jack helped us move back in. Sophie lit up when she saw Mr. Floppy, her little arms clutching the bunny like a treasure.
“Thank you,” I told Jack as we unpacked. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I couldn’t let you stay there another night,” he said simply.
A young child holding her toy | Source: Midjourney
Over the next few weeks, Jack kept showing up. He fixed the leaky faucet in the kitchen. One night, he brought over groceries.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I said, feeling overwhelmed.
“It’s nothing,” he said with a shrug. “I like helping.”
A man with groceries | Source: Pexels
The girls adored him. Lily asked for his advice on her science project. Emma roped him into board games. Even Sophie warmed up to him, offering Mr. Floppy a “hug” for Jack to join their tea party.
I started to see more of the man behind the kind gestures. He was funny, patient, and genuinely cared about my kids. Eventually, our dinners together blossomed into a romance.
A couple on a date night | Source: Pexels
One evening several months later, as we sat on the porch after the girls had gone to bed, Jack spoke quietly.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, looking out into the yard.
“About what?”
“I don’t want you and the girls to ever feel like this again. No one should be scared of losing their home overnight.”
A young man talking to his girlfriend | Source: Midjourney
His words hung in the air.
“I want to help you find something permanent,” he continued. “Will you marry me?”
I was stunned. “Jack… I don’t know what to say. Yes!”
A marriage proposal | Source: Pexels
A month later, we moved into a beautiful little house Jack found for us. Lily had her own room. Emma painted hers pink. Sophie ran to hers, holding Mr. Floppy like a shield.
As I tucked Sophie in that night, she whispered, “Mama, I love our new home.”
“So do I, baby,” I said, kissing her forehead.
A woman tucking her daughter in | Source: Midjourney
Jack stayed for dinner that night, helping me set the table. As the girls chattered, I looked at him and knew: he wasn’t just our hero. He was family.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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