The boy who got her pregnant vanished the moment she told him. No goodbye. No support. No curiosity about the child he’d helped create. Just gone. My mom didn’t just lose a date—she lost her prom, her graduation celebrations, her college plans, and the carefree life she had imagined. She traded it all for night shifts, secondhand baby clothes, and a newborn who cried more than he slept.
I grew up watching her do everything alone. She worked graveyard shifts at a truck stop café, cleaned houses on weekends, babysat other people’s children, and studied for her GED after I finally fell asleep. When money was tight, she skipped meals. When she was exhausted, she kept going. When she spoke of her “almost prom,” she laughed, but there was always a flicker of sadness in her eyes she couldn’t hide.
She had given up her prom for me. I was going to give her one back.
One night, while she was doing dishes, I blurted it out: “You never got to go to prom because of me. I want to take you to mine.”
She laughed, thinking I was joking. Then she saw my face. Her laughter cracked. She grabbed the counter to steady herself, tears spilling down her cheeks. “You’re serious?” she asked. “You wouldn’t be embarrassed?”
I told her the truth: I’d never been prouder of anyone in my life.
My stepdad, Mike, was thrilled. He’d come into our lives when I was ten and treated me like his own from day one. He helped me tie a tie, read people, and learn how to be a decent man. He immediately started talking about photos and corsages like it was the best idea he’d ever heard.
My stepsister, Brianna, did not share his enthusiasm.
Brianna is seventeen and lives like the world exists to admire her: perfect hair, expensive clothes, constant social media posts, and an ego that fills every room. From the start, she treated my mom like invisible furniture—polite when adults were watching, cruel when they weren’t.
When she heard about the prom, she nearly choked on her coffee.
I didn’t respond. Continue reading…
