My Stepmom Destroyed the Skirt I Made from My Late Dad’s Ties—Karma Knocked on Our Door That Same Night

Carla, my stepmother, was like a walking ice storm. She wore expensive designer perfume that smelled like cold flowers, offered fake smiles, and kept her nails filed into perfect points like tiny knives.

When Dad died suddenly from a heart attack, she didn’t shed a single tear at the hospital. Not a single one.

At the funeral, while I was shaking so hard I could barely stand at the graveside, she leaned close and whispered in my ear, “You’re embarrassing yourself in front of everyone.

Stop crying so much. He’s gone. It happens to everyone eventually.”

At that point, I wanted to scream at her.

I wanted to tell her that the pain I was feeling was something she could never understand. But my throat was so dry that I couldn’t speak at all.

Two weeks after we buried him, she started cleaning out his closet like she was purging evidence of a crime.

“There’s no point in keeping all this junk around,” she said, tossing his beloved ties into a black trash bag without even looking at them.

I rushed into the room as my heart pounded inside my chest. “They’re not junk, Carla.

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