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

No, I told myself, even as my chest ached. This isn’t about sympathy. This is about love.

About remembering.

But still, her voice echoed in my head, making me question if maybe grief had made me foolish or if I was the only one left who still cared enough to remember him this way.

The night before prom, I hung the skirt carefully on my closet door, making sure it wouldn’t wrinkle. I stood back and looked at it for a long time, imagining Dad’s proud smile. Then I went to bed, dreaming about dancing under sparkly lights.

When I woke up the next morning, something felt wrong immediately.

The room smelled different, like Carla’s heavy perfume had invaded my private space. My heart started pounding before I even opened my eyes fully.

The closet door was wide open, and the skirt was on the floor.

But the worst part was that it wasn’t just on the floor. It was completely torn apart.

The seams had been ripped open violently, and the ties were scattered everywhere across my carpet. Threads dangled from the fabric like severed veins, and some of the ties had actual scissor cuts through them.

I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“CARLAA!!!” I screamed. “CARLAAAA!!!”

Carla appeared in my doorway moments later, casually holding her morning coffee like this was just another ordinary Saturday.

“What on earth are you yelling about?” she asked, taking a slow sip.

“You did this!” I shouted, pointing at the destroyed skirt with a shaking hand.

“You destroyed it! How dare you!”

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