The moment she walked in wearing my dead mother’s dress, the room stopped breathing. My heart didn’t just break—it detonated. My father looked away. Again. My stepmother smiled like she’d won. She thought she’d erased my mother’s last gift, stolen the only thing that still felt like her hands on my skin. Then my quiet, careful prom date took the mic, called her onto the stage, and turned two hundred laughing teenagers into a courtroom. The photos. The receipts. The truth. By the time he was done, she wasn’t smil… Continues…