There was no way I was going to make prom. Moments later, my dad appeared at my doorway. He just smiled at me and then moved to Stuart’s room.
I watched from my bed as he pulled Stuart’s suit off the hanger and walked back to me. Leslie screamed. Stuart whined about how it was his night.
“Come on, Stuart,” I said. “You didn’t even want to go.”
My dad didn’t retaliate. “Put it on, Son,” he told me.
“Call a cab. I’ll pay. Go on, have your special night.”
The suit fit perfectly.
Ironically, Stuart and I were the same size. When I left the house, Leslie was still protesting, but it didn’t touch me. I shut the door and felt lighter.
Not because of prom… but because someone had finally, finally seen. As the cab pulled in, I ran across to Mrs. Elizaveta and pulled a few roses from her rosebush.
For Taylor. I got home around midnight. The cab dropped me off at the curb, and I just stood there for a second, looking up at the house.
The porch light was on. One window glowed dimly behind the curtains. Everything else was dark.
Inside, it was quiet. Too quiet. There was no TV.
No kitchen sounds. No Stuart whining about new batteries for his controller. Just the kind of silence that felt freshly scrubbed, like something had been wiped away.
Boxes lined the hallway. Cardboard towers packed with shoes, books, perfume bottles. Stuart’s posters were gone from the walls.
That awful porcelain duck Leslie loved? Gone. I found my dad sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a beer.
The stove light next to him threw shadows across his face. In front of him was a cardboard box filled with Leslie’s leftover knickknacks and a broken picture frame, a jar of peach jam, some half-used candles. “She’s gone,” he said without looking up.
I didn’t answer. I just sat down across from him. He took a long sip, then set the bottle down.
“I think I knew,” he said, his voice low. “I just didn’t want to admit that I made another mistake, you know? I was so desperate to give you a ‘normal’ family, Tom.
I wanted you to have a mother figure in your life. I wanted Stuart to be like a brother…”
His hands were trembling… just a little. “I let her make you feel small,” he said.
“I saw things. But I convinced myself they weren’t what they looked like. And when you said something… I made excuses.
For her. Not for you. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t speak right away.
My throat was thick, like there was something lodged between all the words I wanted to say and my ability to form them. So I just looked at him. Really looked.
This wasn’t the man who had dismissed me over the phone hours earlier. This was someone stripped down, quiet, remorseful, real. Then he looked at me, eyes red but steady.
“No more stepmoms, Tom,” he said. “No more trying to fix things by replacing what or who left… It’s just going to be me… me finally being your dad.”
He reached across the table and took my hand. And for the first time in years, I believed him.
I thought about Taylor and her smile in the soft lights. “You clean up well,” she’d said and straightened my tie. I thought about the way she laughed during slow dances and how she didn’t let go of my hand all night.
She didn’t know what had happened before I got there. She didn’t need to. All she saw was the guy who showed up anyway.
People think revenge is loud. They think it’s screaming matches and slammed doors. Explosions and ultimatums.
But sometimes it’s quiet. It’s a single video on a flash drive. The sound of a lawnmower starting.
A suit passed silently from one hanger to another. The pause before someone finally says, “I’m sorry.”
I think my dad and I will be just fine.
