The days after prom felt different.
The tension at home seemed more pronounced, like a wound that had been scratched open.
I noticed my mom moving through the house with a kind of carefulness, as if trying not to disturb the fragile peace.
Her presence was gentle, but it was clear she was adjusting to the shifting dynamics.
My stepsister, on the other hand, seemed to carry herself with even more confidence.
Her laughter echoed through the halls, her presence commanding attention.
It was as if prom night had validated her position in the family hierarchy.
One afternoon, I found my mom sitting alone in the garden, her hands resting in her lap.
She looked up as I approached, a small smile on her face.
“Are you alright?” I asked, taking a seat beside her.
