I’m 17, a senior in a small Michigan town, and I thought my prom dreams were over before they even began

I’m 17, a senior in a tiny Michigan town, and I thought my prom dreams were over before they began. I’d spent months working at CVS and babysitting, stashing $312 in a red Folgers can for a clearance dress, heels, maybe even a curling wand.

After my mom died, prom was more than a dance—it was a chance to feel like life could shine again. But when my stepmom Linda used my savings to buy her daughter Hailey’s gown, calling it “family money,” I was crushed. I told my date I wasn’t going.

Then prom morning came—and so did Aunt Carla, my mom’s sister, in her red SUV. She whisked me away for lattes, a salon visit, and a soft blue chiffon dress she’d worn to her own spring formal. “Your mom would’ve lost her mind over this look,” she whispered.

When we got home, Carla confronted Linda for stealing my money. My dad finally saw the truth and stood by me. That night, I went to prom with Alex, who brought a bracelet of tiny stars instead of flowers.

Prom wasn’t perfect, but it was mine—and when I got home, a note waited on my mirror: “Your mom would be proud. —C.” That night, I finally found my sparkle.