I remember Noah beside me.
I remember crying.
I remember people touching my arm and saying kind things.
I remember Carla disappearing before the final dance.
For illustrative purposes only
When we got home, she was waiting in the kitchen.
“You think you won?” she snapped. “You made me look like a monster.”
“You did that yourself,” I said.
She pointed at Noah. “And you. Little sneaky freak with your sewing project.”
Noah flinched.
Then, for the first time in a year, he didn’t stay quiet.
He stepped in front of me. “Don’t call me that.”
She laughed. “Or what?”
His voice shook, but he kept going. “Or nothing. That’s the point. You always do this because you think nobody will stop you.”
She opened her mouth, but he continued.
“You mocked everything. You mocked Mom. You mocked Dad. You mocked me for sewing. You mocked her for wanting one normal night. You take and take—and then act offended when anyone notices.”
I had never heard him speak like that.
Carla turned to me. “Are you going to let him talk to me like this?”
“Yes,” I said.
A knock came at the door.
It was the attorney—and Tessa’s mom.
They had come straight from the school.
“Given tonight’s statements and prior concerns,” the attorney said, “these children will not be left alone without support while the court reviews the guardianship and the funds.”
Carla just stared.
Tessa’s mom walked past her like she wasn’t even there. “Go pack a bag,” she told us.
So we did.
Three weeks later, Noah and I moved in with our aunt.
Two months later, Carla lost control of the money.
She fought it.
She lost.
Noah was invited to a summer design program after one of the teachers sent photos of the dress to a local arts director.
He pretended to be annoyed about it for a full day—until I caught him smiling at the acceptance email.
The dress is hanging in my closet now.
Sometimes, I still reach out and touch the seams.
Carla wanted everyone to laugh when they saw what I was wearing.
Instead, it was the first time people truly saw us.
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