My Stepmom Covertly Called Off My Prom Hair Appointment to Spoil My Evening – Yet She Was Stunned When a Limousine Arrived for Me

Yeah, that woman cannot stand me.

It all started 7 years ago, after my mom passed away from a cold that just wouldn’t go away. Before I knew it, my dad was seeing Carla, and a year later, he married her.

“Your father doesn’t waste any time, does he?” my aunt sniffed on the day of the wedding. “And who is Carla anyway? She’s nothing compared to your mom!”

Carla was fine at first. I mean, she tried hard to get me on her side. But slowly, the passive-aggressive jabs started piling up. I remember once, I caught her staring at me.

“You look too much like your mother, Emily,” she said. “It actually pains me to look at you. No wonder your father gives Mason more attention. He’s closer to Mason right now, isn’t he?”

I sighed and ignored her, trying not to let her words get to me.

My dad, of course, didn’t notice a thing. It was like he couldn’t—or just wouldn’t—see how Carla treated me. And she loved that. She loved being the only one ready to taunt me.

Anyway, fast forward to prom season. Like every other girl in my class, I was dreaming of the perfect night. I saved up enough babysitting money for months to buy a gorgeous violet dress.

I couldn’t help but wish that my mother was around to spend these moments with me.

But that’s why I chose the violet dress. It was her favorite color.

Prom was going to be my night. I just knew it.

Whenever I thought about it, I just felt like something magical was going to happen at prom. To make myself feel even better, I booked a hair appointment at a fancy salon. All my friends were going there too.

Everything was set.

But then the big day came, and Carla made sure to ruin it.

I went to the salon, all excited, but when I got there, the receptionist looked at me, confused.

“Emily? Are you sure?” she asked, looking at her computer screen. “Zelda told me that you canceled?”

“I didn’t!” I exclaimed. “Why would I? Prom is this evening!”

“Calm down, honey,” the receptionist said. “I’ll get Zelda.”

I waited impatiently while she went to get the hairdresser. Finally, they returned.

The hairdresser looked uncomfortable.

“I got a call earlier today saying that you wanted to cancel your appointment, Emily. I assumed that it was your Mom?”

My heart dropped. Canceled? How? I didn’t cancel it! What mom?

I was still processing everything when I looked over and saw her.

Carla.

Sitting there, getting her hair done. Of course.

She saw me and just smirked, her eyes cold as steel. Carla had canceled my appointment.

“Is there any way that you could still schedule me in?” I asked Zelda.

She shook her head sadly.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “When your appointment was canceled, a woman called in and booked her own. All of our slots are taken. I’m sorry, honey.”

I stood there in shock. So, Carla had called pretending to be me? Pretending to be my mom? And then she took my appointment so that she could watch me be disappointed?

Sick.

I barely managed to keep it together as I ran out of the salon, my head spinning. I felt nauseous.

My perfect prom? It was just falling apart around me. By the time I got home, I locked myself in my room, tears pouring down my face.

I sat at my dressing table trying to fix my hair on my own, but nothing looked good. I felt stupid for telling Carla my plans in passing.

See what had happened?

I looked at my dress, hanging off a hanger.

I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to go to prom anymore.

I sat there, looking at my makeup sitting on my dressing table and wondered if it was even worth it. I mean, what was the point? I was already upset and didn’t feel like anything good was going to come from this.

Suddenly, I heard this loud honking outside. I ignored it at first, thinking it was just a random car.

A teenage girl’s dressing table | Source: Midjourney
A teenage girl’s dressing table | Source: Midjourney

But it didn’t stop.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and dragged myself to the window, fully expecting to see commotion on the road. But when I looked out, my jaw dropped.

A glossy black limousine was parked in front of our house.

I thought it was some sort of mistake. There was no way that the car was for me. My friends’ parents had said no when we first talked about it months ago. But still, I ran downstairs.

I stood at the doorway, waiting for something to happen. The driver stepped out and walked up to our front door. My dad, who had been as clueless as ever during all of this, stood on our porch, looking as confused as I felt.

“I’m here for Miss Emily, sir,” the driver said, holding out a small card.

Miss Emily? Me?

“She’s right here,” my dad said, nodding to me.

I hesitantly took the card from my dad’s hand and opened it. Inside, written in neat handwriting, were the words:

To my beautiful sister, Emily. I know you’ve had a rough time lately, but you deserve the best night ever! Enjoy the limo, and don’t worry about a thing. I’ve been saving all my birthday and Christmas money.

Have a magical night, sis.

Love, Mason.

Mason? My 11-year-old brother did this?

I burst into tears all over again, but this time from pure shock and gratitude. I ran upstairs to find Mason in his room, grinning like he’d just pulled off the ultimate prank.

“I heard Mom on the phone this morning,” he said, shrugging like this wasn’t a big deal. “I knew that it wasn’t fair at all.”

Turns out that he had overheard Carla canceling my hair appointment, and in true little brother fashion, took matters into his own hands.

“But did you really use your money?” I asked him, feeling horrible.

“Not really,” he grinned. “See, Mom has been saving up money to buy some fancy diamond necklace. She’s been showing Dad the necklace, hoping that he would get it for her. But he said no.”

Good for you, Dad, I thought.

“Anyway, after I heard her phone call, she left home. So, I took some of the money from her stash, and went to Mr. Johnson next door. He owns the limo company, remember?”

But Mason didn’t stop there.

“There’s more, Em,” he said. “Mrs. Evans, from across the road? Her daughter is a stylist at the mall. She’s coming here to do your hair and makeup soon.”

Just as the words left his mouth, the doorbell rang.

“That should be her!” Mason said. “Go wash your face, I’ll send her up.”

When did Mason grow up? I wondered as I did what he said.

Twenty minutes later, I went from crying in my bedroom to looking like a princess. I just wished my mom was around to fuss over me. To take endless photos and tell me how proud she was of me. I wanted a hug from her more than anything.

But still, Mason had saved prom!

When Carla drove into our driveway, I was already outside, stepping into the limo like a movie star. Her jaw dropped. And she got out of the car and just stood there, stunned.

Her face? Oh my God. I wish I had a picture of her expression. I would have stuck it on my mirror!

“Richard? Did you do this?” I heard her shriek to my father before the driver closed the door.

Moments later, the driver whisked me away.

Prom was everything I had hoped for. When I arrived at the hall in the limo, heads turned. I was glowing, and I knew it. For the first time in a long time, I felt like my mom was right there with me.

The whole night was pure magic. Dancing, laughing with my friends, and just forgetting all the drama at home.

As for Carla, I hope she learned a lesson. You can’t mess with someone’s joy and get away with it… especially if your son is going to come in and save the day!

What would you have done?

I Sold My Late Mom’s Belongings at a Flea Market, Where a Stranger’s Story Made Me Secretly Take a Hair from His Coat for a DNA Test — Story of the Day

While selling my late mom’s belongings, an older man recognized her pendant. His story shook me, and as he turned to leave, I took a strand of hair from his coat, determined to uncover the truth about my father.

After my mother passed away, I walked into our old house, and the silence hit me like a wave. The rooms felt hollow like they were waiting for someone who wasn’t coming back.

“Okay, just start,” I whispered to myself, though my legs refused to move.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

The air smelled faintly of her cinnamon rolls, always warm on Saturdays. I could almost hear the rustle of her dress as she walked through the hall, humming under her breath. But now, everything was still.

I forced myself toward the living room. Boxes were stacked neatly, waiting for me to decide their fate. My fingers hovered over the first one, and I sighed.

“This is ridiculous. It’s just stuff.”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

But every item pulled at me. Her old coffee mug, the one with the chip that I always told her to throw away. Her scarf, the one I’d borrowed without asking. I couldn’t let go, not yet.

And then I saw it. The pendant. It was tucked under a stack of faded letters. The emerald gleamed, catching the dim light.

“I’ve never seen this before. Where did this come from?”

Mom never wore jewelry like this. I stared at it.

“Well,” I said to myself again, “I guess it goes in the sale box.”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

***

The fair was alive with energy. The sweet, nutty aroma of roasted almonds and caramel was mixed with the faint tang of dust kicked up by the crowd.

My little table was wedged between a stall selling handmade candles and another offering second-hand books.

“Not exactly prime real estate,” I muttered to myself, rearranging a few items on the table.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

People walked by, some slowing down to glance at the assortment of belongings from my mother’s house. A couple picked up an old vase, murmured something to each other, and put it back. A child tugged at his mother’s sleeve, pointing at a set of vintage postcards.

“Excuse me,” a deep, slightly raspy voice broke through the noise.

I looked up to see an older man standing before me. His face was weathered, with deep lines etched around his eyes and mouth. He pointed to the pendant lying among the other items.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

“May I?” he asked.

“Of course,” I replied, watching as he picked it up carefully.

He held it up to the light. His expression softened.

“This pendant,” he began, his voice quieter now, “it’s beautiful. Where did it come from?”

“It belonged to my mother,” I explained, folding my hands nervously. “I found it while sorting through her things.”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stared at the pendant as if it held a secret only he could see.

“I gave one just like this to a woman once,” he said finally, his words slow and deliberate. “Her name was Martha. We spent a summer together—years ago, decades really. It was… unforgettable.” His lips curved into a bittersweet smile. “But life pulled us apart. I never saw her again.”

My heart thudded in my chest.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels

For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels

“Martha,” I repeated under my breath. That was my mother’s name.

Could it be possible? I studied the man closely, searching for any hint of familiarity. I needed to get more information about him.

“Do you want to keep it?” I blurted, the words escaping before I could think them through.

He looked startled. “Oh, I couldn’t…”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

“I insist,” I said quickly. “But let me clean it first. I can make it look as good as new and send it to you later.”

His hesitation melted into a nod. “That’s very kind of you.” He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper. “Here’s my address.”

“Thank you, Mr.?”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

“Jackson,” he said, scribbling quickly and handing me the paper.

As he returned the pendant to me, my eyes caught a strand of hair on his coat, fine and silver. Without a second thought, I reached out discreetly and plucked it between my fingers.

“Nice to meet you, Jackson,” I said, slipping the strand into my pocket.

I had what I needed. It was time to find out the truth.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

***

I wrestled with the decision for days before finally handing over the strand of hair for a DNA test. The question of whether Mr. Jackson could be my father consumed me. My mother had never spoken of him, and that part of her life felt like a stolen chapter from my own biography.

She had secrets that even her death couldn’t bury. In the end, my need for answers outweighed my doubts. I submitted the sample and waited.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

Weeks passed, each day stretching endlessly, but then the results arrived. My hands shook as I opened the envelope, and my breath caught in my throat as I read the words: 99% probability.

Jackson was my father.

“Are you sure?” I had called the clinic, my voice trembling.

“Absolutely,” the technician replied. “There’s no mistake.”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

Armed with this truth, I found myself standing outside Jackson’s modest house, the pendant clutched tightly in my hand. My heart pounded as I knocked on the door.

He answered almost immediately, his expression shifting from surprise to curiosity.

“Miss…?” he began, but I quickly interrupted, extending the pendant toward him.

“This is yours,” I said softly.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

He hesitated before taking it. But when I explained the DNA test, his expression changed sharply. His brows furrowed, and his mouth tightened.

“You did what?” he demanded.

“I had to know,” I replied, my voice steady despite my racing heart. “The test confirmed it. You’re my father.”

Before he could respond, a girl, maybe fifteen, appeared at his side. She slipped her hand into his, her wide eyes flickering between us.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

“This is Julia,” Jackson said, his tone suddenly protective. “My daughter.”

“Who’s this?” she asked softly.

The sight of her only deepened the storm in Jackson’s eyes. He turned back to me, his voice rising.

“You had no right to do this,” he snapped. “I don’t believe you. I think you’re here because you want something.”

“Want something?” I repeated, my frustration breaking through. “I don’t want anything from you! I’ve spent my entire life wondering who my father was. Wondering why he wasn’t there!”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

But my words fell flat. Jackson shook his head, his jaw tight.

“Leave,” he said firmly, stepping back and closing the door.

I stood there, stunned and heartbroken, until the door creaked open again. Suddenly, Julia slipped out.

“Wait,” she called, catching up to me. “You seem to be my sister, right?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “It’s possible.”

Her face lit up with a small smile. “Come back tomorrow. I’ll talk to him. Please.”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

***

The next day, I returned to Jackson’s house. I didn’t know what to expect. When he opened the door, he looked different—calmer, almost vulnerable.

“I owe you an apology,” he said, stepping aside to let me in. “Yesterday, I… I didn’t handle things well.”

“It’s okay,” I replied. “I understand. It was a lot to take in.”

We settled into the living room. The pendant lay in his hands as he turned it over slowly, his fingers tracing its edges. The silence stretched, but finally, he spoke.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

“I gave this to your mother the day I asked her to marry me,” he said, his voice low. “I didn’t have a ring, but I wanted her to know how serious I was. She laughed and said she didn’t need diamonds. But not long after that, she… she ended things.”

“Ended things?” I asked, my brow furrowing. “Why?”

He sighed heavily. “I was going to go abroad to follow my dreams. I asked her to go with me. I didn’t know she was pregnant. If I had…”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels

For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels

His voice trailed off, thick with regret.

“She never told me that,” I murmured. “She always said she was happy raising me alone. She never talked about you, not even once.”

Jackson looked up, guilt shadowing his face. “I think she wanted to protect you from… me. I didn’t fight for her the way I should have. And when I saw you yesterday, all I could think about was Julia. I was afraid of how she’d react, afraid of failing as a father again.”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

Julia, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, stepped forward.

“You didn’t fail me, Dad,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “And maybe this is a chance to make things right. For all of us.”

I reached into my bag, pulling out an old journal I’d found in the attic.

“I found this,” I said, holding it out to Jackson. “It’s my mom’s diary. I think you should read it.”

His hands trembled slightly as he opened the worn book. “What does it say?”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

I swallowed hard. “She wrote about why she left. She said she loved you, but she was scared. She’d just found out she was pregnant, and she thought… she thought you’d feel trapped. That you’d never follow your dream. I think she let you go because she loved you.”

“She couldn’t have been more wrong. She was my dream,” he whispered.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

The room fell silent, the weight of unspoken years pressing down on all of us. Finally, Jackson looked at me.

“I can’t change the past,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But if you’ll let me, I’d like to be part of your life now.”

That evening, we sat down for a simple dinner. The food didn’t matter. It was the warmth around the table that I’d been missing for so long. As Julia cracked a joke and Jackson smiled for the first time, I felt something shift inside me. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel alone. I had found my family.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

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