My daughter almost skipped prom because of the girls who spent years tearing her down. I couldn’t let that be the ending to her story. So I suited up, took her hand, and walked into that ballroom determined to give them a night they’d never forget.
People always ask me how I manage being a single dad, like it’s some kind of superhuman feat. The truth is, I don’t have a choice.
When Sarah died three years ago, Grace and I became a team of two against the world. Some days we’re winning, other days we’re barely hanging on, but we’re always together.
Grace has been my anchor through everything. At 16, she’s wiser and kinder than most adults I know.
She helps me remember to eat breakfast, listens to my terrible dad jokes without rolling her eyes too hard, and somehow manages to keep our little house feeling like a home even when I’m working double shifts at the plant.
But watching her navigate high school has been like watching someone try to fit a square peg into a round hole. Her school is where all the wealthy families send their kids, and we’re only there because Sarah had insisted on the best education possible, even if it meant stretching every dollar.
“How was school today, sweetheart?” I asked one Thursday evening, noticing how quiet she’d been during dinner.
Grace pushed her mashed potatoes around her plate without looking up. “Fine, Dad. Just the usual.”
The usual meant Tanner and his crew making comments about her thrift store clothes or asking loudly if she’d gotten her backpack from the “clearance aisle.” I’d heard enough stories to make my blood boil, but Grace always brushed it off.
“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” I pressed gently.
She nodded, but I could see the weight she was carrying on her shoulders. I could see how my bright, confident girl was slowly disappearing, and it was killing me.
As April rolled around, I expected her to start talking about prom. All her life, she’d dreamed about fancy dresses and slow dances, just like her mom used to tell her about. But when the topic came up at dinner one night, her reaction caught me completely off guard.
“So, prom’s coming up,” I said. “Have you thought about what kind of dress you’d like? We could go shopping this weekend.”
Grace’s fork clattered against her plate. “I’m not going to prom, Dad.”
“What do you mean you’re not going? You’ve been talking about prom since you were 12.”
“That was different,” she shook her head. “I was just being stupid.”
I set down my fork and looked at her. Her eyes were full of tears, and her hands were shaking slightly.
“Grace, honey, what’s really going on here?”
She took a shaky breath before answering. “Do you know what happened to Emma last year? She showed up in a dress from Target, and Tanner and his friends spent the whole night taking pictures and posting them online with captions about ‘budget prom fashion.’ She transferred schools the next week.”
