The final year at Riverton High was the toughest Emily had ever experienced. Before, some classmates still seemed to care about school, but as seniors, it felt like everyone forgot the real reason they were there. Students around her formed relationships, discussed future plans, clothes, and money. Emily, meanwhile, felt like an outsider—she couldn’t imagine a bright future for herself.
Though Emily was a good student, her family had no funds. She always wore secondhand clothes. Had she ever owned a brand-new dress? She faintly remembered that at the start of primary school, everything was new. It was so long ago, back when her father was different, and her mother was still alive…
Emily had hardly interacted with her classmates—more accurately, they rarely spoke to her. But this year, she felt entirely cut off. Although everyone acted almost like adults, the mocking aimed at her became more frequent. And today, it escalated beyond reason.
That morning began like any other. Everyone sat down, ready for the first lesson. Emily hated being the focal point, so she asked quietly:
“Ms. Brown, may I answer from here?”
Someone snickered right away:
“Morgan doesn’t want to stand at the front so we won’t see how many patches are on her dress.”
“No, she’s afraid the whole thing might just fall to bits under the pressure.”
Both boys and girls joined in, and the entire class erupted in laughter. Harriet Brown tried to restore order but struggled to quiet them.
“Morgan, what do you plan to wear to prom? We don’t exactly have shops here that sell barnyard fashion.”
Emily grabbed her bag and dashed from the classroom. She heard Ms. Brown shouting:
“Carter, enough! Morgan, come back!”
But who would bother listening if everyone believed they were already grown-ups?
Back home, everything was as usual. Her father, Sam Morgan, had passed out from drinking. He lay sprawled on the sofa, legs hanging off, the stale smell of alcohol filling the room. In the kitchen, the table was littered with cigarette butts, empty bottles, and a sticky mess on every surface.
Emily flung open the window, letting in a cool, fresh breeze. April that year was mild, though still early spring. For nearly an hour, she cleaned, scrubbing away the evidence of her father’s binge. All the while, she wondered how different things could have been if her mother were still around.
Emily knew Sam had loved her mother deeply. That must have been why he never recovered from her death. For a decade, he drifted from odd job to odd job, spending most of his wages on liquor.
Initially, his habit was subtle. He kept a steady job and would only drink when Emily was asleep. Later, he began drinking in the evenings, even when she was right there. Eventually, he could hardly find the time or energy to work. Over and over, he said:
“It’s fine, Emmie, your dad’s just having his last drink, and then we’ll live a good life.”
But that “good life” never came. Emily pleaded, cried, and prayed for him to stop, hoping he’d get tired of the booze. Yet nothing changed—it only grew worse.
A slight noise made Emily turn around. Her father stood in the kitchen doorway. Her heart sank. Although Sam was forty-five, he looked sixty, maybe seventy.
“Emmie, why are you home so early?”
All her frustration poured out. She began softly, then started shouting:
“Early?! There’s no point in staying at that school with normal people, don’t you see?”
She threw her jacket on a chair and rushed past her stunned father. The front door slammed behind her. Sam sank heavily onto a chair and muttered:
“Well, do you feel better now?”
“What’s wrong?” asked a woman who approached Emily—a familiar face from the small pharmacy downstairs, Fiona Smith, known to everyone in the building.
“Nothing’s wrong with Dad,” Emily replied. “I just need a moment to sit here quietly.”
“Silence never solved a problem.” With tears in her eyes, Emily told Fiona everything that had happened that day.
“We should go to the headteacher,” Fiona suggested. “This is unacceptable. Who do they think they are?”
Emily shook her head:
“That won’t help. Fiona, do you know where I could find a job? Somewhere I won’t have to quit school and won’t have to see my dad so often?”
“A job? You’re pretty young. Unless it’s off the books… Here’s what: come by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll see if I can help.”
Emily wiped her eyes and managed a smile:
“Thank you so much. I’ll definitely come by.”
And so, Emily got a position at the local hospital, working nights as an orderly’s assistant where staffing was in short supply.
She hadn’t planned on telling anyone about her new job, but she signed her name in the yearbook, indicating she would attend prom. Predictably, the bullying ramped up, yet she tried her best to ignore it. After all, anyone who mocked her had parents paying for fancy outfits; she had no one to buy hers, so she had to earn it herself.
Emily was determined to prove them wrong—she wasn’t sure why, but deep down, she believed she was no worse than they were, maybe even better in certain ways.
Yes, she lacked money, but she could make enough to shine for just one night.
“Morgan, someone said the homeless rummaged through the dump and found you a prom dress. True or not?” Lauren Carter couldn’t resist sneering.
She always had followers around her. Lauren had been known as the class queen for ages, and nobody doubted she would hold that title forever.
Emily silently stared at her textbook. The most important thing was to remain quiet, hoping Lauren would lose interest. But no such luck.
“Emily, maybe you’ll show up with a date. Did you find an age-appropriate guy at the dump?”
Emily finally snapped:
“Someone suitable for you?”
The class roared with laughter. Lauren turned red with rage.
“Oh, so your dumpster dress gave you confidence? I see. You sure you’re not too chicken to run for prom queen, Morgan?”
Emily stood up with a hint of a smile:
“You’re used to calling all the shots. Maybe, if there were an actual contest, it would go differently.”
She walked out, leaving Lauren gaping.
“Did you see that?” Lauren hissed to her friends.
About a week before prom, things got hectic at the hospital.
A five-year-old boy arrived after falling off a scooter, hitting his head. He came with his nanny, who only made matters worse by frantically calling people and apologizing nonstop. The night shift doctor was the only physician on duty.
“Emily, calm this hysterical woman down!” the doctor yelled into the phone. “I can’t keep him here—this is the adult ward. It’s not life-threatening, but a pediatric surgeon should see him.”
He slammed down the phone and shook his head.
“Please handle this so she settles down.”
Emily nodded, smiling as she led the nanny into the lobby, offering her tea. The nanny finally explained:
“You see, the boy’s father, Ethan Harris, is a fantastic guy but still young. He’s successful in business. The child was born when Ethan was only nineteen. The mother wasn’t interested, so he’s been raising his son on his own. But once he turned twenty, the mother started fighting for custody. She doesn’t really want the boy, just Ethan’s money. She keeps tabs on his every move and has filed multiple complaints claiming he doesn’t spend time properly with his child, that it’s negligent and dangerous. If she hears about this accident…”
“You haven’t told the father?” Emily asked, surprised.
“I’m afraid to. Ethan can be very strict,” the nanny replied.
Emily held out her hand decisively:
“Let me try talking to him.”
The phone call was intense. The moment Ethan understood what happened, he started yelling about pressing charges on everyone involved. Emily had to raise her own voice:
“Could you calm down and listen? Kids fall down all the time. The real problem is that your son got really scared, and your nanny’s panic is worse because she’s frightened of you. You’re acting like a tyrant!”
There was a pause, then Ethan spoke calmly:
“Could you take them somewhere else—like your place—so they’re not in the hospital and don’t come home bandaged up? I’ll pay well. I’ll be there by noon. Text me the address.”
Emily wanted to say her place wouldn’t be much better, but Ethan had already ended the call. She repeated everything to the nanny, who nodded:
“Yes, in this situation, leaving here is the best idea.”
“But my father might be drunk,” Emily warned in a low voice.
The nanny frowned:
“A hotel’s risky—someone might see us…”
Within half an hour, Emily was unlocking her apartment door, still uncertain why she was doing all this. Was she really prepared for another humiliation?
Her dad was awake. To Emily’s surprise, the place was spotless, and there was a delicious scent of food.
“Emmie, you’ve brought guests? Great! I made so much that we’ll never finish it all on our own.”
It felt strange, like this wasn’t real. Emily couldn’t recall the last time she sensed both hope and fear in the same breath.
“Em,” Sam called her into the kitchen. “I need to apologize. I’m so ashamed. I don’t even know where to begin. Here, take this. Buy yourself something nice for prom. I talked to my old boss, told him everything. I start tomorrow, and the guys pitched in a little for you, you know, for something sweet.”
Emily couldn’t describe her happiness. She was even more thrilled when Paulina—the nanny—treated her to a salon visit, helped her pick out a beautiful dress, and taught her the waltz.
As for Ethan… Emily tried not to think about him, finding the tension unsettling. He wasn’t a monster, she realized—just stern, influential, and fair. She tried to push him out of her mind.
The taxi driver glanced at Emily through the rearview mirror:
“What on earth? Miss, are we being followed?”
Emily looked behind them, a chill running through her. Ethan’s car was trailing close by, along with his security vehicle. He’d hired guards as soon as the custody battle began.
Back at school, Harriet Brown gave Lauren Carter a stern glance that could rival a glossy magazine model’s stare.
“So, do we expect Morgan to arrive soon?” someone asked with a snide edge.
Ms. Brown sighed heavily:
“I never thought I’d say this, but I really hope, Carter, that someone finally takes you down a peg.” Then she peered toward the school gates and broke into a smile. “Well, looks like your crown may be slipping—faster than I expected.”
Lauren fell silent, watching in disbelief as Ethan Harris, the most eligible catch in the county, helped Emily out of the car. She wore a breathtaking dress, perhaps not as expensive as Lauren’s, but it looked better. Her hair and makeup were flawless.
Lauren saw everyone crowding around Emily, leaving her completely alone. She tore off her prom sash and bolted for the gates—she wanted no part of an evening where she wouldn’t be the star.
Ethan joined in the celebration with everyone else. Midway through the evening, he and Emily stepped outside for some fresh air. He carefully adjusted the newly won prom queen crown on her head and said:
“Emily, I feel like I’m reliving my own high school days. This is actually… fun.”
She smiled:
“Yes, I wish it didn’t have to end.”
He asked gently:
“Why would it end? There’s so much ahead.”
She shook her head:
“I don’t think this kind of life is meant for me.”
“You’re mistaken, Em.”
Three years sped by. Emily breezed around a bridal shop, searching for her perfect wedding gown. They’d agreed she’d study in college for at least three years before marriage—Ethan’s suggestion. Now, her favorite men relaxed on a couch, acting as her style consultants: Ethan, her father, and Ethan’s young son.
A consultant approached:
“May I help you? What style are you interested in?”
Emily looked up. Lauren Carter… They both froze for a second, old memories flashing through their minds. Emily smiled and asked:
“Do you happen to have any dresses from the dumpster? If not, we’ll go somewhere else.”
