I handed my teen daughter my card to buy a prom dress-$200 limit, I said firmly.
She swore she understood.
That night, I checked my banking app and nearly screamed.
I burst into her room, and she sat frozen, her laptop glowing with an open receipt showing a $947 charge from an upscale boutique.
My voice cracked as I asked, “What is this, Emily?”
She stammered, “It was the dress, Mom. The one. I tried on others, but this one—this one felt like magic. I couldn’t let it go.”
I stared at her, my heart pounding. “You promised. You understood the limit.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I thought I could make it work—I planned to return my phone, use my savings, even mow lawns if I had to. I just… I didn’t want to regret prom like you said you regretted yours.”
The memory hit me like a wave—me in a borrowed dress, awkward, out of place. I sat down on her bed, torn between anger and empathy.
“I told you about my prom to help you appreciate what you have, not to push you to break rules.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll fix it. I swear.”
We returned the dress the next day. She didn’t fight me. She didn’t cry. She walked out of that boutique with her head high, like she had grown two years older in two hours.
Prom came a month later. She wore a $98 dress she found on sale, altered by a neighbor. And somehow, she looked even more radiant—because this time, she wore responsibility too.