The day my stepmother locked me in to keep me from attending her wedding, she thought she’d pulled off the perfect plan. But she forgot one thing: my Apple Watch. I’m 30. My dad, 61, called me three months ago: “I’m getting married again! To Dana!”

Dana—plastic-smiled, center-of-attention, and clearly threatened by my presence—never hid her disdain for me. Still, I tried. I was polite, bought her a Christmas scarf she never wore, and kept showing up. Two weeks before the wedding, my dad offered a room at their place. “No need for a hotel,” he said. Dana even handed me tea at the door. Strange, but I didn’t question it. That night, Dad and I stayed up laughing like old times. The next morning, I woke up locked in. No phone, no keys. Dana had taken everything—and left a sticky note: “Don’t take it personally. It’s just not your day.”