I know what everybody says about me, you know. I’ve read the storybooks and heard the fairytales. I’m the villain. I’m the Evil Stepmother. I tried to steal Cinderella’s happily ever after. But they’ve got it all wrong. I never tried to steal her happily ever after; I tried to save her from it.
I’m not one to deny that I did neglect the girl once her father had passed, for that I will humbly take the blame. I am not perfect. It is just, after he died, it was all I could do not to run away. He was the love of my life, even if I was not his. His, of course, was Ella’s mother. I settled to be his second best – his replacement – however, because I was in a dream. He was my knight, my swordsman, my prince – and I would love him always. Because I loved him, I promised to love her. And I tried, I really did. But he never looked at me with the gaze that he peered on his daughter with. That look of true, eternal, everlasting love that he always bestowed on her. It would never belong to me, and I came to (perhaps undeservedly) resent her for it.
I, the witch that I am, am at fault for crowing Ella with her notorious nickname. Cinderella. I muttered it under my breath one day when she came inside covered from head to toe in soot. It was not meant to be heard by anybody, but my daughter did hear and the nickname traveled throughout the house. My late husband never got wind of the foul nickname, and for that I am forever thankful.
After he passed, I was grief stricken. I spent days, months, maybe even a year locked up in my bedroom unable to muster the energy to even walk about the grounds. It felt as though a hole had taken the place of my heart, and I strived for something to live for day in and day out. I couldn’t look at Ella because I could see her father’ s eyes looking back at me. Her skin was the same color, and she had the same smile. Every time she came to serve me a meal, I felt a stab of loneliness penetrate throughout my entire body. I began to associate Cinderella with this feeling of extreme and unimaginable pain and emptiness. Because of this, our relationship became strained. We became strangers, and our eyes only met by accident.
I know Ella knew deep down that I did not hate her or wish her harm. I think she understood my reasons for distance. In my presence, she would keep her head down and tend to chores in attempt to keep me sane. Though we seldom spoke, I did begin to grow a sort of affection for the girl. I may not have loved her, but I did respect and appreciate that she would go through all the trouble she did in attempt to keep me happy. So, as a gesture of my thanks, one night I invited her to a ball being thrown by the royal family in the Kingdom. She graciously accepted.
If it was not for this moment, Ella and I may have someday grown closer than acquaintances. Alas, she had to come down those stairs. In that moment, everything was still except for Ella. She slowly descended down the emerald carpet in a beautiful peach pastel gown that she said was her mothers. I took in her appearance, and the pang of her father’s death erupted so deeply in my stomach, that it felt just like the moment I had seen him die. Only this time, I was looking at her mother. Instead of the daughter my late husband left behind, I only saw the remainder of the woman I would never be and never was. His first wife. Her golden hair, her eloquent presence, and her rosebud cheeks. This was the woman that I would always fall short of being. This is when I snapped. In a fit of rage, I tore the ruffles and the ribbons of the gown to the floor, leaving Ella in rags before my daughters and myself. She had tears streaming down her face in disbelief, and I blinked back tears of hatred, confusion, and regret as I turned out the door.
As if by assistance of some magical force, Ella was before me not two hours later in a diamond speckled blue ball gown and glass slippers. I admit that my conscious was relieved that I saw her dancing before me, as remorse was slowly but surely slithering its way through my body. She was the belle of the ball, even outshining my two daughters. I am even the one who sneakily closed the curtains to give her and the man she was dancing with some privacy. It was minutes later that I found out that man was the Prince of the royal family. They were dancing in the middle of the floor, which had backed into a surrounding circle, when the clock stuck midnight. Startled by the clanging of bells, Ella looked up and our eyes met. Fear of rehashing events earlier of the night must have soared through her, as terror engulfed her sea blue eyes. She deserted the floor without saying a word, only leaving behind a glass slipper. The Prince picked it up and dashed after, but I knew he would not reach her in time.
Ella stayed cooped up in her room for days after the ball, ignoring my attempts to apologize for my behavior. It was not until word came that the Prince was sending out a search for the girl with the glass slipper that I decided to make one final attempt. She cried words of wanting to be left alone and refused to listen to my news. It was then that I began to understand what true love felt like. For me, it was significant pain and effort put forth to get through a day without my love. For her, it was crying on her bed in terror. I did not wish her my same fate of unhappiness once happily ever after ran out, so I did something rash. I silently took out the key form my dress pocket and locked her door – protecting her from the disappointment of her happily ever after.
One the Prince came, he pointlessly attempted to try the glass slipper on the oversized feet of my daughters, knowing that they were not the girl he danced with. I can only assume that Ella saw him leaving out the door form her window, because she began to bang and yell to be let out of her bedchamber. I did not respond. I was saving her from disappointment from being left alone for eternity. From being left behind. I really was only trying to protect her. To this day, I do not know how she escaped from her room, but minutes later she came sprinting down the stairs to catch her Prince and meet her fate. He climbed out of the carriage and swooped her in his arms. They shared true love’s first kiss and prepared to ride off into the sunset, but first Cinderella came inside to retrieve her spare slipper.
As she walked out my door for the last time, she turned at the threshold and looked me straight in the eye. I saw her father, her mother, and a terrified girl attempting to be a brave woman. I bowed my head but her gaze held still. After about half a minute, her eyes narrowed into a glare, her head turned forth and she was gone forever.
This is how I became the Evil Stepmother. I never spoke to Ella again. I do not blame her for never returning to me, as I certainly do not deserve it. As I near my final days, however, I just want someone to know. I just want someone to know that I am not a witch, a terror, or an evil queen. I am only a heart-broken old woman. I merely tried to save a girl from my fate. We do not think of death when we think of happily ever after, but we always forget that one of the couple is left behind to mourn the other. That person was I when her father died. I have faced years of sadness and loneliness that I wish on no one, not even the person who reminded me of my state the most. Though she will never hear it, I extend my deepest apology, Ella. I wish you the happily ever after, but I certainly do not wish you what comes after.
