One minute I'm gone, the next I wake up, and somehow I'm Cinderella's stepmother. And the moment I meet my deadbeat husband again, he literally drops dead from happiness! 01 Wait, didn't I die? Since when was the afterlife this noisy? "Cinderella's nothing but bad luck! If it weren't for her, Mom wouldn't have gotten hurt!" "Mom, Mom, wake up!" Someone was shaking me, making my head spin. Then, a flood of unfamiliar memories rushed in, mixing with the arguing voices around me. I realized... I was alive again. And somehow, I'd landed smack-dab in the middle of the Grimm fairy tale, Cinderella. The constant racket was coming from the story's heroine and her two "wicked" stepsisters. And I, unfortunately, was the wicked stepmother. But according to my new memories, things were a little different from the story. "I" was actually Cinderella's father's first love. My family went bankrupt thanks to bad management, leaving me broke. As soon as the money was gone, Cinderella's dad dumped me and our twin daughters flat, turning around to marry Cinderella's mother. Even though I resented him like hell, "I" worked my fingers to the bone, raising two daughters alone. Then, wouldn't you know it, Cinderella's mom got sick and died, and her dad came sniffing around "me" again. At the time, "I" was working shifts at a bakery, barely scraping by, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of responsibility. I basically told him to get lost. But Robert – yeah, that was his name – was persistent. He brought flowers, gave me rides home, and doted on my daughters. "I" saw the longing for a father in my girls' eyes, saw Robert acting all sincere, and my resolve crumbled. I agreed to give it another shot. We got married quickly, wanting to give the girls a proper family. But after the wedding, Robert changed completely. He became useless, doing nothing all day but drinking with his buddies or running off to the city to "network." And he just dumped little Cinderella on "me." So "I" was out working every day, my two daughters handled the house, and Cinderella was too young for chores. But did that stop her from "helping"? Nope. Whenever her sisters were working, she'd volunteer, only to make a bigger mess, ruining whatever they were trying to do. "I" was often so exhausted I could barely speak. My husband was useless, I had to earn the money, and manage three kids at home. And guess who always ended up cleaning up Cinderella's messes? Me. Even a saint would lose patience. "I" yelled at everyone – my daughters, Cinderella, even their deadbeat, drunken dad. My own girls never complained, but Cinderella? She always acted like I was the cruelest person on earth, making the neighbors whisper that "I" was abusing my stepdaughter. Let them talk, "I" was too tired to care. But then they had to start sticking their noses where they didn't belong... 2: Why Are You Crying? The memories settled. I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was a rickety wooden house, furniture tossed around, eggs splattered on the walls, and bits of rotting vegetable scraps stuck everywhere. Influenced by the memories, my first thought looking at the broken eggshells was, What a waste. Seriously, those were perfectly good eggs. Could've sold them for decent money. While I was spacing out, my older daughter, Tara, grabbed my arm, tears of joy streaming down her face. "Mom, oh thank goodness, you're awake!" My younger daughter, Amber, was fussing over me too. Only Cinderella stood off to the side, sniffling and sobbing like her whole world had ended. I took a closer look at Cinderella's ragged gray dress. It was old, sure, but warm enough and looked spotlessly clean. Then I noticed that while she was covering her face and crying, not a single tear actually fell. Crocodile tears. The whole scene almost made me laugh. I walked over, smoothed down Cinderella's neat, soft hair, and asked, pretending to be gentle, "Kylie, why are you crying?" Cinderella's real name was Kylie. But no matter how many new dresses I bought her, she always wore that drab gray thing. Eventually, everyone, including my own daughters, started calling her Cinderella. Hearing my question, Kylie flinched, choked back a sob, but didn't answer. Tara, getting impatient, jumped in. "Mom, don't you remember? A bunch of villagers came by, yelling that you hit Kylie all the time, starved her, didn't give her clothes... They said you weren't fit to be a mother! They stormed in and trashed the place." "It's all her fault!" Amber added, her anger rising. She started rolling up her sleeves like she was ready to smack Kylie. "If it wasn't for her, those people wouldn't have come here causing trouble and pushing you down, Mom! You got hurt because of her!" Kylie just kept crying. I noticed her subtly shifting towards the door, and saw a few slivers of fabric disappear behind the doorframe. Onlookers. It clicked. I stopped Amber, putting on my kindest voice. "Now, now, how can you blame Kylie? Mom has to work all day. The food I make, the clothes I buy – they're the same for all of you. People just don't realize Kylie prefers this gray dress. It's just a misunderstanding." "The people around here are good-hearted," I continued smoothly. "Once Mom explains things clearly, it'll all be fine." I gently patted the almost dust-free gray skirt Kylie was wearing and gave her a warm smile. "Am I right, Kylie?" 3: Dealing with the Little Snake Kylie was clearly shocked by my sudden change in attitude. She stammered, "O-of course, Mom. You're very good to me." The second the words were out, she frowned, looking annoyed, like she'd said the wrong thing. I noticed the figures lurking outside our broken door quickly melt away. Then Kylie said, "Mom, if you're okay, I'll go fetch the water now." I kept smiling, though it didn't reach my eyes. "No need. You've had quite a fright today. Let Tara get the water. You go rest in your room." Tara snorted but didn't argue, heading out efficiently to get the water. Kylie glanced at me nervously several times before hesitantly walking away. Watching her timid little retreating back, I sneered inwardly. Ha! Did she really think a PhD in psychology like me couldn't handle a little manipulator like her? The next couple of days were much calmer. People in the neighborhood were still gossiping, but they seemed warier, keeping their distance. Because that useless drunk husband of mine hadn't been home in two days, we were completely out of meat. I had to take a day off work and head into town with Tara to buy groceries. Once we got to town, the marketplace was chaotic. People were rushing in one direction. Tara was curious, so I went with her to see what was up. Turns out, the royal family had posted a new announcement. In three days, there would be a grand ball at the palace. All eligible unmarried young women from every family were required to attend. The Prince himself would choose his future bride that very night. Seeing the notice, Tara went ballistic with excitement, shaking my arm. "Mom, I need a new dress! I want to go to the ball!" Honestly, I was even more excited than Tara. Because I instantly remembered the original ending for these two girls in the story. Tara cut off her big toe, Amber sliced off her heel, and both ended up crippled. After Cinderella married the Prince, the three of us – my daughters and I – were kicked out of the country to face a miserable end.
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