Cinderella's Step-Mother

When most people hear my name,

One word comes to mind.

Evil.

Little do readers know,

There’s much more to the story of Cinderella,

Than once up a time.

                                                                                                       

The moment I met Cinderella’s father,

I could never get the same amount of attention as she did.

I had to fight for a glimpse in my direction,

While she just sat there not realizing how much interest he had in her

He was always watching, always smiling.

With each glance, and each grin,

I grew more and more jealous.

I knew with the beauty Cinderella held,

Many men would fight for her attention just as I had to do with her own father,

My own husband.

More beautiful than my own daughters,

I could not bring myself to admit it,

I knew something had to be done.

Years passed,

Days came and went.

We lost Cinderella’s father and I knew this was my chance.

No longer would she receive all the attention.

It was my turn.

It was my daughters’ turns.

Cinderella’s prime would come to an end.

Away went the ball gowns,

And in came the rags.

Away perfumes and the makeup,

And in came the brooms and mops.

No longer Daddy’s little girl,

But our little servant.

As the days went on,

I could see the smile was long gone off of Cinderella’s face.

With her smile drifting,

I felt a sense of accomplishment.

She would now know how it felt to be a position where happiness had to be fought for.

One day in the mail there came a letter.

An invitation to the ball addressed to Cinderella.

Immediately I disposed of it.

Why would she want to attend it anyways?

She had nothing to wear.

She had too many chores to do.

Besides if anyone were to go to the ball it would be my daughters.

Especially at this point, they were more eligible for a ball than Cinderella could ever be.

I should have realized her mood changing.

There was a little more of a swing in her step.

She pushed a little harder through her chores.

The corners of her mouth formed what to be a smile every so often.

I should have asked.

By the time I realized,

It was too late.

The fitting for the glass slipper had come.

I had not been thinking right and allowed Cinderella to come along with my daughters and me to try it on.

 As each of my children sat before the prince,

The shoe did not slip on.

One too big, one too small.

Cinderella approached the chair,

It glided on with ease.

I had been played in my own game.

I had lost what I began.

My attention was still not won.

Cinderella had come out on top,

Leaving me and my daughters in the dust.

That is where the fairytale ends,

But I wouldn’t know, my fairytale had never begun.

Caitlin Stapleton