Part 1Cinderella Threw Away Her Glass Slipper

When David and I signed the divorce papers, a strange calm settled over us.

He asked, with a veneer of concern, what I wanted.

My answer came without a second thought.

"The cars, the house, the savings."

"And half the shares in your company."

David froze, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"What about the children? You don't want either of them?"

"You love them so much. Can you really bear to leave Leo and Mia behind?"

My gaze fell to the latticework of scars on my wrist, a silent testament to years of self-inflicted pain.

I gave a small, slow shake of my head.

Not anymore.

From this day forward, the only thing I wanted from David Thorne was his money.

Everything else connected to him, I was leaving behind.

* * *

Faced with my cold detachment, David looked like he wanted to say something more.

But after a moment's hesitation, he simply fell silent and signed his name to the agreement.

As we parted, he offered a final, polite gesture.

"I can't give you the shares, but you will always be the children's mother."

"If you ever run into trouble, you can always come to me."

I nodded.

The moment I turned away, the business card he'd handed me found its home in the nearest trash can.

In this lifetime, I would rather die than ever see David Thorne again.

Back at the house, I told the housekeeper to pack up all of David’s belongings and throw them out.

She chuckled, unconcerned.

"Ma'am, did you and Mr. Thorne have another fight?"

"If you ask me, you should just let it blow over," she said, her tone light and teasing.

"He does care for you, deep down. It's not worth throwing away your position as Mrs. Thorne over a little spat."

Maria had seen everything. All the years of pain, the humiliation I'd endured.

She knew the torrential force of my love for David.

She had also witnessed my hysterics, the countless times I’d shattered in the face of his betrayals.

Like David, she was convinced I would never leave.

But this time, I didn't break down in tears and complaints as I usually did.

Instead, I took our wedding portrait down from the wall and spoke, my voice calm and empty.

"My mother is dead."

The smile vanished from Maria's face.

She stood frozen, stammering an apology, her hands fluttering uselessly.

I offered a faint, humorless smile and said nothing.

With all my strength, I brought the heavy frame down, smashing it to pieces on the floor.

Maria jumped back, startled.

Then, she was crouching beside me, helping me clean up the shards of glass. She expertly bandaged the cut on my hand, a wound torn open by the impact.

"Good," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "Good riddance!"

"You're an Ivy League graduate, a brilliant woman. You can live a much better life without him."

"You don't have to take that kind of pain anymore, my dear."

"I know," I whispered, my head bowed.

I hadn't wanted to cry.

But as I looked down, the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable. There was regret, and a deep, aching sadness.

But beneath it all, there was something else.

A glimmer of the dizzying joy of a survivor.

After ten years of entanglement, the fairytale romance of the prince and the cinder-girl had finally reached its end.

It wasn't a happy ending, but it was the one I should have seen coming all along.