Part 2Cinderella Threw Away Her Glass Slipper

At eighteen, I was the top student in my county, accepted into one of the most prestigious Ivy League universities.

That same year, I met David Thorne, a successful alumnus who had returned to campus to make a donation.

The beginning of our story was, like all fairytales, breathtakingly romantic.

For David, it was love at first sight.

After his speech, he began a relentless, whirlwind courtship.

He’d wait for me after class with flowers and my favorite latte. He’d bribe my roommates with cash just to know my schedule. He memorized every trivial detail about me and declared his love in a field of a thousand roses he’d had planted just for me.

Back then, everyone said we wouldn't last.

They were certain a small-town girl like me, a nobody, could never truly fit into his world.

But David didn't care. He brushed off their doubts, determined to be with me. He fought against the pressure from his family and proposed, shielding me from all the malice and judgment.

Under his protection, my life, once a struggle, was suddenly switched to easy mode.

Jewelry and bouquets, graduate school placements, opportunities to study abroad—everything was laid at my feet before I even had to ask.

What teenage girl, inexperienced and full of dreams, could resist such an onslaught?

I fell, hard and fast.

I gave up my ambitions and stepped into the gilded cage of marriage.

Dating, marriage, pregnancy, childbirth. It all unfolded so seamlessly.

For the girl I was then, life felt impossibly easy. Everything I ever wanted was mine for the taking.

I was drunk on love, completely unaware that every gift from fate comes with a hidden price tag.

The day our son, Leo, was born, the Thorne matriarch, a woman I had never met, swept into my hospital room and took my child from my arms.

Her smile was polite, perfectly composed, but her voice was a shard of ice.

"Leo is the future heir to the Thorne fortune. His position is of the utmost importance."

"Your background, your… upbringing… hardly qualifies you to raise him."

I had carried him for ten months, endured a difficult birth, and I wasn't even allowed to hold him.

To even see my own son, I had to get permission first.

I begged David, pleaded with him not to be so cruel, not to separate me from our baby.

He just looked at me with a strange expression.

"My mother's right, you know. You're from the countryside."

"She made it clear from the start. I can fool around all I want, but when it comes to the children, her word is law."

I was on the verge of collapsing from grief.

But David simply pulled me into his arms and kissed me, completely ignoring my tears.

He laughed it off.

"Come on, don't be so sad."

"If you want a baby that badly, we can just make another one."

I couldn't push him away.

But then his eyes caught the faint, silvery stretch marks on my stomach.

He stopped.

A flicker of… something between hesitation and disgust… crossed his face. After a long moment, he pulled away and said flatly, "You've had a long day. You should get some rest."

David’s indifference was like a bucket of ice water, shocking me out of my long, beautiful dream.

I remembered his mother's contempt, the snickering of those around me.

And I suddenly understood.

This grand, sweeping love affair of ours?

It had been nothing more than the indulgent whim of a rich boy.

Fate had showered me with blessings.

Now, it was starting to collect the interest.

And my son was just the beginning.

In the weeks after giving birth, I spiraled into a severe postpartum depression.

My calls to David went unanswered. My texts were left unread.

Just as I started to panic, worrying that something terrible had happened to him, the news broke.

Scandalous photos of him in bed with some starlet were plastered across every gossip site overnight.

The world began to speculate how long it would be before the small-town Cinderella was kicked to the curb.

The public mockery and vicious comments shattered the last fragments of my fairytale.

I couldn't accept it. My depression deepened.

David and I had the most violent argument of our lives. In a complete breakdown, I grabbed a knife and threatened to jump from the balcony.

That finally got his attention. He rushed to grab me, his hands trembling as he apologized.

He was just like every other cheating husband, crying that he was sorry, that it was all a misunderstanding, that he loved me and I had to give him another chance.

That night, David knelt before me, his face wet with tears.

"Nina, please. Can you forgive me, just this once?"