It was a year later
It was a whole entire year later. The Baker reflected on this with regret, joy and sorrow.
A year since Jack had stumbled into the clearing in the Witch's grasp, the scarf clenched in his hands.
A year since their cottage was destroyed.
12 months since his wife died.
12 months since they killed the giant.
A year since the four of them and the baby had walked out of the woods.
There had been dirt on their faces, their shoes scuffed and clothing torn as they saw the damage done by the giant's foot. Those first few days had been hard, as they scrounged for materials to build a new cottage. The Baker built it where the first had been, but bigger, like she had wanted. A front room, a bed room and a loft. The cottage ended up right next to the Witch's garden.
Once the house was done and a cradle had been made for the boy, the days began to slip into a rhythm.
Daily, the Baker would start the fire and begin to bake the bread.
The Princess would wake with the child's cries and would slip quietly to him and lift him up. Then she would feed him and deal with the cleaning.
Jack, while slightly dimwitted and vague, was always useful with the animals. He dealt with the cats that would scare away the rats, milked Milky-White for the baby's milk, and would watch the village's sheep.
And the Girl, she would scamper after the boy as he learned to toddle about, she learned how to bake alongside himself proudly, and she alone would care for the Witch's garden.
They had changed. No more was his son a crying, little bundle, but a young boy laughing and waddling about. Jack was much taller, close to the Baker's height now and his shoulders had grown broader. The Princess, insisted daily that he call her Cinderella as the children all did. Even his son called her "Cindy! Cindy!". She no longer had soft hands and delicate feet, but strong hands and walked bare foot. And the Girl. She was not the little girl who was quick to anger and tantrums, but rather had been subdued by the whole matter. Her brunette curls had grown long and was more a young woman.
They had become a family over the months.
Cinderella was the mother and he the father, Jack, the Girl and the Boy were the children.
But he and Cinderella were not husband and wife. He could not deny that he depended on her and that he was always happier when he saw her sweeping the floors with the old broom, dark hair slipping from her bun and her dark eyes, so unlike his wife's that were light and intense, the Princess's were warm and kind.
The Baker remembers the Witch's last words, how she had cursed them all, to be separate and alone as they had always made her.
But that hadn't happened. They had joined together and overcome the obstacles.
In the past year, they had become the family the Baker had always wanted, that Jack had never known, what Cinderella had lost and what the Girl had needed.
And now he wonders more. He had understood his father, now long gone and learned that he had a sister. He was begotten a child and adopted both a son and a daughter.
Perhaps by the second year, Jack will be a man and the Girl closer to womanhood and perhaps marriage. His son will be growing up and will help him bake like he had with his father before he had lost him. And maybe he will have another wife, this one sensitive and kind, and with dark warm eyes. Perhaps then he could call her Cinderella.