Marry me, he said.
It wasn't even a question. How do you answer such a request, when it so obviously is not a request, but a command? Well, you do what any self-respecting cindergirl would do: walk away.
Only, I wasn't a self-respecting cindergirl then. I was a silly child, really. I was caught up in this idea of what I thought our life together would be. It was about romance, and fairies, and happy endings, and true love conquering all.
More like true love conquering over me. I was not raised to be a doormat, a pretty dress and docile smile.
My father taught me that women were sacred, but not made of glass. They were meant to be revered, but not locked away. What is glass, anyway? It breaks so easily, unlike women. A woman is made of stronger, steadier stuff than glass
What happened to the shoe, you ask? Stupid thing, it broke the night of our Engagement Ball. Shattered into a thousand pieces, in my foot. I couldn't walk for weeks, the wounds were so bad.
He was so mad at me, as though I had willed that shoe to break. As though I wanted his pity. Poor girl, she needs someone to take care of her. Keep her from pain. As though pain is something to be feared.
So here I am, not old, but not living. I have a daughter. She is beautiful, and has many men calling for her. I almost wish she was ugly, and that no one wanted her. Instead, she is a prize to win. My sweet sixteen year old sold at auction to the highest bidder.
She will never be free, but she has no idea what she is missing. I will never be free, and I know deeply what I am missing.
So much for happily ever after.