Cinderella stood at the entrance of her father's study, her hand resting on the doorknob as she hesitated. Desmond, her father, was a man of principles, someone who demanded respect, control, and above all, loyalty. Their relationship had always been strained after her mother's death, a time when everything had shifted in her world. She had spent the years since then trying to prove her worth to him, though she knew it had been an uphill battle. Desmond was distant, and it had become clear that his love for her was buried beneath layers of guilt, anger, and fear. Now, after everything that had transpired—her personal growth, her fight for independence, and the quiet victories she had won against Rebecca—she realized that this might be the moment to rebuild their fractured relationship. But she couldn't afford to make another mistake.
Taking a deep breath, Cinderella knocked gently on the door before stepping inside. Desmond was sitting behind his large oak desk, papers scattered in front of him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he reviewed his latest business dealings. His gaze flickered up, his eyes narrowing slightly when he saw her standing there.
"Cinderella," he greeted her curtly, his voice tinged with an emotion she couldn't quite place. "What is it?"
She closed the door softly behind her and took a step forward, feeling the weight of the moment pressing on her chest. "I wanted to talk to you, Father."
He raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting this conversation. "About what?"
Cinderella chose her words carefully, knowing that one misstep could undo everything she had worked so hard for. "I wanted to apologize. For the way I've been. For not being the daughter you expected, or wanted."
Desmond looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. It had always been hard to gauge what he was truly thinking. "You don't owe me an apology. I know what you've been through. But you've never been one to let things slide. You've always fought your battles in your own way."
The words stung, but Cinderella held her ground. "I didn't fight my battles the right way, though. I was angry. I shut myself off from you, from everything. I never gave you a chance to see who I really am now."
Desmond's eyes softened for the briefest moment, but it was enough for Cinderella to feel a flicker of hope. She continued. "I've changed, Father. I'm not that girl anymore. I've been working hard—at school, at home—trying to build something for myself. I want you to see that. I want you to know that I'm capable of more than you think."
Desmond studied her, the lines on his face deepening as he processed her words. It was clear that he hadn't expected such a vulnerable admission from her. "You've always been capable, Cinderella. That's never been the issue."
"Then what is?" she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it. "Why is it so hard for you to believe in me?"
Desmond leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hand over his face as if to shake off the weight of the conversation. "Because I've watched you grow up in a world full of lies and manipulation. I've seen how people take advantage of you, how you let them. And I've been too damn scared to step in because I didn't want to make things worse. I didn't want to break you even more."
Cinderella's heart tightened in her chest, a mix of hurt and understanding flooding her. "I've never needed you to fix everything, Father. I needed you to see me, to believe in me, to trust that I could make the right choices."
Desmond's gaze softened even further, but there was still a hesitation there, a wariness that wouldn't quite leave him. "I've never been good at showing you that. I've failed you, too many times."
Cinderella shook her head, a small, rueful smile tugging at her lips. "We've both failed each other, haven't we?"
Desmond let out a long, slow breath, then nodded. "Yes. But maybe it's not too late to fix that. To start fresh."
Cinderella stepped closer, her heart swelling with emotion. "I want to start over. I want us to rebuild what we've lost, even if it's just a little at a time."
There was a long silence between them as Desmond seemed to consider her words. For a moment, Cinderella thought he might refuse her again, but then, to her surprise, he stood up and walked over to where she was standing.
"I can't promise that it'll be easy," he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "But I'm willing to try, if you are."
Cinderella nodded, her throat tightening with relief. "I am. I've always been willing to try. I just needed you to be willing, too."
For the first time in years, Desmond smiled—a small, guarded smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Alright then, Cinderella. Let's start over. Slowly."
She smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. This was a beginning. The first step toward repairing the damage of the past.
As they spoke for a little longer, discussing the changes that Cinderella had made in her life, she realized that she had always wanted his approval, but she didn't need it to feel validated anymore. She had already proven to herself that she was capable. But still, the thought of rebuilding their relationship, of having her father see her not as a child or as someone broken, but as a woman who could stand on her own two feet, filled her with an unexpected sense of peace.
Later that evening, as Cinderella returned to her room, she felt a quiet sense of accomplishment. Reconnecting with Desmond hadn't been easy, but it had been necessary. It wasn't about changing him or forcing him to see her the way she wanted him to; it was about taking the first step toward understanding each other again, in a way that they hadn't in years.
The next day, as she sat in the university library, working on an assignment, her phone buzzed with a message from Silvester. She smiled as she read it.
Silvester: I hope you're doing okay. You seemed different when we talked last.
Cinderella paused for a moment, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she thought about how to respond. The conversations she had been having with Desmond had left her feeling more centered, more sure of who she was and what she wanted. But there was still one piece of her heart that had yet to heal completely—the part that had once relied on Silvester as a source of stability.
She typed out a quick reply.
Cinderella: I'm doing much better, thank you. I had a conversation with my father today. It felt… good.
The reply was instant.
Silvester: That's great. I'm proud of you. And I'm here if you need to talk about it. Always.
Cinderella felt her heart lift a little. As much as she had changed, as much as she had grown, Silvester had always been a part of her life that felt grounded, constant. The more she saw him as a friend, as someone who could be her ally in the long journey ahead, the easier it became to navigate everything that had been thrown her way. She needed that stability. And though her life had been turned upside down more times than she could count, Silvester had always been one of the few constants in her world.
She looked back down at her phone, typing her reply.
Cinderella: Thank you, Silvester. I know. I'll keep that in mind.
As the message sent, Cinderella allowed herself a small moment of hope. The future, for the first time in a long while, felt like it was full of possibilities. And though she had a long way to go to untangle the mess that was her family, she knew one thing for sure: she wouldn't face it alone.