Chapter Forty-Four – Reclaiming the Past

The days following Rebecca's arrest passed like a surreal dream. Cinderella sat quietly in the sunlit corner of her room, her fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. The warmth soothed her palms, but the ache in her chest was deeper than any heat could chase away. Still, there was something new now—an undercurrent of peace.

The Harper household had been turned upside down. Police investigations continued, but Rebecca had been formally charged with accessory to Caroline's death. Penelope and Stephen remained in the house, stripped of their privileges, but not yet cast out. The silence in the once boisterous home was heavy, but it gave room for healing to begin.

Desmond had changed. He moved differently now—gentler, quieter, and less sure of himself. Cinderella had caught him staring into the garden, lost in thought more times than she could count. There was a guilt in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

One morning, as the dew still clung to the petals outside and the world was just waking up, Desmond knocked softly on Cinderella's door.

She opened it, blinking sleep from her eyes. "Yes?"

"I… I was wondering if I could have a word." He looked awkward, almost like a schoolboy awaiting judgment.

She nodded and stepped aside.

He walked in, eyes scanning the room as if he hadn't truly noticed it before. Her walls were now lined with bookshelves, little pots of succulents on the window sill, and a sketchpad laid open on her desk with a partially drawn figure of Caroline in her favorite garden hat.

Desmond's breath caught.

"She loved that hat," he whispered.

Cinderella nodded. "She did."

He turned to her. "I've been meaning to say something. A lot of things. But most of all, I need you to know I'm sorry."

She looked at him, expression unreadable.

"I failed you. I failed your mother. I let someone else dictate how this house was run. I let someone else poison my heart and blind me to the truth. And in doing so, I hurt you over and over again."

Cinderella sat down, her voice calm. "You can't change the past, Desmond. But you can make better choices now."

He nodded. "I want to start making those choices—if you'll let me."

She said nothing for a long time, then gave a single nod. "Start by helping me reclaim what was stolen."

---

With the weight of Rebecca's lies lifted, Cinderella felt like she could finally breathe again. She decided it was time to reconnect with the people who had once mattered to her—people she'd been isolated from because of Rebecca's manipulation.

Cinderella's phone buzzed as she stood by her window that morning, sipping tea and letting the sun pour over her. A message blinked across the screen—it was from Eloise.

Eloise: "Heather says you owe us one. Brunch at our usual spot? 11 a.m. Don't bail."

A soft smile touched her lips. She felt It had been a long time since she'd seen either of them—Heather and Eloise, her closest friends back in highschool, though they met at the café near her campus. Rebecca's manipulations had pushed them apart, but time hadn't erased the bond they once shared. And now, with everything falling into place, it was time to pick up the pieces.

Cinderella arrived at the café, a cozy little spot tucked between a flower shop and a bookstore. She spotted them immediately—Heather, with her sunflower earrings and a wide grin, and Eloise, always chic, already sipping on iced coffee.

"Finally!" Eloise laughed, standing up to hug her.

"You're late, but we'll forgive you," Heather added, nudging her playfully.

Cinderella hugged them both, a laugh escaping her lips. "I missed this."

They sat down, and before long, plates of waffles, omelets, and fresh juice were on the table. They gossiped, giggled, and caught up on everything they'd missed. Heather was studying Fine Arts at a university across the city, while Eloise was diving deep into psychology at a private college. Though they were all in different schools, they were almost in their final year.

"You wouldn't believe how weird my dorm roommate is," Heather said, rolling her eyes. "She talks to her cactus like it's a person."

Eloise nearly choked on her drink. "Please! At least you don't have a roommate who's obsessed with conspiracy theories."

They turned to Cinderella, who smiled warmly. "My room's been quiet. No cactus conversations, no conspiracy theories. Just... peace. For once."

They grew quiet for a moment, and Heather reached for Cinderella's hand.

"We're glad you're back," she said softly. "Really back."

Cinderella's heart warmed. "Me too. And I'm not going anywhere this time."

---

Later that week, Cinderella visited a small café downtown where another old friend, Lily, worked. Lily had been the calm to Heather's chaos, a sweet soul who always listened more than she spoke.

Lily smiled as Cinderella walked in, her apron dusted with flour.

"Cinderella Harper. I never thought I'd see you in here."

"I'm making rounds," she said with a grin.

They hugged, and for the first time in years, Cinderella felt whole.

"Are you okay?" Lily asked, voice gentle.

"I'm getting there."

Over steaming cups of coffee and freshly baked scones, they talked about school, dreams, and plans. Lily was saving up to start her own bakery. Cinderella shared her idea of opening an art gallery someday—something Caroline would love or dreamed of doing with her.

"You should," Lily said. "And name it after your mom."

"I will."

---

Back at the Harper estate, Cinderella found herself looking through old photo albums in Caroline's library. Stephen passed her once in the hallway and didn't say a word. Penelope, stripped of her arrogance, avoided eye contact altogether. The power dynamic had shifted, and Cinderella no longer felt small.

She pulled out one photograph—a picture of her as a child, smeared with chocolate icing, Caroline laughing beside her. That laughter echoed in her mind.

She would carry it forward.

The next day, Desmond surprised her with a visit to her old piano teacher's studio. "You loved playing," he said. "And I think it's time you brought music back into your life."

Cinderella hesitated, her fingers hovering over the ivory keys. Then she pressed down.

A single note. Then another.

And then the melody flowed, hesitant at first, then stronger—notes of pain, loss, strength, and hope. Desmond sat beside her, tears in his eyes.

"I almost lost you too," he whispered.

Cinderella didn't look at him, but her voice was firm. "You did. But I found myself again."

And in that moment, Desmond understood.

---

She began to journal every day. She wrote about the past, about her dreams, about the pain she had carried. Each page was like shedding a layer of grief.

She also began working with a local support group for girls recovering from abuse—young women who had been emotionally manipulated, silenced, and abandoned. She shared her story with them, her strength becoming their inspiration.

One night, after a late meeting, she stepped outside and saw Silvester waiting by the gate.

He looked sheepish. "You've been hard to catch lately."

Cinderella raised a brow. "Busy reclaiming my life."

"I can see that," he said, eyes tracing her face like it was a work of art.

"I'm proud of you," he added. "More than you'll ever know."

She smiled. "Thanks. That means more than you realize."

They stood in silence for a moment. The tension that used to fill the air between them had changed. It wasn't the hesitant, confused kind. It was deeper now. Understanding. Respect.

He opened the car door for her. "Can I take you for coffee tomorrow?"

Cinderella tilted her head. "As friends?"

He grinned. "As two people who survived the storm."

She laughed. "Alright then."

---

That night, as she lay in bed, she whispered to herself, "This is just the beginning."

Caroline's voice echoed in her memory, warm and proud: You're stronger than you think.

And for the first time in her life, Cinderella truly believed it.