When my father asked my stepsisters what they wanted from the fair, they showered him with compliments and requests for jewels and fancy dresses.
His eyes almost slid past me. “And you, Cinderella, what will you have?”
Cinderella! Had he forgotten my name? Did he truly think I was no more than a servant? Did he not see the daughter of his own dead wife standing before him?
“Father!” I cried. He showed no signs of recognition, so I shrugged and said, “Just break off for me the first branch that knocks against your hat on the way home.”