As she stood in front of his study door, she willed herself to have the courage to go in, trying to evoke something of her old self, but she felt ugly, covered in the soot she had been scrubbing off the floors. As she reached for the knob she saw her raw, cracked, and swollen hands. She sighed, deciding it would be better to bring this matter up with her husband later after he’d had the special dinner she planned.

Lady Tremaine had decided to wear the red dress she had worn the evening Sir Richard proposed to her, and she asked Nanny to see that the girls were also dressed festively, making sure to remind her to check Cinderella’s pockets for mice before she came down to the dining room.

The dining room looked lovely. Lady Tremaine had decorated the mantel, windows, and doorways with holly and filled the room with white candles. She had stockings by the fireplace, one for each of the three girls, with little things she had made for them and trinkets of her own she thought they would enjoy. She had even made a little outfit for one of Cinderella’s mice out of one of her old sparkly handbags. And the tree was magnificent, glistening in the candlelight, showcasing the girls’ decorations. It was going to be the perfect evening.

As she stood in the dining room entryway waiting for the girls and Sir Richard, she felt like her old self again. She reached up and touched her jade brooch, which she had made sure to pin to the bodice of her dress tonight. She loved how cold the stone felt beneath her fingers and thought that was how she would like to feel: cold, strong, and solid. Nothing Sir Richard could say to her this evening would sway her or knock her down. She felt sturdy and unmovable, like a statue.

And then she saw them, her girls, coming down the staircase in their vibrant red velvet Christmas dresses. Cinderella was in gold, and all of them looked like beautiful Christmas angels.

Sir Richard came down a few minutes later, narrowing his eyes at the festive dresses and decorations. “And what’s this?” he said as he got closer. “Well, don’t you look beautiful, Cinderella.” He smiled down at his daughter. “What’s the occasion?” he asked, looking at Lady Tremaine, Anastasia, and Drizella. “Why are you dressed in red?” He glanced into the dining room. “And what’s that?”

“Oh, Mama, you remembered,” said Anastasia, hugging her mother.

“It’s Christmas Eve!” Drizella clapped her hands together with glee.

“What is the meaning of this? Explain yourself,” Sir Richard said, taking in the stockings hanging over the fireplace.

“Those are Christmas stockings, my husband.”