From a tender age, Mary loved stories of enchantment. At first, her mother would read them from heavy, illustrated volumes, her voice a warm melody that made castles and dragons feel real. Soon, Mary was reading them herself, curled in an armchair, convinced that one day, true magic would find its way into her life. As fate would have it, wishes do come true, though hers would curdle into a nightmare.

First, her mother died. The injustice of it was a puzzle her young mind couldn’t solve. No mother? How was that possible? Every other kid had one. Even oddball Charles, whose mom smelled like mothballs, and fanciful Lauren, whose mother wasn’t young or pretty. Mary refused to believe her mother would never again walk through the door, her keys jingling, or make pancakes on a Saturday morning. She decided her mother hadn’t truly died; she’d been bewitched by a malevolent sorceress and put into an enchanted sleep. When she begged her father to go and wake her, he would only weep.

A year later, another woman entered their home. “This is your Aunt Emily,” her father said, his voice strained. “She’s going to be your new mother.”

“No, she’s not,” Mary retorted, backing away from the woman’s painted-on smile. “I don’t want a new mother.”

“Well, you’ve got one.” Her father seized her arm, pulling her forward. “Emily is wonderful with children; she’s a teacher. I know you two will become the best of friends.”

“Never,” Mary whispered. “Make her leave.” And for the first time in her life, her father struck her across the face. The slap didn’t sting physically, but the betrayal was a deep, burning wound. Mary locked herself in her room, sobbing until her throat was raw. When hunger finally forced her out, Emily announced that she would get food only if she called her “Mom.” That night, the little girl went to bed hungry.

Just like in a fairytale with a cruel stepmother, the enchantress soon had full control of the household. And, just like in a fairytale, her father fell ill. The disease gnawed at him from the inside, and it terrified twelve-year-old Mary to see him so wasted and colorless, with IV lines snaking from his arm.

“I’m dying, Mary,” he told her one day, his voice a dry rasp. He’d thought he could live without her mother, but it had proven impossible. “Forgive me. Emily,” he turned to his new wife, “I was only ever a one-woman man. Live your life. Mary, you be strong.”

“What nonsense, darling,” Emily cooed, taking his hand. “I’ll never leave you.” Mary saw the lie in her eyes. After her father was gone, it was revealed he had left his entire fortune to his daughter. Emily was merely her custodian. At first, she siphoned the money cautiously. Then, sensing no consequences, she began to indulge herself extravagantly.

Less than six months later, the widow had a new husband, a young, audacious man with the physique of a gym instructor. Mary hid in her room to avoid their cloying displays, or she would wander the streets, a ghost in her own life. Her grades were perfect; she was tidy and quiet. No one at school bothered her, assuming she was just painfully shy. The truth was, she had no money, not even for pocket change. A school trip was an impossible dream. She endured it all, waiting for the day she could claim her inheritance and escape the house that was no longer a home.

Things worsened when Emily decided her young husband was paying too much attention to the maturing stepdaughter. She watched them like a hawk, instigating furious arguments. One day, losing all control, she attacked Mary with a scorching hot skillet. Mary threw up her arm to shield her face, and the pan left a branded, angry burn on her forearm. Her miserable life became a living hell. She would never forget the day the enraged woman grabbed her and dangled her over the seventh-floor balcony, screaming that she would drop her. Gazing into the crazed eyes of the lunatic, Mary shrieked, again and again, a raw, primal scream of terror, until Emily’s husband ran out and pulled her back. Mary gasped for air, clutching her throat, but only a hoarse, rattling sound came out. She didn’t know it yet, but her voice was gone.

That night, curled under her blankets, Mary overheard them through the wall. “What did you do?” her husband bellowed. “She’ll go to the police now! You’ve ruined everything! Say goodbye to her money and hello to a jail cell!”

“She won’t report anything,” Emily’s voice was suddenly cold and calm. “I’ll handle it.”

“What are you planning now? I won’t be a part of it!”

“I know. You’re spineless,” Emily retorted. “I’ll take her to my grandmother’s place in the country. Fresh air for her recovery. It’s isolated. There’s a deep creek nearby. Accidents happen.”

Mary’s ears buzzed. Go to the police? Voiceless? She couldn’t tell them what happened. Her stepmother would deny everything. It would be her word against a respectable woman’s. Emily would take her to the country and kill her.

The next morning, her stepmother ordered her to get ready. Her voice was still gone, a silent scream trapped in her throat. As Emily packed a bag for her, including her official papers, Mary’s dread intensified. I’ll run away on the trip, she promised herself.

Her stepmother drove her far beyond the city limits, through territories utterly alien to Mary. The pavement turned to gravel, then vanished into a dirt track swallowed by dense foliage. Trees loomed on all sides, like silent, judging elders. Mary desperately needed to use the restroom and tried to signal with frantic gestures. Annoyed, Emily finally stopped the car, understanding that the girl could soil the seats.

“Go on, then. No one’s here,” she sneered, gesturing to the side of the road. Mary shook her head, pointing toward the dense undergrowth. “Oh, such modesty. Fine, go hide in the bushes. I’ll wait here. Be quick.”

This was it. Her only chance. Mary pushed her way into the shrubbery, and then she ran. She fled with all her might, crashing through branches and bushes like a hunted deer.

“You wretched brat!” her stepmother shrieked, chasing after her. But it was too late. Terror fueled her pace. She sprinted until Emily’s calls faded behind her, until her lungs burned and her legs gave out, and she tumbled forward onto a patch of soft moss. It was that fall that saved her.

She had run into the heart of a woodland bog without sinking, miraculously leaping across solid patches of earth floating on the mire. A log she’d dislodged had sunk with a loud gulp, and by the time her panting stepmother arrived, the bog had swallowed it whole. Emily saw the trail of footprints, then the spot where the log had vanished.

“She didn’t sink. That’s your path, you pest,” she spat onto the ground, her face a mask of fury. Then she turned and walked back to the car.

Mary didn’t hear her. She had fainted. She awoke to find herself mysteriously damp. She opened her eyes and almost screamed. The patch of earth she was lying on was slowly sinking into the marsh. Paralyzed with fear, she clutched a branch, but there was nothing to pull herself out with. This is how I die, she thought with an odd tranquility. Better this than at her hands.

Suddenly, a silhouette materialized across the bog, moving toward her. Two amber orbs shimmered in the gloom. A wolf. She was so terrified she stopped struggling, bracing to be drowned or eaten. But the furry figure drew nearer, breathing heavily. A dog? She latched onto the beast’s thick pelt. Her rescuer yelped but pulled, digging its claws into the earth. Feeling the bog yield, Mary scrambled, following her guide, meticulously matching its path. It led her across the treacherous swamp until she could grab a thick root and pull herself onto solid ground. She collapsed, and the world went dark again.

She awoke to a coarse tongue licking her face. The creature sat nearby, panting. It looked exactly like a wolf. Now he’ll eat me, she thought, a strange detachment washing over her. She lifted her head and stared into its eyes. It stared back, almost accusingly, then turned and loped into the undergrowth, glancing back. It wanted her to follow. Seeing her hesitate, it returned, snarling with frustration, and tugged at the hem of her wet jacket. What does it matter, she reasoned. Maybe it knows the way to people.

After thirty minutes of crashing through the woods, they emerged into a glade. A small cabin stood there, like something from a storybook. The wolf approached the door and made a low, gravelly sound.

“Is that you, woodland guardian?” a man’s voice called from inside. The door creaked open, revealing a colossal man who looked like a hunter from one of her tales. “Who did you bring with you?” he asked, his eyes falling on the shivering, mud-caked Mary. “Pull her out of the bog, did you?” The wolf let out an affirmative growl. “Who are you?” the man loomed over her. Mary gestured to her mouth and shook her head. “Mute, are you? Where did you come from?” Mary burst into sobs, the trauma of the day finally overwhelming her.

“No sense in getting everything wetter,” the man grumbled. “Get in the cabin. My shirt’s on the chair. Get out of those wet things and put it on. I’ll deal with this furry fellow.”

Inside, the cabin was warm and smelled of herbs. Mary changed into the cozy shirt, which fit her like a dress. When the man returned, she was huddled on a chair. He pointed to a small, efficient heater. “There are boots by the stove. Put them on. And stop shaking. I don’t eat little girls.”

She put on the warm boots and, glancing out the window, saw the man drying the wolf’s coat with a towel before giving him a bowl of food. Her fear began to subside, replaced by a gnawing hunger. On a table, she saw a newspaper with a pen beside it. She grabbed it and wrote on the margin, “My name is Mary. My stepmother tried to kill me, and I lost my voice. I am very hungry.”

She took the paper outside. The man read her words and let out a surprised whistle. “Leshy, look at this. A whole thriller. You’re not making this up, are you?” he asked Mary. She shook her head. He looked at the wolf. “Well, Leshy? Should we believe her?” The wolf, Leshy, made a short noise as if confirming the story.

“First, we feed you,” the man said, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “You’ve met Leshy. You can call me Kevin. I’m the forest warden around here.” He ladled a thick, fragrant stew into two bowls. “Don’t worry, it’s rabbit stew. I find little girls give me indigestion.” He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. Mary, for the first time in a long time, smiled back.

As she ate, she studied him. He was younger than a grandfather, closer to her father’s age. The thought brought tears to her eyes. “Hey, none of that,” he said gruffly. “Can’t stand all that feminine fussing.” She stopped crying immediately. What kind of monster would hurt a child? Kevin wondered. “No father to step in?” Mary shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “No mother or father either? Oh, you poor thing. But don’t you worry about me. I have a daughter your age… or I did. Never mind that.”

Kevin’s expression shadowed when Mary showed him the burn on her arm. “Your stepmother?” Mary nodded. Kevin muttered something under his breath. The only word she caught was “resolved.”

He decided to take her to Granny Karen, a potent herbalist who lived in the last house of a nearby abandoned hamlet. “She’s a bit spirited,” he warned, “but she might be able to fix your voice. She fixed me up once when I thought I was a goner.”

Granny Karen was exactly like a Baba Yaga from a fairytale, dressed in a long skirt and a frayed shawl despite the summer heat. But her eyes were sharp and saw right through to the truth. “She’s telling the truth,” Karen decreed after one look at Mary. “The child has suffered.” She agreed to help, shooing a reluctant Kevin away.

Left alone with the crone, Mary was terrified. But Karen was surprisingly gentle. She brewed a tea with wild fruits that tasted of summer and eased the knot of fear in Mary’s chest. “The tea is enchanted, eh?” Karen asked with a wink. She led Mary to a crystal-clear stream where clouds drifted in the transparent depths. There, Karen had Mary submerge herself in the cold water while she chanted, “With avian water, may Mary shed all woes.” As Mary came up sputtering, a raw, shrill sound escaped her throat. Her voice was returning.

Day by day, they visited the stream, and Mary’s voice grew stronger. One afternoon, back at the cabin, she felt a familiar hunger. She tried to get Karen’s attention by mumbling, but the old woman, absorbed in a book, ignored her. “Don’t mumble, use your words,” she said without looking up. A frustration rose in Mary’s throat. She mentally gathered her strength and pushed. “I. Am. Hungry,” she said, the words clear and shocking.

Karen beamed. “Excellent! All will succeed; you merely have to try.”

Their peace was shattered when Leshy burst into the cabin, whining, a dark stain of blood on his coat. “Kevin’s in trouble,” Karen exclaimed. “Poachers. Stay here!” But Mary was already out the door, following the wolf back into the forest.

She found Kevin collapsed in a glade, his legs riddled with buckshot. “Dad,” a sob escaped her, the word a shocking burst of sound. He had been a father to her when she had no one. Working together, she used his knife to cut strips from his pant legs and bind his wounds, staunching the bleeding. He tried to crawl, but his strength gave out. Desperate, Mary threw back her head, and a full-throated scream ripped through the forest.

Another miracle happened. The woods filled with the snap of branches. A tall, beautiful woman and a burly, silver-haired man in a warden’s uniform burst into the glade. “Brian, get him to the house, quickly,” the woman commanded, before turning to Mary. “Run ahead, we need hot water, lots of it!”

The woman was Rebecca, a doctor and, as Mary would learn, Kevin’s long-lost love. The man was Brian, his former commanding officer. They were the family Kevin thought he’d lost forever. Rebecca’s and Kevin’s lives had been wrecked by his meddling mother, who had lied to break them up, telling Kevin that Rebecca had aborted their child. Devastated, he had joined the army and disappeared into the woods after his service, a hermit nursing a broken heart.

In Granny Karen’s cabin, Rebecca operated on Kevin while Brian comforted a tearful Mary. Karen, it turned out, had orchestrated the reunion. “I told Kevin he’d gain a daughter, and it materialized,” she said, hugging Mary.

Kevin recovered, and so did his heart. Reunited with Rebecca, they learned the truth of his mother’s deceit. With the help of Rebecca, who worked in child welfare, they filed for Mary’s adoption. Her stepmother, faced with Mary’s recorded testimony and abandoned by her young husband, lost everything. The law couldn’t prove attempted murder, but it stripped her of her guardianship and fined her into poverty.

Soon after, Kevin and Rebecca were married. They took Mary to visit her parents’ graves. The sun shone down as she placed flowers on the cool stone. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice clear and strong. “Don’t worry. I have Kevin and Rebecca now. You won’t mind if I call them Mom and Dad, will you? And I have a Grandma Karen and a Grandpa Brian, too.”

She had always believed in fairytale endings. It turned out her own story wasn’t ending; it was just the beginning of a long, joyful life.