If Fate Could ChooseChapter 1

2:00 a.m.

I found my sister, Sarah, in the basement of our house, even though she was supposed to be with her husband, Brian, in London.

She was wearing a red satin slip dress, her body bruised and bound in chains, with red-stained bandages wrapped tightly around her legs.

Seeing me, Sarah looked desperate and mouthed, “Watch out for Mom and Dad!”

I wanted to ask her what happened, but footsteps echoed above us.

Someone was moving around upstairs.

I didn’t know what it meant, but my instincts told me to hide, fast.

I slipped into an old cabinet just as someone descended the stairs. Peeking through the crack, I saw Dad, Charles.

He was holding a plate piled high with yesterday’s leftovers—food that looked as unappetizing as it did cold.

The second Sarah saw him, she began shaking with fear.

Dad grabbed her chin with his thumb crease and forced her mouth open, shoving spoonfuls of the food inside. She gagged, her face twisting in pain until she vomited.

He just stood there, watching in silence, then began force-feeding her again, waiting until she finished every last bite before he gave her a smug smile.

Then he set the plate aside and reached into his pocket, pulling out a paring knife. Loosening the red-stained bandages around her legs, he revealed a sight that made my stomach drop—her once-smooth legs were now swollen, bruised, and some areas were oozing.

Dad pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose. If I remembered correctly, those glasses were Sarah’s graduation gift to him.

I knew exactly what he was about to do before he even started.

Holding that knife, the one I’d used to slice apples, he began cutting into her legs, slicing away chunks of flesh. The metallic smell of blood and rotting flesh filled the room.

I clenched my lips tightly, desperate to keep silent.

Dad’s gaze suddenly snapped toward my hiding place. I stilled, heart hammering, until his eyes finally drifted away. He gathered up the meat he’d just sliced and left.

When the room fell silent, I shakily climbed out of the cabinet. My legs felt like jelly, barely holding me up.

I crawled to my sister’s side, horrified by the state she was in. Her legs were wrapped in fresh bandages, but they’d already soaked through with blood.

How could Dad do this? To his own daughter?

Sarah and I had never shared the same father. My mom married Charles when I was little. Sarah had always been the perfect daughter. She never liked my mom initially but gradually grew warmer to her, so I thought we were all moving toward something good.

But now, Sarah was whispering that my mother had killed her own mother. That both of our mothers were murderers. She warned me to stay away from them.

I don’t remember making it back to my room. Lying there, I told myself, over and over, that it was only a dream—that Sarah and Brian were still in London.