If Fate Could ChooseChapter 2

In the morning, I came downstairs to find Mom busy in the kitchen. Dad sat at the table, reading the paper, his face calm and content as sunlight filtered through the window.

I slid into the seat across from him, eyeing the big breakfast spread. Finally, I asked, “Dad… where’s Sarah?”

He frowned, reaching over to feel my forehead. His face softened with an odd, almost amused expression. “Are you feeling alright, sweetheart? Sarah and Brian moved to London two years ago. You remember—you cried when they left.”

Yes. That was right. I remembered watching them board the plane.

Was it really just a nightmare?

Mom came in, setting down a bowl of steaming beef broth, spooning a generous portion into my bowl. She told me to eat it all up.

The smell was savory, but as I stared at it, the nausea crept in. Mom noticed my hesitation. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?”

“No, I like it. Thanks, Mom,” I mumbled, stirring the broth slowly, lifting a slice of meat from the bowl.

The memory of my dream hit me, and I couldn’t hold back anymore. I leaned over and threw up.

Mom rushed over, patting my back, alarmed. “Honey, do you need to go to the hospital?”

Everything seemed normal, but something felt terribly wrong. Mom never used to be this doting.

My mind went back to Sarah in the cellar. I glanced at Dad, horrified.

“What’s gotten into you this morning?” he asked, looking mildly amused.

No. This wasn’t like him at all. My dad had never cared much for me before, never even looked in my direction.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something sinister was hidden beneath this facade.

If what I saw was real, then the man I called Dad had locked his daughter in the cellar, cut pieces of her flesh, and served it to me as beef broth.

I couldn’t handle it. Gripping my thumb crease under the table, I forced myself to calm down.

After a deep breath, I said, “I didn’t sleep well. I’m going back upstairs to rest.”