The Daughter They Sacrificed Chose a New Life novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Card
At Saskia's eighteenth birthday, her family picks her as the sacrifice, and she leaves for California before dawn while her father begs her not to.
My sister's college acceptance party was held on my eighteenth birthday.
Twenty guests sat around our dining table on Beacon Hill, and the cake in the middle said "Congratulations, Chloe."
It was the only cake I got.
Chloe had bought a Truth or Dare box that afternoon, and she carried it around the table like a tray of drinks.
She set the deck in front of Mom. "You go first. Just take the top one."
Mom turned it over and read it out loud.
"If your family were in a car accident and one person had to be sacrificed to save everyone else, who would you choose?"
Dad was across from me with his ginger ale.
He hadn't had anything stronger at a party in nine years. He said it was his stomach.
Chloe's eyes filled right away. "Me," she whispered. "It should be me."
Everyone talked at once.
"Don't be ridiculous," Mom said. "It would have to be Saskia."
"Exactly," Dad said. "Chloe is the one we have to protect."
My brother Clayton turned in his chair and looked at me. "Saskia, say something."
I said nothing.
Mom frowned. "It's a game. Must you ruin the mood?"
"Lawrence, tell her she hurt Chloe," Mom said.
Dad agreed that I had. He gave Chloe the Cape Cod house right there, with the guests watching.
"Use it whenever you want, sweetheart," he said. "For as long as you want."
Clayton dragged me into the hallway and told me I was selfish.
Then he came back with shopping bags and set them in front of Chloe to cheer her up.
There was a laptop, a bracelet, and the leather bag she had been pointing at for months.
My parents closed in around her chair.
I stood there with my napkin in my hand, and I understood.
They would have picked me whatever the card said.
So I decided to leave them before they could leave me out again.
I went upstairs, opened my laptop and logged into the admissions portal.
I withdrew from Boston University's business program.
Then I accepted my place at the California Institute of the Arts.
I had never wanted business. I wanted to paint.
Mom had chosen the major because Chloe would be at school in Boston, and she needed me close to look after her.
Chloe isn't my blood sister.
Her father, Mr. Daley, was a friend of my dad's. Nine years ago he died in our driveway on my ninth birthday, saving me from a car.
My parents became Chloe's guardians the same month.
Mom drove everyone after that. Dad hadn't taken the wheel since that night, and nobody asked him why.
At my next birthday Chloe saw my cake and cried until she was taken to the hospital.
Mom said, "She lost her father saving you. Missing one birthday won't kill you."
There were no more birthdays after that.
Anything I owned that Chloe admired ended up in her room.
I had been paying that debt since I was nine.
I was done.
Three texts arrived while I was still on the bed.
Clayton wrote: You can't get through one game. What are you even good for?
Mom wrote: Your acceptance party is cancelled. Consider it your consequence for tonight.
Dad wrote: Your card has been frozen. I am very disappointed in you.
I read them once.
Then I texted the professor who had told me to apply to CalArts.
I wrote: I accepted. You said you were moving to Los Angeles to teach this summer. Could I come with you?
The answer came before I put the phone down.
My flight is tomorrow at nine out of Logan. I'll book you the seat next to mine.
I packed one suitcase and my sketchbooks.
At five in the morning I carried them down to the kitchen.
Dad was standing at the counter in his robe, with his hand flat on the door frame.
He had been waiting.
"Not California," he said. His voice was low and shaky. "I'll unfreeze the card. Helena will calm down. Ask me for anything else."
"Why not California?"
He didn't answer.
I set my house key on the counter between us.
My phone buzzed. Mom, from upstairs: If you walk out that door, don't come back.
So I stepped out.
The taxi was already at the curb.
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