Chapter 1They Called My Death a Lie

My mother always said I had the temperament of a stray dog.

Kick it, starve it, leave it shivering on the back porch in the freezing rain—all it takes is a dry whistle, two fingers crooked in the air, and it comes crawling back on its belly, panting, desperate just to press its wet nose against your hand.

That was how she justified my twenty-second birthday.

For my sister, Paige, there was a velvet jeweler’s box holding a bespoke, solid eighteen-karat gold chain bracelet. For me, there was a cardboard bakery box containing an oversized fruit tart, its pale custard mounded with glistening green grapes.

Paige took the cake knife and carved it up for the table. When she slid my paper plate across the granite island, the custard looked pristine, crowned only with sliced green grapes.

None of them noticed the single blueberry wedged deep beneath the sugar glaze.

I have a fatal allergy. A single speck of blueberry dust can send my airways into violent, suffocating spasms. I swallowed one bite before the bitter, unmistakable pop burst against the roof of my mouth.

Instantly, heat surged under my skin. Bright red hives erupted across my neck and arms, stinging like acid. My trachea constricted, air whistling through a narrowing slit in my throat.

Across the room, my family was already grabbing their coats. They were in a rush to accompany Paige downtown to the jeweler’s boutique to have the gold bracelet custom-sized and engraved.

I clawed at my swollen throat, wheezing, my voice coming out as a reedy hiss.

"I’m having a reaction... please... call 911."

My mother was busy draping a designer trench coat over Paige’s shoulders. She didn’t even glance my way. "I picked off every stray berry myself before I put the grapes on, Tessa. Stop making a scene."

My father paused by the foyer, his tone flat and cold. "A gift is a gift. It’s the thought that counts. Why do you always have to be so bitter and entitled every time your sister gets something nice?"

Desperate, my vision tunneling into dark static, I lunged forward and grabbed the hem of my brother Gavin’s windbreaker.

Gavin jerked back as if I were contagious. "If you come along, you’ll just sulk and ruin Paige’s afternoon. Stay home. Put the roast in the oven so dinner’s ready by the time we get back."

The heavy oak front door slammed shut.

Through the double-paned glass, I heard Paige’s muffled, singsong voice. "She looked like a zombie in there. Do you think she’s actually mad?"

"Don't worry about her," Gavin replied, his laugh carrying down the walkway. "We’ll grab her one of those free promotional keychains from the jewelry counter. You know how she is. She’s cheap to please."

Oh, Mom.

A dog that stops breathing can’t wag its tail to greet you at the door.

When the lock clicked, my knees gave out completely. I slid off the kitchen stool, my body hitting the hardwood floor with a dull thud.

Survival instinct kept my fingers locked around my phone. My eyelids were swelling rapidly, puffing into tight, purplish slits; the facial recognition failed twice. With trembling, numb fingers, I punched in my passcode and dialed 911.

"Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?"

I managed to choke out our street name and house number before my larynx seized entirely. The air vanished. I tried to type out an address via emergency text, but the screen flashed red: 1% Battery Remaining.

Then the screen died.

The memory hit me like a slap. An hour earlier, Paige had whined that she wanted to borrow my phone to play her games. When I said no, Mom immediately ordered me to scrub the guest bathroom. The second I finished, Dad insisted I help him clean the grease traps in the garage. Then Gavin called me outside to wash the rims on his sedan.

They hadn't needed my help. They had just run me ragged through three separate chores so Paige could sit on the couch and drain my phone battery in peace.

I tried to crawl toward the front door, clawing at the floorboards, but my limbs felt like lead weights. I barely made it two feet before collapsing beneath the shadow of the dining table.

Just then, three loud knocks rattled the front door.

"Hello? Anyone inside? This is the neighborhood patrol. Dispatch received an aborted 911 call from this address reporting an acute allergic emergency. We're trying to locate the patient."

The persistent knocking triggered the motion sensor on the Ring doorbell camera outside.

From the tiny speaker mounted on the porch frame, my father’s tinny voice crackled through. He was watching the live feed from his car.

"Officer, it’s fine. My oldest daughter is inside cooking under the vent hood, so she probably can’t hear you. Nobody in this house is having an allergic reaction. Don't waste your time—go check the next house."

With one sentence, he severed my last thread of life.

No. Not yet. I don't want to die.

Using the final ounce of adrenaline in my failing heart, I slammed my knuckles against the heavy oak table leg. The hollow thump echoed through the quiet house, desperate to make the doorbell sensor pick up the vibration.

Instead, Paige’s voice filtered through the exterior speaker. "Dad, when we left, her face was looking pretty puffy. What if she really is having a reaction?"

Gavin’s mocking snort cut her off. "Bullshit. She ate grapes, not blueberries. She’s just throwing a tantrum because we bought you gold. Remember last fall when we got you that tailored boutique dress for your formal, and she got that seven-dollar polyester tank top off clearance? She locked herself in her room and played the martyr for three days."

My mother let out a tired sigh. "Tessa’s got that stray-dog nature. You give her anything of real value, and she’ll just let someone talk her out of it. Valuable heirlooms belong with Paige. At least with Paige, it stays in the family."

My father disconnected the call, but not before his final remark drifted through the front hall:

"Tessa’s only real use is keeping an eye on the house anyway. A hot meal and a roof over her head is more than enough for her."

My hand slipped from the wooden leg. My fingers uncurled against the cold floor.

Fine. If they truly believed a loyal dog wasn't worth saving... then let me go. Let me cross over and find a family that sees me as a human being.