PROLOGUE
I had begun my life starving.
Not for food, shelter, water, or any of the other physical necessities one needed to survive. I supposed that was one thing I could accredit to my father. As a prominent and successful lawyer, he’d provided me with the things I required for as long as he was legally obligated—not that it hadn’t come at a price, but he’d provided it nonetheless.
So, I guessed, in that way, I’d been more fortunate than many, but no amount of food or water could quell the ache bestowed upon me at birth.
I was famished. Forever craving something my father or mother could never—wouldnever—provide. Not to me. My sisters, sure. They’d been born pure, for reasons unbeknownst to me at the time. They’d been bornworthy, but, no, not me.
Cursed—that was what I was. Hungry for affection, appreciation, love, and a place to finally call home.
But that all changed when I—
Actually, why don’t I just start at the beginning? Back to when I had been a kid, to a time before cell phonesand the internet, when I’d truly, honestly,stupidlythought I could do something to win my father over.
And, boy, was I willing to do anything …
CHAPTER ONE
IN THE BEGINNING
The living room was covered in shit.
Dad had told us—my younger twin sisters, Grace and Lucy, and me—that the dog was our responsibility. He said if we didn’t clean up after it, walk it, feed it, he’d take it to the shelter and have it put down. And for months—months!—we had held up our end of the bargain like good little soldiers, exactly the way Dad wanted it to be.
We were always exactly how Dad wanted us to be.Always.
Between my little sisters and me, we kept Smoky fed, bathed, and brushed. We trained him diligently, made sure the scruffy little mutt could listen better than even us. We walked him twice a day, made sure his poop was cleaned up before Dad even knew it had happened at all, and I still managed to get the rest of my chores done.
The bathrooms were sparkling. The floors were swept. The beds were made. The homework was done. I made sure of it, even if Grace and Lucy were too young todo much. That wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t their fault I did nearly everything.
But it was Lucy’s fault for dropping all the bologna. And it was Grace’s fault for not picking it up before Smoky ran away with the whole freakin’ bag.
I’d had nothing to do with it. I had been at baseball practice. They were here with Mom—whatever good that was. They were supposed to watch the dumb dog.
No. Smoky wasn’t dumb. It wasn’t his fault. He was just a dog, doing what dogs did.
And now …
Oh my gosh. It really was so muchshit.
Dad would yell at me for even thinking that word. But there wasn’t any other word for it. And Dad wasn’t in my head. That was the one place he couldn’t get into.
“What are we gonna do?” Grace whispered.
Both of my sisters flanked my sides, staring at the mess of diarrhea smeared across the expensive beige carpet with the same horror reflected in my eyes.
“Daddy’s gonna kill Smoky,” Lucy said, her bottom lip wriggling.
“No,” I said, shaking my head with determination. “I’ll clean it up. It’s okay. I’ll—"
The car door closed outside.
The hairs along my arms stood on end.
“Daddy’s home,” Lucy squeaked, her voice quivering as she held on tight to my arm, her little fingers digging into my skin.
The sound of Dad’s shiny black loafers came from the porch, and we all turned our heads toward the door.
