Chapter 1

The air in the city was heavy and thick, smelling of despair. The Great Depression had its teeth in everything, squeezing the life out of jobs, savings, and hope. Our small apartment felt colder each day, the walls closing in. Survival was a prayer on everyone' s lips, a constant, gnawing hunger in our bellies.

In the middle of all this, my parents found a god.

It was a stray golden retriever they found shivering in an alley. They named him Buddy.

I was working a fourteen-hour shift at the cannery, my hands raw and my back aching, just to bring home enough money to keep the lights on. I' d walk in, drop the cash on the kitchen table, and watch my father, Mark, scoop it up.

"Good girl, Sarah," he'd say, but his eyes were already distant.

The money wasn't for the overdue rent or the dwindling food in our pantry. It was for Buddy.

They bought him premium dog food, the kind that came in fancy bags with pictures of happy, healthy dogs. They bought him toys, a plush bed, and paid for vet visits that cost more than I made in a week.

One evening, I came home so tired I could barely stand. The smell of roasted chicken filled the apartment, a luxury we hadn't had in months. My stomach growled, a painful, hopeful sound.

I walked into the kitchen. My mother, Susan, was on the floor, cooing as she hand-fed shredded chicken to Buddy. The dog was eating from one of our good plates.

"Mom?" I asked, my voice thin.

"Oh, Sarah, you're home," she said, not looking up. "Buddy was so hungry today, the poor thing."

The entire chicken was gone. All that was left for me was a pot of thin, watery potato soup on the stove. Buddy finished his meal, licked the plate clean, and then looked at me.

He wasn't just a dog. I saw it in his eyes. There was a cold, sharp intelligence there, a deep-seated malice. He lifted his lip just enough to show his teeth, a silent, mocking gesture that my parents never saw. It was a smirk. He was laughing at me.

This became our routine. Buddy ate first, the best of what little we had. I ate what was left. My parents' world shrank until it contained only him. Their conversations were about him, their worries were for him, their love was for him. I was just the machine that brought in the money.

One day, I couldn't take it anymore. While my parents were out, I opened the apartment door and tried to push Buddy out into the hallway.

"Get out," I hissed, my voice trembling with rage. "Just get out of here."

The dog didn't move. He just stared at me with those knowing, hateful eyes. I shoved him harder. He spun around with a speed that wasn't natural and sank his teeth into my arm.

Pain shot up to my shoulder. I screamed, stumbling back, clutching the wound. Blood soaked through the sleeve of my thin shirt.

Just then, my parents walked in. Susan shrieked, but not for me.

"Buddy! Oh, my poor baby, what did she do to you?"

She rushed to the dog, hugging him, checking him for injuries. My father stormed over to me, his face purple with rage.

"What did you do?" he yelled, his voice shaking. "You tried to hurt him, didn't you? You jealous, worthless girl!"

He pointed at my bleeding arm. "You probably deserved it."

They didn't clean my wound. They didn't even look at it. They took Buddy to the vet for a check-up, "just in case," and left me to tend to the deep, painful bite marks myself, using old rags and tap water. The infection set in a day later.

The economy got worse. The cannery laid off half its workers, and I was one of them. The eviction notice was the final blow. It was taped to our door, a stark white symbol of our complete failure. We had three days.

That same day, a flyer announced a lottery. The government had opened a new subsidized housing complex, a safe zone with food, shelter, and security. The spots were limited. Families had to register in person. It was our only chance.

I ran home, clutching the flyer, a flicker of hope in my chest. "Mom, Dad, look!"

I tried to explain the registration process, how we had to go together, how we needed to be early.

But they weren't listening. They were looking at Buddy.

"Three spots," my father muttered, his eyes wide. "One for me, one for your mother... and one for Buddy."

"What? No, Dad, it's for people," I said, my voice rising in panic. "They won't let a dog take a person's spot."

"He's not a dog!" Susan screamed, her face contorted. "He's family! He's more family than you've ever been!"

Before I could react, they grabbed their coats and the leash. They moved with a frantic, desperate energy, dragging Buddy with them. They ran out the door and down the street toward the registration center.

I chased after them, my infected arm throbbing, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I was slower, weakened by hunger and infection. By the time I got there, a massive crowd had already formed. I saw them up ahead, near the front gate.

An official was counting heads. I saw him point at my father, my mother, and then, unbelievably, at the dog. He marked three names down on his clipboard.

My parents were ushered through the gate. They didn't look back.

I pushed through the crowd, screaming their names. "Dad! Mom! Wait! It's me, Sarah!"

I reached the gate just as it was swinging shut. My father turned. For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes, a shadow of the man who used to be my father. But it was gone in an instant.

He just stared at me, his face blank.

Then he turned and walked away.

The gate locked with a heavy, final click. I was on the outside. Through the bars, I saw them being led away. Buddy turned his head. He looked directly at me.

And he grinned. A wide, triumphant, human-like grin.

I was left behind, locked out of the last safe place on Earth. The nights grew colder. The hunger was a constant, gnawing fire in my gut. I died alone, curled up in a freezing alley, my last sight the uncaring grey sky.

Then, a sudden, violent jolt.

My eyes flew open. I was in my own bed, in our old apartment. Sunlight streamed through the dirty window. My arm didn't hurt. There was no bite mark.

The sound of my parents' cheerful voices drifted in from the living room.

"Look, Mark! He followed us all the way home! Can we keep him? Please?"

I heard the happy bark of a dog.

My blood ran cold. I knew that bark.

I looked at the calendar on the wall. It was the day. The day they found Buddy.

I was back.

And this time, I wouldn't be the one left to die in the cold. I would find out why. Why they chose a dog over their own daughter. And I would make sure they paid for it.