Chapter 3: Sacrifice and Secrets

Just as I reached the door, I saw my brother, drunk, swaggering over with three other guys behind him, heading straight for the house. The porch boards groaned under their weight, and the smell of cheap whiskey mixed with the sharp tang of cigarette smoke. The guys with him—local boys, troublemakers all—looked ready for mischief. Derek’s face was flushed, and the whiskey bottle swung from his hand.

Realizing what they were about to do, I rushed to block my brother, panic written all over my face. “Derek, don’t go. You can’t do this—there’s something wrong with that woman. The sons she mentioned are—”

I grabbed at his arm, my voice cracking, but he just pushed me aside, barely noticing my shaking hands. The other boys jeered, one of them flicking his cigarette into the dirt.

Before I could finish, my mother rushed out and kicked me to the ground. Her boot caught me in the ribs, knocking the wind out of me. I tasted blood. She towered over me, her face twisted with rage, fists clenched at her sides.

“Who do you think you are, meddling in your brother’s business? Say another word and I’ll beat you senseless.”

Her threat rang out, harsh and final. The porch light flickered above her, shadows dancing across her face. I knew better than to argue when her voice went cold like that.

I curled up in a corner, clutching my head, and watched helplessly as they rubbed their hands together, grinning lecherously, and went into the woman’s room. I pressed my face into my knees, trying to block out their laughter, my breath coming in shaky bursts. I could hear the bedroom door slam shut. I stayed there, paralyzed, the night stretching on with every muffled cry from the room down the hall.

That night, after washing my brother’s feet, I was about to leave when I ran into my mother coming straight at me. The basin sloshed, warm water dripping over my hands as I shuffled down the hall. My brother lounged on the sagging sofa, half-asleep, feet propped up like he was a king. Momma’s silhouette blocked the kitchen light, her posture stiff and angry.

Her face was dark and angry. Not daring to provoke her, I hurriedly carried the basin outside. I squeezed past her, avoiding her glare, and let the screen door slam behind me. The cold air nipped at my skin as I dumped the dirty water into the yard, watching it steam on the frosty grass.

After closing the door, I didn’t leave immediately. As if possessed, I pressed my ear to the old wooden door to eavesdrop on their conversation. The house groaned in the wind, and I leaned in, heart thumping. The wood was worn smooth from years of hands and shoulders brushing past—now it held the secrets of my family on the other side.

My mother’s voice was low and hushed: “This year there’s been a swine fever. All the pigs in town died. The town councilman said we can’t go without meat for Christmas, so he picked a few families to provide lamb. Our family was chosen.”

Her words tumbled out, urgent and worried. Swine fever had swept through the valley that fall—everyone knew someone who’d lost a pig. The councilman’s word was law in these parts, especially when it came to church potlucks and holiday feasts.

I was confused—our family doesn’t even raise sheep. We barely had a stray cat, much less livestock. My mind spun, trying to figure out how we were supposed to offer up a lamb when the only animals we’d seen lately were raccoons and the neighbor’s mangy dog.

I held my breath and listened on. The boards creaked as I shifted my weight, straining to catch every word. My pulse thundered in my ears.

“Otherwise, let’s hand over that woman in the east bedroom.”

My mother’s voice was cold, matter-of-fact. The idea sent a chill down my spine. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to cry out.

I clapped my hand over my mouth, terrified I’d scream. The air felt thick, like it was pressing in on me from all sides. I swallowed hard, feeling the bile rise in my throat.

So the ‘lamb’ they were talking about was actually...

My mind reeled. The councilman, the church dinner, the missing woman—they all fit together like some twisted puzzle. My stomach lurched.

“No way!” My brother immediately protested. “That woman—my buddies and I are all very satisfied with her. There’s no way we’re handing her over.”

His voice was loud, arrogant. I could picture him leaning back, smirking, the others nodding along. The thought made my skin crawl.

“But...” My mother hesitated. “If we don’t give someone up, the councilman will be angry.”

Her worry was real now—she knew what it meant to cross someone in this town. The councilman could make life even harder, and she was scared.

My brother waved her off. “Just give them Marcus. He eats too much anyway. If we hand him over, it not only satisfies the councilman but also saves us food.”

He said it like it was nothing, like my life was just another thing to be bartered away. My chest tightened, and I pressed my back to the cold wall, barely breathing.

“But...” My mother was still wavering. She sounded torn, voice cracking for the first time. I wondered if, somewhere deep down, she still cared about me at all.

Before she could finish, my brother cut her off impatiently. He slammed his fist on the table, making the dishes rattle. He hated being questioned, especially by Momma.

“What, is anything more important than my happiness? We’re already dirt poor. I finally have a woman, and you want to ruin my life for Marcus?”

His words stung. I felt invisible, like I’d already been erased from the family picture. Even Momma flinched at his tone.

After my brother finished, my mother was silent for a few seconds, then said firmly, “You’re right. Nothing is more important than your happiness. We’ll hand over Marcus.”

Her voice was flat, resigned. That was it—my fate sealed by a few careless words. I felt the world tilt, like the floor might give way beneath me. My hands went numb. The room on the other side of the door went quiet, as if the decision sucked the air from the house.