The Black Box: A Sister's Sacrifice, A Family's Sin Chapter 1

On the seventh day of our kidnapping, the captor made my sister and me draw from a blind box.

Draw a red ball, you live. Draw a black ball, you die.

My sister pulled a black ball and broke down sobbing.

Without a moment's hesitation, I told the kidnapper, "I'll trade with her."

Eventually, our parents paid the ransom, and we both made it back alive.

From that day on, I became the golden child of the family.

My mom would always say, "Chloe was willing to die for her sister. We owe her a debt we can never repay in this lifetime."

They gave me the best room, sent me to the best private school, and even let me manage the family's finances.

Meanwhile, my sister was expected to defer to me at every turn. I always got the first pick of everything.

Over the past three years, the look in my sister's eyes grew colder and colder.

Until yesterday, when my parents bought those blind-box style New Year's gifts.

My mom casually told me to pick first.

Suddenly, my sister smiled. She pulled out her phone and played an audio recording from the kidnapping three years ago.

The kidnapper's voice echoed: "So, who's it going to be? Does she die, or do you?"

The recording played my voice: "Let her die. If she dies, all the family's money will be mine."

"It's her own bad luck that she drew the black ball. It's not my fault."

Upon hearing this, my mom slapped me hard across the face.

My dad grabbed me by the hair and dragged me down to the basement:

"Three years! We've spent three years raising a pathological, evil liar!"

The basement door slammed shut behind me.

In the darkness, I finally laughed out loud.

The recording was real.

But I was out of time to explain the truth.

Because I could already smell it filling the basement.

Gas.

...

Through the heavy solid wood door, I could hear my mother's muffled sobs in the living room, and my sister's fragile, comforting voice:

"Don't cry, Mom. Chloe probably just had a moment of confusion... I don't blame her, really. As long as she admits she was wrong, I'll still let her have the best of everything."

"Should we let her out? It's dark in the basement, she'll be scared."

Immediately following was my dad's furious roar:

"Scared?! A heartless monster like her knows what it means to be scared?!"

"Mia, stop pleading for her. We treated her like a princess for three years, and we ended up raising an animal who wished her own sister dead!"

"Let her stay locked in there! When she finally figures out what she did wrong, then we'll let her out!"

Their footsteps faded away.

In that moment, the blood in my veins turned to ice.

Not just because of the basement's damp chill, but because they didn't even give me a chance to explain.

I slid down the door panel and sat on the floor.

The basement was crammed with junk, the air stale and suffocating.

This space used to be for storing old furniture. There were no windows, and the only ventilation vent in the corner was mostly blocked by unknown debris.

A while back, we had contractors in to fix the gas lines. To save time, they left a capped-off spare valve down here.

I sniffed the air.

A faint smell of rotten eggs permeated the room.

The smell was coming from behind an old cabinet.

It must have been when my dad dragged me in; I accidentally knocked over a shelf back there, damaging the valve or the pipe.

Normally, I would scream immediately and tell them to shut off the main valve.

But right now, I didn't want to scream.

That slap had hit me so hard my left ear was still ringing.

That recording was from three years ago.

It was also in an enclosed space, also reeking of death.

I curled into a tight ball, hugging my knees.

The smell of gas was growing stronger.

My consciousness was starting to blur.

I thought back to those seven days we were kidnapped. That dark, damp, abandoned warehouse.

I thought of the kidnapper in the mask, casually spinning that black handgun in his hand.

It was just as cold that day.

I began hallucinating, seeing little red and black dots floating before my eyes.

The colors of the blind box.

Red for life, black for death.

The truth is, I never told anyone, but I was terrified that day.

I was only twelve. I wanted to live, too.

But I wanted my sister to live even more.

Before my mind slipped completely into darkness, a bitter smile pulled at the corners of my mouth.

Dad, Mom, Mia.

I'm done fighting this time.

The family's money, the best room, the best school.

I don't want any of it anymore.

You only need one perfect, obedient daughter, and Mia is enough.

And finally, I don't have to carry the crushing weight of this three-year 'debt of gratitude' anymore.

My breathing stopped.

This time, there was no blind box to draw from.

I chose black for myself.