The Birthday Contract With Death

Summary

On the eve of my eighteenth birthday, my mother skipped the final rehearsal for my party.

That evening, a text lit up my screen.

"Daisy’s depression is flaring up again. I can't leave her side right now. Let’s postpone your party, Cassie. I’ll make it up to you, I promise."

I stared at the tips of my fingers. They were already beginning to shimmer, dissolving into a faint, translucent glow. I typed a single-word reply:

"Okay."

For ten years, on every single one of my birthdays, Mom had broken her promise. Almost instantly, my adoptive sister, Daisy, posted on Instagram.