The Truth After Allegiant

Chapter 39 - My Little Brother

Chapter 39 - My Little Brother

Tris

"It's out, Mom! It's out!" Caleb yells excitedly.

Tears of happiness are brimming my eyes. "I told you you could do it." I whisper to my mother. She is still breathing heavily from the birth.

Everyone is smiling and yelling things of joy and congratulations to my mother.

I am smiling too, until realization hits me like a train at full force.

It's not breathing.

No,

No,

No!

"It's not breathing! What's wrong?! Why isn't it breathing?!" I scream panicked.

All hell breaks loose on everyone else in the room. Yelling, crying and everything in between. Mom tries to sit up but I put my hand on her shoulder and gently push her back into a laying position. I drag myself over toward my Mom's partially propped up legs; the shackle making a horrible screeching sound as it rubs on the ground.

Just by looking at its extremely small body, I see that it is a boy. His body is probably the size of my hand, and my hands aren't too big.

My little brother.

I use my thumb and pointer finger cautiously because of how fragile and tiny it is and pick up his tiny right arm. It is probably as thick as the fat end of a key or my second and third fingers together.

His small arm is extremely cold, and has no sign of a pulse.

Tears start streaming down my face faster and faster. I start to shake my head.

My little brother.

Dead.

"He's dead." I manage to croak out.

"He's?" My dad asks.

I just nod my head.

"He's a stillborn." I hear the sadness in Cara's voice; almost lifeless.

I look over at my mother. She is just staring at the celing.

"M-Mom?" I croak.

He turns her head and looks at me. Her eyes are all bloodshot and her face is still sweaty from the birth.

She just meets my eye contact and nods, tears start spilling over her bright red cheeks.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry." I sob, my hand, more like thumb now on my little brothers stomach that is still warm from being inside my mother. His head is the biggest part of him; around the size of a baseball. He's just so tiny.

I turn toward my dad whose been strangely quiet.

He's just staring at the grey concrete ground; his face is a mess of dried tears and new tears falling out of his eyes. Like me earlier, he is shaking his head as if he will not allow himself to believe this.

The door slams open to my left revealing David.

If I was stronger, I would totally slap his so hard right now. Not only did he get my mother pregnant, but he didn't even support her or anything. Now she has to go through this suffering.

"Any success?" He asks. The tone of his voice is strange, I wouldn't call it sly, or sarcastic, but it's kind of like when someone's being forced to talk to someone they don't like, or when a mother is forcing her child to say thank you. Like he doesn't really care, but he feels like he should ask anyway.