Weight of The Untold

Chapter 47

Week 11: The fetus is about 4.1 centimetres long, about the size of a fig. The head is still disproportionately larger than the rest of the body.

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Kyla’s POV

I was tutoring Clyde the next day, and something about him felt… off.

Okay—not off.
Completely wrong.

He stared at the page like it had personally offended him, eyes unfocused, pen idle between his fingers. I watched him for a moment longer before the words slipped out of me.

“Okay, I am distracted by your foul mood,” I said finally, closing the book. “You are constantly zoning out. I mean, you are obviously not hearing a word I’m saying. What is going on with you?”

“I’m fine, Kyla. Let’s continue please. I’ll concentrate a lot harder now,” he said quickly.

He didn’t even look at me.

I sighed.
Liar.

“You’re lying,” I said, standing up to grab some water.

Ever since I got pregnant, everything in my body worked overtime. I ate more. Drank more water. Slept more. And peed—constantly. Sometimes I wondered if my body even belonged to me anymore.

“I’m just tired,” Clyde insisted. “But trust me, I am okay. Nothing is troubling me.”

Still lying.

What do you think is bothering him?
He’ll tell you himself.

“I have a spare room if you want to crash,” I said, gulping down the cold water.

“Thanks, but I’m fine. I’ll be able to drive home.”

Still closed off.

“Fine,” I said quietly. “But for the record, I know you’re lying to me. Something is obviously going on with you—you just don’t want to tell me.”

I sat back down, and we finished the work in silence.

That night, I went to bed early.

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The next day, I only had one class—but it was cancelled. The professor got sick, which felt like the universe giving me a task instead.

Hazel.

I decided to take her shopping. If anything could soften her stance on that dinner, it would be heels, polished mirrors, and Fifth Avenue indulgence.

“Look at these shoes,” I said, dragging her into the best boutique I knew.

“They look beautiful,” she said flatly. “Try them on.”

“Not for me,” I giggled. “For you, silly.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“So let me guess,” she said slowly. “Megan sent you to butter me up by taking me shopping?”

Oops.

“No, she didn’t,” I said quickly. “I swear. She didn’t send me. I thought of this myself.”

“Well, thank you for noticing I need new shoes,” she replied bitterly.

“Hazel, stop,” I said, grabbing her arm gently. “I know you and Meg aren’t okay right now, but please don’t take your anger out on me.”

She inhaled deeply.

“Sorry.”

“Okay,” I smiled weakly. “Now can we take these? Because I am starving.”