Work Text:
Caitlyn was three the first time she asked for a sibling.
Cassandra Kiramman sat in the study, reading some book with words too big for Caitlyn to understand. Caitlyn krept into the room quietly, socked feet soft on the rug as she tried to stay out of sight.
“I hear you, Caitlyn Rose,” Cassandra said, though not unkindly. There was a smile in her voice although her face didn’t show it. She kept her eyes on her book, but stopped reading. Caitlyn giggled. She climbed up onto the loveseat beside her mother.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the book.
“A book, dear,” Cassandra replied. Caitlyn scooted closer.
“I know that . What’s it about?”
Cassandra reached over and smoothed out Caitlyn’s messy hair, the girl having just woken up. She marked her place with a fancy note card and closed the book, showing Caitlyn the cover.
“Can you read that?” she asked.
Caitlyn stared at the title. She knew, logically, that she was looking at numbers, but she couldn’t understand them at all.
“One six three four..?” she guessed, confused.
Cassandra sighed. “Nineteen eighty four, Darling.” Caitlyn pouted. “Don’t worry, we’ll get that fixed before you start school.”
Caitlyn wasn’t sure what ‘that’ was, but she shrugged it off, remembering why she was there. Caitlyn stopped pouting, turning her charm on. She looked up at her mom with big eyes and a smile on her face.
“Mummy?” she asked sweetly.
Cassandra eyed her, opening the book again. “Yes, Caitlyn?”
“Can I have a little sibling?” she asked.
Cassandra stopped. Her hand slowly petting Caitlyn’s hair stopped. Caitlyn’s face dropped in confusion.
“Not right now,” Cassandra finally said. “We’ll talk about that another day.”
“Tomorrow?” Caitlyn asked.
Cassandra slightly gritted her teeth but her voice remained kind to the child.“No, sweetheart, when you’re older.” Caitlyn frowned, then sighed. “Why don’t you go play in your room?”
Caitlyn used her eyes to plead for a moment more, then registered that her mother wanted to be alone. She slipped off the couch without another room, leaving the study and taking the stairs one at a time to her room, all alone.
...
Caitlyn was four and a half when she realized she was different.
Her parents had put her in a daycare, she wasn’t sure why. Something about socializing being good for growth. Caitlyn hugged the corners of the room, watching all the other children. They ran around and played with a vigor she never had.
She was always careful, trying to control the shake of her hands and the clumsiness of her movements. It was etched into her brain. Years of breaking valuable objects because of her recklessness had taught her well.
She didn’t want to be clumsy, she just couldn’t control her hands. Coloring inside the lines, building with interconnecting blocks, even arts and crafts made her struggle. She couldn’t thread strings through holes or build shapes out of dough. That just wasn’t how her hands worked.
Caitlyn wasn’t nearly as fast as the other kids, either.
When they played tag on the playground, she couldn’t keep up. When they walked in a straight line, she often stumbled.
“Hurry up, slowpoke!” a girl yelled. Caitlyn tried to pick up speed but wasn’t watching where she was going, instead tripping over a rock and landing in the dirt. She coughed, trying to blink back tears. She felt blood on her arm and there was dirt all over her brand new skirt.
“Crybaby,” someone muttered.
“I know, right? So weak .”
Caitlyn hid her face in her hands, climbing to her feet and running off to hide near the bushes. She curled up out of sight, face in her knees and tears streaming down her face.
She didn’t understand why she was like this. She observed all the other children, studying their movements. It all looked so natural to them. And Caitlyn couldn’t even button her coat.
...
Caitlyn was six when she heard the word stunted for the first time.
She crept around the corner, listening in on the conversation. She strained to make out the words behind the shut door.
“She’s struggling,” she heard her mother say.
“She’ll catch up,” her father replied.
“But will she? She’s stunted .”
“She’s a smart girl, I’m sure her fine motor skills will develop eventually.”
“Eventually isn’t soon enough. If this keeps up, she’ll look like a stain on the family,” Cassandra whispered, as if she knew Caitlyn was listening through the door. Little Caitlyn gasped, tears springing up into her eyes.
“Did you hear that?” Tobias asked, alarmed.
They went quiet, listening. Caitlyn covered her mouth with her hand and backed away silently from the door. She didn’t account for how close the wall was and backed straight into it, hard enough to knock the painting over her off the wall.
It came down in a crash, knocking Caitlyn to the floor. She laid there crying, tears dropping into the rug. The bedroom door swung open and she heard her parent’s footsteps.
“Caitlyn?!” Tobias called, panicked. She cried harder.
“Come here sweetheart,” Cassandra said, kneeling down to pick Caitlyn up while Tobias moved the painting off from on top of her. Cassandra held Caitlyn in her arms, checking her for any injuries. Caitlyn rubbed furiously at her face to get rid of her tears, to little avail. Tobias kneeled down next to them, smoothing down her hair. Luckily, both she and the artifact were unharmed, but Caitlyn went to bed that night with the night’s events playing on repeat in her head.
Stunted.
Stunted.
Stunted.
...
Caitlyn was eight when Tobias and Cassandra sat her down to talk.
She fixed the collar of her shirt as she walked, afraid to be reprimanded by her mother. She entered the great room, where tea was sitting out on a table next to Cassandra.
“Why are we in here?” she asked her father, who was leading her.
“Come take a seat,” Cassandra said.
Caitlyn smoothed out her skirt, nervous and needed something to do with her hands. She eyed her tea cup, then looked at her parents sitting across from her.
“We have something to tell you about,” Tobias led. Caitlyn nodded, trying to figure out what they were about to say. Cassandra was clearly calculating her words, trying to phrase something delicately.
“Before you were born, we tried many times to have a baby.” She finally spoke. She took a deep breath, face unnaturally void of emotion but voice laced with it. She didn’t look at Caitlyn as she said: “I had six miscarriages and two stillbirths.”
Caitlyn froze, mind reeling. She looked at her parents, studying their faces. Her hands shook.
“You were in the NICU for eight months,” Tobias said.
“Why are you telling me this?” Caitlyn asked, eyes burning with tears.
Cassandra picked something up off the table and handed it to Caitlyn. “Do you remember those tests you took at school?” Caitlyn nodded. “The results came in.”
Caitlyn shakily opened the letter, careful not to give herself a papercut. Her eyes scanned the page, desperately searching for answers.
Dyscalculia: affirmative
"Wh-what does this mean?" she asked, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice.
"You'll need to learn to hide it. We can't let the people know that you're…" Tobias trailed off.
"Anything less than perfect," Cassandra finished.
Caitlyn bit her lip, brain going numb. She stared at the paper until all the words blurred together into a mess of emotions. They stung like the bees in the back of the yard, two words that pierced like needles.
"I-I need to go lie down," she said, setting down the paper on the table and running out without being excused. She took the stairs two at a time.
Stunted.
Different.
Broken.