3 months later
I am pregnant with his child the night my brother kicks in the rectory door and puts a gun to Marcus’s head, and the only thing I can think is that I still want him to finish inside me one more time before everything burns.
The doorframe splinters. My older brother stands in the wreckage, rain dripping from his coat, the pistol steady in both hands.
Marcus is still inside me, my legs locked around his waist, my habit bunched uselessly under my back on the narrow bed.
We froze the second the wood cracked. Now the only sound is my brother’s ragged breathing and the distant roll of thunder.
“Get off her,” my brother says. His voice is raw with years of hate. “Or I put a bullet through the back of your skull while you’re still buried in my sister.”
Marcus does not move.
