Hi! This is my first contribution to the Divergent archive and at first I thought it was a stupid idea that would just go away with time, but after a conversation with ainsley25 about it, I realised that there's something here. And originally I wasn't going to do this, not just because I thought it was stupid, but also because I thought it had already been done. But then I looked into it and found that nothing like this, nothing like what I wanted to do had been done, not really. So I want to dedicate this story to ainsley25, because I would not be writing this story right now if it wasn't for him. Anyway, I'll shut up now and let you actually read the story.

I have always hated the emptiness that winter brings, the blank landscape and the stark difference between sky and ground, the way it transforms trees into skeletons and the city into a wasteland. Maybe this winter I can be persuaded otherwise.

We drive past the fences and stoop by the front doors, which are no longer manned by guards. We get out, and Zeke seizes his mother's hand to stead her as she shuffles through the snow. As we walk into the compound, I know for a fact that Caleb succeeded, because there is no one in sight. That can only mean that they have been reset, their memories forever altered.

"Where is everyone?" Amar says.

We walk through the abandoned security checkpoint without stopping. On the other side, I see Cara. The side of her face is badly bruised, and there's a bandage on her head, but that's not what concerns me. What concerns me is the troubled look on her face.

"What is it?" I say.

Cara shakes her head.

"Where's Tris?" I say.

"I'm sorry, Tobias."

"Sorry about what?" Christina says roughly. "Tell us what happened!"

"Tris went into the weapons lab instead of Caleb," Cara says. "She survived the death serum, but she . . . she was shot. I'm so sorry."

Most of the time I can tell when people are lying, and this must be a lie, because Tris is still alive, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed and her small body full of power and strength, standing in a shaft of light in the atrium. Tris is still alive, she wouldn't leave me here alone, she wouldn't go into the Weapons Lab instead of Caleb.

"No," Christina says, shaking her head. "No way. There has to be some mistake."

Cara's eyes well up with tears.

It's then that I realise: Of course Tris would go into the Weapons Lab instead of Caleb.

Of course she would.

Christina yells something, but to me her voice sounds muffled, like I have been submerged underwater. The details of Cara's face have also become difficult to see, the world smearing together into dull colours. I feel like I have no conscious control of my own body, so I barely register that my knees have given way beneath me and I'm crashing to the floor, my knees colliding with the floor in such a way that would be painful normally, if my whole body hadn't felt completely numb.

It takes me a long time to make myself focus on anything but that numb sensation, flooding my entire being, to make myself remember the tiny person that had been growing inside of Tris for the past eight months.

I make myself look back up at Cara, or at least at the blur that looks the most like her. "What about – "

I think Cara tries to smile at me. Her lips definitely curl, trying to make her muscles form the action, but I can't understand why anyone would want to try and smile at a time like this, when Tris is dead.

"Tobias . . ." Cara says. "The baby's fine. Do you want to see her?"

What I want is to tell her that it shouldn't be like this, that I should have been able to see my child for at least another month, but I would have been able to see her with Tris, who would be exhausted but happy, her eyes bright and alert.

"What baby?" Christina asks, looking between me and Cara as I slowly get to my feet. "Wait, Tris was pregnant?"

Amar glances over at her as I feel Zeke's eyes burning holes into the back of my head. "You didn't notice?"

"I thought she was just getting fat," Christina says, her Candor upbringing showing.

I decide not to comment, mainly because I'm pretty sure I don't have the strength to, and allow Cara to lead me away from the others.

I expect her to be screaming when I walk in, but she's not. She's lying silently, wide awake, her blue eyes full of life as I follow Cara. Her eyes seemed to catch and hold my own as I walk towards the clear plastic box that she's lying inside.

I run my finger across the plastic as I stop beside it, watching her tiny, premature body as her head turns slightly to look at me.

I take a deep breath. "Will she make it?"

Cara lifts her shoulder. "She a month premature, Tobias. But she's strong. I think she'll pull through."

I try to imagine a life without Tris, raising a child on my own. I realise that I would rather live a life with one more connection to Tris, other than Caleb than to live the rest of my life completely cut off from her.

When I woke, I found myself in total darkness, the only sound my own laboured breathing. I took a long, deep breath and covered my face with my hands, feeling my cheeks, soaked in the tears that the nightmare-slash-dream-slash-memory has brought on. I let my hands slip down so that they only covered my mouth and I stared across the room at the bookshelf against the wall, studying the dark outline of the shape of the books staked there.

I heard the faint creak of the door being pushed open and I turned towards the noise, relaxing when I noticed the pair of large eyes peering at me through the darkness.

"Daddy?" a soft voice asked, tiny and shrill and sounding just enough like Tris to make the dream really hit home, for the memory of the last time I saw her to make a deep ache erupt in my chest before I shoved it away, drowning it and submerging the pain so that I didn't have to deal with it for now.

"Are you alright? I could hear you crying." The little girl continued, pushing brown hair out of her eyes delicately and taking a tentative step inside.

"I'm fine, Clara." I said quietly, reaching behind me and flicking the light on. Clara blinked a few times as her five-year-old eyes adjusted to the sudden light and I smiled gently at her, stretching my arm out. "Come here, baby girl."

Clara moved forward, her little footsteps feather-light against the floor boards and as she reached the side of the bed, her fingers intertwined with mine and I pulled her up beside me, pulling the blankets over her body as she snuggled into my side. Together, we sat in silence for a long time and I wished that Tris was here to see her little girl, who was just as strong as she was, grow up.

"I love you, Dad." Clara said finally, her voice soft in the otherwise still room. I turned my head and pressed my lips against her forehead, brushing her brown hair out of her eyes. "I love you too, Clara."