At home, she found herself pulling away.
Not dramatically—just a little at a time.
She stopped sharing small wins from her day. She let texts from friends go unanswered. She stayed in the guest room for an hour before bed some nights, claiming she needed to journal or meditate.
Gilbert noticed. Of course he did.
"You good?" he asked one night.
She nodded. "Just tired."
"You've been tired for weeks."
"I'm growing a person," she said, forcing a smile.
He laughed, but not fully. "Fair."
They brushed their teeth in silence that night.
When she reached for his hand in bed, it was more habit than comfort.
A few days later, Shantel ran into Gilbert's boss in the lobby of his office building. She had come to surprise Gilbert for lunch—something they hadn't done in a while.
Isaac saw her before she could turn away.
"Mrs. Avery," he said, his voice the same silk-wrapped blade.
Shantel's facial expression changed ever so slightly, but she smiled politely and nodded, "Good afternoon, Mr. Brown."
He looked at her belly and smiled, unbothered. "I see congratulations are in order."
"Thank you."
He tilted his head and said, "Gilbert's a lucky man."
But you couldn't feel any sincere warmth in his words.
"I'm sure he knows that" she said, her tone cool.
He stepped aside. "Of course he does."
She nodded again, then walked away, her heels clicking faster than usual, her hand reflexively moving to cover her belly.
When she reached Gilbert's office, she was too shaken to stay. She texted that something had come up and left before he even knew she'd arrived, leaving the lunch box on the table.
That night, she couldn't eat.
The nausea wasn't from pregnancy. It was from memory. From a rage she never thought she'd have. And as for the reason, it was still in fragments. One she knew was going to take a very long time to complete.
Shantel sat on the floor of the shower for a long time, the water turning cold around her, her arms wrapped around her knees.
Why don't I remember?... Why didn't I say something earlier? Why can't she be certain of these lingering thoughts?
She couldn't draw any conclusion on a mere thought.
Because in that moment, the world would've never been on her side.
And this blessing...
Gilbert… Gilbert would have looked at her differently. Just like how she looks at him these days. Maybe not out of judgment, but out of pain.
And she was afraid she'd do the same for her when she comes.
By the next week, she'd all but stopped attending prenatal yoga. She told April her schedule was too packed.
"How? I'm the one who practically schedules everything here."
"It's not from the foundation. You know how I love to work even outside the foundation. I've just made some appointments with some people, it's not too much, don't worry." Shantel tried to brush her off, and April knew that too, but didn't say much.
She knew that Shantel would come around when she was ready.
Following that, she skipped a foundation retreat she'd planned. April offered to reschedule, but Shantel insisted she needed the time off.
At night, she stayed up scrolling through articles on trauma, on silence, on the guilt that often follows unwanted touch. She knew of these stories too well.
Every article read like someone had written her story in invisible ink.
One evening, she picked up her journal again.
"I can hardly remember anything. Does that make it my fault? Why do I feel like I'm the one who did something wrong? He was supposed to tell me too, wasn't he?"
She stopped writing.
Closed the journal.
Locked it again.
Gilbert, meanwhile, was trying to close the gap. He brought home flowers one day. Tried to cook her favorite dinner another.
But the more he tried, the more she retreated.
Because love, even when pure, can feel like pressure.
She wanted to be honest.
But she also wanted to protect him.
From the truth.
From her.
That night, as they lay in bed, he reached for her belly and said, "She's going to be so loved."
Shantel smiled, but her heart whispered, Then, why do I feel so unlovable? What was my wrong?
The next morning was just as every other day. Normal. Or was it?
Shantel had woken up as usual to make something for them. As she stood in front of the counter, she felt a wave of pain hit her from nowhere.
She gripped the edge of the kitchen counter swiftly, her breath halting, eyes narrowing in confusion. It wasn't the sharp pinch she'd expected. It was deeper—almost primal, like her body was folding into itself.
She inhaled through her teeth.
Not yet. It was still too early. Her due date was three weeks away. But the contraction hit again, this time more painfully than the previous one.
"Gil!" she called out, trying to sound calm and failing.
Gilbert jogged down the hallway, toothbrush still in hand. "What? What's wrong?"
She looked up, her face pale. "I think… it's happening."
His eyes widened. "Now?"
"Now."
He dropped the toothbrush into the kitchen sink without rinsing and grabbed the hospital bag they'd only finished packing the night before.
By the time they got into the car, the next contraction hit. Harder.
Shantel doubled over in the seat, and Gilbert's knuckles turned white around the steering wheel. He broke every traffic rule he'd ever respected getting them to the hospital.
The delivery ward was a blur of green scrubs, clipped instructions, and the antiseptic tang of bleach and latex. Nurses rushed around with focused ease. Gilbert tried to stay out of the way, his hand never leaving Shantel's.
She gritted her teeth through the pain, eyes closed, face slick with sweat. She barely registered the nurse who introduced herself, or the doctor who said everything was moving quickly. Too quickly.
Her thoughts drifted.
To the moment she'd first seen Ariel's heartbeat on the monitor.
To the moment she found herself in that room that night.
The nursery paint color they never finalized.
To the idea of being a mother. Up until the night when she chanced upon it...
There came a quiet whisper in her mind that asked, Am I really ready for this?
Is this the right thing?
The contractions blurred into one long pulse of fire, as Gilbert kept whispering her name.
Telling her she was doing great. Telling her he loved her. That they were almost there.
But her heart felt a mile away.
What if...