The next therapy session felt different.
Shantel seemed heavier. Not physically—emotionally. Like she was carrying something she couldn't name.
"Would it help to write it down?" Dr. Rema asked. "Whatever it is you're afraid to say out loud?"
Shantel didn't answer. "Whatever you're feeling right now, if you cannot voice it out, you can let the pen do that for you. Would you like to try it?" She still didn't respond.
Gilbert looked on, frustrated. He just felt like saying something to her, but Dr. Rema shook her head at him, not to say anything.
After the session, as usual, he waited behind. "I don't understand why she still refuses to say anything. How long do we have to wait?"
"This process takes time, Mr. Winslow. I am sure she's going to meet us somewhere in the middle soon." Dr. Rema assured.
Shantel never said a word at today's session, as usual. But that didn't mean she wasn't listening to what Dr. Rema was saying. How can she forget her own teachings at the foundation?
Of course, she knew that sometimes, writing what's on your heart decreases the weight of what you go through. Even if it was a fleeting moment.
That night, she did write.
Not in her journal.
On paper. A letter.
She didn't sign it, nor did she leave it out. She just folded it and tucked it between her books.
Later, after lying on the bed, she cried herself to sleep for the first time in weeks of going to that therapy. She really needed a breakthrough.
"God, I can't hold on any longer." She whispered.
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By the end of the month, the house felt colder.
Not because of the weather, but because of the distance.
Shantel still didn't hold Ariel.
She still smiled at the right times.
Still said, "I'm fine," with enough confidence to fool a stranger.
But not Gilbert. A least not anymore.
He sat at the dining table one night with Ariel in one arm and a bottle in the other.
He looked at Shantel. He didn't know what to say anymore. It was as if he had said whatever word it is in the world to her already.
In the end he said quietly, "I think you're disappearing."
Her eyes filled, but she didn't deny it.
She just said, "I know."
She knew that too. But how she could get out of that abyss, she didn't know.
Gilbert had an emergency meeting he could not do without. He knew very well how things were in the house these days, so he pleaded with the person coming to him to meet up at a cafe in the neighborhood.
"I'm meeting up with a client at the cafe at the gate of the estate. I won't take long." He said to Shantel. She didn't respond, but he continued,
"I've fed Ariel and she's sleeping at the moment, so she's not going to be a problem. But in case she wakes up, you can just keep the pink teddy Lauren got her in the crib, and she won't make a fuss. I'll be back in thirty minutes." Still silence. Gilbert just looked at her for the last time and walked out of the house.
Shantel looked at his disappearing figure. She then stood up and walked into the nursery. Ever since the therapy sessions, she hadn't really entered this room. Not after the birth of Ariel.
Shantel neared the crib and looked inside. There she was, Ariel Avery Winslow. Or maybe not? She looked at her well for the first time since her birth. She had nice facial features.
She could even say she had her eyes, they were dewy, and pretty. She would be a pretty angel when she grew up. That thought made her smile. It was brief, but she did.
But then a dreaded thought surfaced in her mind that made her face pale. I dreaded what she'll grow up to look like the most. How could she live with that?
Her countenance changed at the thought of that. Then she picked up the teddy Gilbert spoke about. She held it tight in her palm and stood there. For a whole minute, she just stared at Ariel sleeping soundly in the crib.
Then, as if she was jolted awake, she dropped the teddy on the floor, went inside their bedroom, packed her things into a suitcase and came down.
She couldn't stay in the same space with that child alone. Else, only God knew what she'd do.
Shantel, with tears in her eyes, looked at the house once again and left.
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It was the silence that hit first as soon as Gilbert walked into the house.
It was not the kind that lingered peacefully, like morning stillness or midnight calm. This was the kind of silence that signaled absence. Emptiness. As if something was missing.
Gilbert stepped into the house and immediately knew something was off. Ariel's diaper bag wasn't by the door. The air felt hollow.
"Shay?" he called out, dropping his keys in the bowl near the entrance.
No answer. He walked round the house, checked every room but there was no sign of her anywhere. The house had never felt so large. He had only stepped out of the house for thirty minutes. Shantel couldn't have just vanished like that. Unless...
"Oh, God, not now." Was all he could say.
Gilbert stood in the center of the living room; the letter still clutched in his hand. He had read it five times now. Maybe six. The words hadn't changed. But each time, they dug in a little deeper.
Guilty. Broken. Filthy.
The way she saw herself—it tore at him more than her leaving.
He walked back into the nursery to check on Ariel.
She was soundly sleeping in her crib, the soft rustle of her sleep reminding him that some part of Shantel still remained. A part too small to understand the absence, but perhaps not too small to feel it.
Gilbert started with April. She didn't answer his call. Then he called Lauren, but it went straight to voicemail.
He tried Shantel's mother, who hadn't spoken to her in weeks. Her voice cracked when she heard the news.
"She left the house? What about my granddaughter?"
"Ariel's with me. She's fine." Gilbert responded.
"Shantel left alone," Gilbert said. "She left herself." he mumbled, as if talking to himself.
"She's never done anything like this before." Shantel's mother continued speaking on the other end of the line. But it was as if Gilbert heard nothing at all.
"I'll call Alma," her mother said quickly.
"I already did." Gilbert found himself saying.
But he hadn't.
"And she's not there?" the old lady asked, worried.
"Alma said she hasn't stopped by. Don't worry, Mrs. Avery. I'm sure she'll be with April or Lauren. I'll call them to find out. I just wanted to know if she hadn't sneaked away to your end." he tried to sound calm, so as to not alarm her. She knew how dramatic mothers can be.
"Okay, let me know when you get through to her."
"Sure, Ma'am." Gilbert replied and hung up.
He called Lauren again. This time, she answered.
"Gilbert, I don't know where she is."
"Please, Lauren. She's not answering. I'm not asking you to betray her—just tell me if she's okay."
Lauren hesitated. "I haven't seen her. I swear. But I know she's not out there alone."
"She left a letter."
"I figured."
"She said she didn't want to leave but had to."
There was silence on both ends.
"If you hear anything…" Gilbert started.
"I'll let you know," Lauren said gently. "But Gilbert—don't chase her. Not yet. She's running from herself, not you."
That night, Gilbert lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The sheets still smelled faintly of her conditioner.
He had never felt so helpless.
He had fought through job losses, family deaths, near-breakdowns during IVF discussions, and the quiet agony of infertility. But none of that prepared him for this feeling: having no idea how to reach the woman he'd built his entire life with.
Every part of him wanted to search the city. Drive to every hotel. Show her photo to every stranger. But something in him knew—this wasn't a search-and-rescue. This was a waiting game.
And waiting was not his strength.
The next morning, he sat on the nursery floor with Ariel.
She was kicking at the air, her little hands waving aimlessly. Gilbert looked at her and felt she had his lips, but her mother's eyes. Deep brown, large, unreadable.
"Where's your mama, baby girl?" he whispered. "When's she coming back?"
Ariel gurgled in reply, blissfully unaware.
Gilbert leaned back against the wall, eyes burning.
He reached for his phone.
This time he called Alma. When he said he was going to call her last night, he didn't. He was scared of the outcome of the call.
The phone rang a few times before she answered.
Her voice was cautious. "Gilbert."
"Alma. Please."
"She asked me not to—"
"I just need to know she's okay."
Alma exhaled. "She's safe. She's with me."
His chest tightened. "Thank you."
"She's not ready to talk. Not to you. Not to anyone. I didn't want her alone, so I brought her here."
"Is she… is she eating? Sleeping?"
"She's been crying since she got here last night. She hasn't said anything. And I haven't asked her anything either. But she's not shutting down. At least it's not worse, yet."
"I want to come see her."
"Please, don't. I don't think it'll be a good idea."
Those words hit harder than he expected.
"She's not ready," Alma continued, "You showing up will make it worse. I feel she's scared, Gil. She said she feels like she ruined everything."
"No, she didn't. What could she have ruined? If anything, I'm the one who's ruined things."
Alma sighed. "I know. We all know she didn't ruin anything. But she doesn't."
Gilbert sat in silence, staring at the floor.
Finally, he said, "Can I send her something?"
"A letter, maybe. No pressure. Just… give her space."
He nodded, though she couldn't see it. "Thank you. For being there."
"She's, my sister. Of course I have to be there for her. That means I'm yours too—for now."
He ended the call and sat in the quiet.
She was alive. She was hurting. She was trying.
He could breathe again. At least for now.
That night, he wrote her a letter.
Shay,
I don't care where you are right now—I just care that you're breathing. That you're safe. That you're not alone.
I'm not mad. I'm not broken. I'm just… waiting.
You said you felt guilty, like you betrayed me. But if there's any betrayal here, it's mine—for not seeing your pain sooner.
Ariel misses you. She's growing so fast. She made a noise yesterday that sounded like "ha!" and it reminded me of your laugh. I wish you'd seen it.
I'm here. Whenever you're ready. I'll always be here.
Love,
G
He folded the letter and scanned it.
He texted Alma.
"Letter sent. No pressure to give it to her. Just… hold onto it for now."