Gil Grissom sat in his office. He was dumbfounded by what he had just read. So many things were running through his mind that choosing one direction or another was nearly impossible.

Would she go home first? Is she taking anything with her? Should I go? Should I run after her?

"Why are you still sitting here?" a voice asked from the doorway. It was Brass. Apparently Sara had said or done something to let him know as well that she was leaving.

"I don't know, Jim. I just don't know."

"Are you going to let her win?" Jim asked. Grissom raised his eyebrows in that puzzled look of his.

"What do you mean, let her win? Sara and I weren't fighting, she's not leaving because of me."

"Sara isn't the 'her' I was referring to," Brass clarified, "I mean Natalie. Sara leaves, and Natalie wins. You lose."

Grissom shook his head., "No. I don't believe that," but the seeds of doubt had been planted and anger began to take root in his mind. Yes, Natalie is the one to blame for this. It's all because of her. Grissom shook his head again, realizing the stupidity of that thought. Natalie may have been the catalyst for Sara facing her ghosts, but she did not cause them.

Brass just stood in the doorway, watching his friend's inner struggle play across his face.

"What do I do, Jim?" Grissom asked, not really expecting an answer. "I have never loved anyone the way I love her. I want her to face her ghosts, bury them, as she said, but," slamming his fist down on his desk and standing up, "Damnit, Jim, why can't she talk to me? Why can't I help her? What could possibly be in her past that she doesn't want me to see? Does she think that there is anything at all that could make me not love her?"

Grissom grabbed his coat and walked rather forcefully past Brass, as if he wasn't even there. His frustration fueled his steps as he walked to his car. He fumbled with the keys in an attempt to get them into the ignition. He drove home, willing back the tears that threatened to blind him.

Her car was still in the driveway. For a moment, this gave Grissom a measure of hope as he opened the front door. Looking around, he noticed a few very subtle differences. A picture of the two of them was missing. Sara's favorite sneakers were not by the front door. He made his way to their bedroom, hoping that maybe she might still be there. No such luck. Everything was in it's usual order. No sign of hasty packing. No sign of anything that might hint at the fact that she was leaving.

Maybe she's just taken Hank out for a run? Grissom thought, but then realized that the dog was at the sitter's. Grissom continued to walk the perimeter of their bedroom, treating it almost as if it was a crime scene. There was no evidence at all that Sara had even come back to the room.

So that's it. That's all she took? A picture and her shoes? No clothes, no books, nothing? Grissom collapsed onto the bed, thoughts reeling around in his head, worse than any rollercoaster he'd ever been on. What could this mean? He lay there for a long while contemplating the possibilities. If he knew Sara at all, he knew what this meant. She'll come back.