I never thought I would be afraid of my best friend. I watched her lean on Greg three weeks ago. She shared secrets with him that I was never privy to.

Grissom called Catherine from the lab that afternoon. He wanted to know why the ladies restroom was covered in blood. I didn't know why he would ask her that question. The telephone call was interrupted by a telephone call from Greg . . . Sara was sick; she needed to get the ER immediately. Greg drove her.

For the man that never jumped to conclusions, Grissom was quick to assume that Sara had attempted suicide. I was ashamed to admit that I thought that was the most plausible explanation. Sara had withdrawn from the world. She came to work, did her job, and retreated to the quiet of her home. Sara didn't call; Sara didn't even talk to me anymore. Warrick had asked me what was going on with her; he asked me like I should know. I was beginning to wonder if I ever really knew Sara.

It took me a year to realize that my flirting with her was something more than innocent. It took me just as long to figure out why I hated Hank. For as much as I liked to see her happy, I never liked to see her with another man.

I would have done anything to take back that night ten weeks ago. It wasn't my intention to get her drunk; it wasn't my intention to get drunk. Sometimes, comfort from a bottle came way too easily for the both of us. It got out of hand that night. I don't even clearly remember anything besides waking up alone in my bed. That wasn't out of the ordinary, but that night there was the distinct smell of her perfume on the pillows and a condom box on the nightstand. She wasn't there; three days later, I would find out about her DUI from Grissom. It was really none of his business; he just wanted to know why Sara was in my neighborhood when she lived twenty minutes in the opposite direction. I said that we had a few drinks together. Sara didn't know what it was like to be on the receiving end of Grissom's wrath; I was confined to the lab for two weeks, no field work. Sara was placed in counseling and forced to take two weeks off of work.

I would go over to see her after work. We never talked about that night. Instead, we watched movies or ate breakfast together. The comfort that I once felt in the benign relationship was gone. I was uncomfortable around her. I was terrified of my best friend.

She called me a week later. It was fifteen minutes before I was supposed to clock in for my shift. She said that she was pregnant. I asked if the baby was mine; I have no idea what compelled me to ask that. It was a completely inappropriate question. It put Sara on the defensive from the minute the conversation started. I called Grissom to tell him that I was sick; I needed to sleep . . . yeh, I must have the flu or something. Grissom told me to feel better. His words were sharp and uncaring. Something in Grissom had changed along with the change in Sara.

I stood on her doorstep. I spent five minutes deciding whether or not to ring the doorbell. She answered the door; red eyes and tear stained cheeks. I had no idea how to comfort her. I treated her like I was trying to prevent detonating a pipe bomb; I didn't know how handle this situation.

I held her as she cried. She cried for hours before she quieted and fell into sleep. I held her in my arms for hours before I carried her into her bedroom. I watched her sleep. It was hard to believe that such a slender physique contained my child . . . our child. She woke early in the morning; she asked if I wanted breakfast. I asked her if she wanted this child; she sobbed and collapsed into the comfort of her bed. All she could say was that every child should be wanted. I didn't understand at the time; it would be another week until Sara would open up to me about her parents, her foster parents, and the man that her parents welcomed into their home. I understood why she felt lost in the role of a pregnant woman; she never had a mother that loved her or a father that confirmed that her existence was welcomed.

I told her that it was her decision. In the light of things, I couldn't ask her to be someone that she wasn't. I told her to call me. She never called. I spent six weeks wondering what Sara had decided. She avoided me at work; she avoided everyone at work. Grissom let Sara work alone; it was the only way to protect everyone else from her. Sara became more and more dangerous. She took risks with her life; pipe bombs were only the beginning of it. Sara was at scenes alone; she took to confronting suspects without the protection of Brass or another officer. Grissom had commented that Sara was a time bomb ready to detonate. He did nothing to thwart her efforts.

Six weeks later when he was alerted to the blood by another female employee; he assumed that Sara had tried to kill herself. I didn't think the assumption was that far off. I didn't even think to doubt the assumption. Warrick, Catherine, and I were walking into the lab when Sara and Greg were leaving. She was extremely pale; she clung to Greg with every step they took. She swayed in his arms. Her mascara was running; she vomited on the asphalt in the parking lot. Greg explained that it wasn't what we thought. Sara showed us her wrists; it didn't make the case for suicide. I walked away. I didn't know what to say to her anymore.

Catherine came into the break room a few minutes after Warrick and I had retreated into the building. Catherine said that Sara just miscarried; Greg was going to take her home. I could feel my heart sink into my stomach. It took this to make Sara and me realize how much this baby was wanted. Warrick asked if anyone even knew that she was pregnant. He looked at me expecting me to have the answer; I denied my knowledge. I lied to them all straight faced. Grissom said it wasn't our right to gossip; he asked if we should send her a plant. I told him that a plant was probably the last thing she needed. He looked at me funny, but quickly dropped the subject. Grissom said that Sara would be taking a leave of absence.

A week later, I asked Greg how Sara was doing. He said that she was depressed; he had taken her to the doctor a few days ago. Greg said that Sara was taking a lot medications; he said that she never slept. I asked if he knew who the father was; I just wanted to gage his knowledge of the situation. He called me an ass; Greg said it was pretty obvious who the father was. Greg said that I should think about calling her. I got her telephone message; I wished that I could erase the last few months.

Calling Sara would mean that I would have to begin to grieve a child that I would never have. It would mean that this was a reality. It was easier for everyone to just assume that it was Greg's child. Greg was the only one to see Sara. Everyone else avoided the subject vehemently. If her name was brought up, the room quieted within seconds.

I stood in front of her door a few times. Each time I was too scared to ring the doorbell or knock on the door. I stood there frozen. Tonight, I said it would be different. I knocked on her door. I stood there for five minutes without any answer from inside. I pounded on the door. I called her cellphone. I could hear it ringing on the other side of the door. There was no movement inside of the apartment. It was so small that you could hear the smallest movement. I called her name; I pounded on the door. There was a new urgency to my mission.

All my noise woke he landlord. I tried to explain to him that Sara was really sick. I needed to make sure that she was okay. He opened her door for me. He went back to his apartment; he asked me to tell her to feel better.

She was lying on the couch. She was cold and pale. Sara was so much thinner than the last time I saw her. Her chest was barely moving. There was an empty bottle of whiskey lying on the floor beside the couch. I tried to shake her but her body was flaccid in my hands. Greg stood in the doorway asking what I did to Sara. This wasn't how he left her. He called for an ambulance; Greg pushed me away from her. He said that I don't get to be here for this; I had abandoned her so many weeks ago. He was right. I didn't know what I had until it was gone.