A Short Story Of Winnie Westbrook: Fact Or Fiction?

Winnie Westbrook stood in front of the large window in the downstairs tea room in Winfield house. In the months since her daughter’s disappearance, her family found themselves at the epicenter of a whirlwind of press. The world wanted to know what happened to the U.S. Ambassador’s daughter and conspiracies were abundant.
A dominant faction of those interested in their peculiar story, believed it was an international political affair that the family as well and the U.S. and U.K. government were aware of, but there were international secrets at stake. Some were suspicious of Winnie herself and vehemently claimed that she was the one behind it. She was painted as the strange, cold and calculating wife of a man who, along with her was involved
Her frustration was building though, and she feared that she may explode at any time. In any case, she tried to keep her head high and maintained that her sole focus was finding her daughter. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling, sucking in a shaky breath. “What did I ever do to deserve any of this?”
She supposed that her luck had just run out. She started out as a young mother who managed to get herself and Michonne out of a bad situation and change their life for the better. Now, it felt like everything was wrong again.
A small figure in the distance caught Winnie’s eye, breaking her out of her reverie. She took a step to the window, trying to make out the figure in the distance. It didn’t look like the landscaper. Plus, he wasn’t in on Wednesday’s.
Winnie’s knees buckled as the figure came into view. “It can’t be,” she gasped. Michonne appeared to be slowly strolling up to the house with one of the gatekeepers following after her with an expression of pure shock.
“James!” she yelled, turning away from the window and all but sprinting out of the tea room.
“What is it?” the man asked, exiting his office on the other side of the hallway. She could hear the surprise and worry in his voice. They hardly spoke each other’s name
“Come see. It’s really her.”
“Now darling I –”
She flung the front door open, sprinting out onto the front steps. “My baby,” she cried, as she took in the young woman standing less than twenty feet away from her. Michonne had gotten noticeably thinner, but not to the point where she looked unhealthy. She carried a small sack-like brown bag and wore a loose fitting brown dress that fell well below her knees with a light sweater around her shoulders. “Chou-chou.”
The young woman stopped walking and stared blankly back at her mother. Winnie noticed the swelling around the girl’s eyes a tell-tale sign that she had been crying recently. Winnie cautiously took a step forward, approaching her daughter, like she would a wounded animal. She felt James’s presence closely behind her, but he knew to keep his distance until they figured out exactly what they were dealing with. They had gone over scenarios like this with the detectives, counselors, and the intelligence agents countless of times.
“Chou-chou,” she whispered, as she got closer to her daughter who now wore her hair in short dreadlocks. She reminded Winnie of the nineties singer, Lauryn