Phone goes off

You collapse beside Marsha, both of you slick with sweat, chests heaving, the room thick with the scent of sex and vodka. The sheets are tangled around your ankles; the headboard still rattles faintly against the wall from the last brutal thrust. Marsha’s eyes are half-lidded, lips swollen, a dazed little smile playing on her mouth.

Your phone beeps insistently from the floor. You fish it out of your discarded slacks and see the text from Megan:

**Mom can you pick me up? James just dumped me. I’m at Il Cielo.**

You glance at Marsha one last time (her thighs still trembling, the faint outline of your handprints blooming across her ass), then roll off the bed. You dress fast: panties, skirt, blouse, heels, every motion practiced and efficient.

“Gotta run, sweetheart,” you say, leaning down to press a final bruising kiss to her mouth. “But don’t worry, I’ll be back the second you slip up again.”

Marsha just nods, boneless, already knowing it’s true.

You step out into the cooling night air, the taste of her still on your tongue, and slide behind the wheel. The drive to Il Cielo is muscle memory; you toss the keys to the valet with a crisp “Keep it close” and stride toward the entrance.

Megan’s on the wrought-iron bench out front, knees drawn up, face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. James is nowhere in sight (coward probably bolted the second he dropped the bomb).

You sit beside her, the bench cold through your skirt, and wrap an arm around her trembling frame. “Hey, baby. What happened?”

She hiccups, mascara streaking. “James… he’s been cheating the whole time.”

Of course he has. You warned her the day she brought him home from that shoot two years ago twenty-two, built like a Greek god, and fucks for a living. But Megan never listens.

You pull her closer, stroking her hair. “Come on, let’s get you home. Ice cream, wine, whatever you need.”

You gather her scattered purse, phone, and the little denim jacket she always wears, then guide her to the Rover. The valet opens both doors with a polite nod. Megan slides in, still sniffling. You tip the kid, climb behind the wheel, and pull away from the curb, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Megan’s knee.

Tonight the city can keep spinning. Right now, your girl needs you.