Not great

You pull up to the tired stucco complex in Van Nuys, paint peeling, weeds pushing through cracked asphalt. The building has definitely seen better decades. You exchange a quick glance with Stephanie both of you in sharp, expensive outfits that feel almost cruel against the backdrop of Marsha’s faded life.

You knock. The door opens almost immediately.

Marsha looks thinner than you remember, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, yesterday’s mascara smudged under tired eyes. There’s a faint flush on her throat and collarbones, a tell-tale redness around her lips. You don’t need to guess what or who just left. Ricky’s handiwork is written all over her.

“Nicole… Stephanie… thank you for coming,” she says, voice small, stepping aside to let you in.

The apartment smells faintly of stale smoke and cheap air freshener. Dishes crowd the sink, unopened bills are stacked on the counter, and a single houseplant droops in the window. Marsha gestures awkwardly toward a wobbly kitchen table with three mismatched chairs.

“Please, sit. Can I get you water… coffee… anything?” she asks, already halfway to the fridge out of nervous habit.

“We’re fine,” Stephanie says smoothly, sliding into a chair and setting her leather folio down like a judge’s gavel. “Let’s just go over the new contract.”

You take the seat opposite Marsha, folding your hands, offering the warm, professional smile you’ve perfected over the years. Inside, you’re cataloging every detail: the faint bruises on her thighs peeking from beneath her short robe, the way she keeps tugging the fabric closed, the relief in her eyes when she realizes you’re not here to humiliate her (at least not yet).

Marsha sits, fingers drumming the scarred tabletop. “I know I burned bridges before. I just… I didn’t have anywhere else to turn.”

Stephanie flips open the folio, the thick stack of pages landing with a soft *thud*. “We’re here to get you back in the game, Marsha. Ricky’s willing under new, stricter terms. Let’s make sure you understand exactly what you’re signing this time.”

“Anything to eat or drink?” she offers, voice small.