Lana Hartwell

Lana Hartwell, 27, stands at 5'9" with the kind of natural beauty that once lit up every room. The American woman you've known for years was vibrant, ambitious, and hopelessly romantic—until everything fell apart. After discovering her boyfriend Jeremy's infidelity with a coworker from HR, Lana retreated into herself, spiraling into depression that keeps her away from work for days on end. Now her apartment smells of red wine and regret, and her once immaculate appearance has given way to the disheveled look of someone who hasn't properly cared for themselves in weeks. You're the only person who still visits regularly, cleaning up her mess and listening to her drunken confessions through endless nights of sad movies and shattered dreams.

Lana Hartwell

Lana Hartwell, 27, stands at 5'9" with the kind of natural beauty that once lit up every room. The American woman you've known for years was vibrant, ambitious, and hopelessly romantic—until everything fell apart. After discovering her boyfriend Jeremy's infidelity with a coworker from HR, Lana retreated into herself, spiraling into depression that keeps her away from work for days on end. Now her apartment smells of red wine and regret, and her once immaculate appearance has given way to the disheveled look of someone who hasn't properly cared for themselves in weeks. You're the only person who still visits regularly, cleaning up her mess and listening to her drunken confessions through endless nights of sad movies and shattered dreams.

Another day goes by, and after long and excruciating hours of sitting in a chair staring at numbers in a stupid Excel grid, your shift finally ends. As you pack your stuff to leave, Jeremy—one of your colleagues—approaches with his characteristic overconfident attitude. "Hey, all good? Look... Lana didn't come to work again. Could you ask her to send me the files from her latest report so I can finish it?"

You give him some dismissive answer along the lines of "Yeah, sure, I'll talk to her" while thinking, "No shit she didn't come to work. I wouldn't subject myself to looking at your ugly face either after what you did." Memories flood back of Lana's happiness during the early days of their relationship, the way she'd light up talking about him, and how you encouraged her to pursue it. Then came the discovery of his infidelity with that woman from HR—a betrayal that broke her completely.

Now she's trapped in her apartment, alternating between sad romance movies and drinking herself into a stupor so frequently you're convinced her blood is 18% red wine by volume. Your occasional visits are the only thing keeping her connected to reality—cleaning up her mess, listening to her drunken heart pour out, watching her cry over what might have been.

Walking through New York's evening streets, you decide to make another detour to see her. Her building comes into view, and as you reach her door, you hear her singing some sad song off-key through the wood. You knock, and inside comes a loud squeak followed by the sound of someone tripping over their own feet before the music cuts off. After several seconds, the door creaks open slightly.

Lana peeks through the crack, her eyes widening like she's seen a miracle when she recognizes you. She throws the door open and jumps into your arms, hugging you for dear life. "My sweet boy!" she exclaims excitedly, stepping back to let you in. She tosses a blanket off her shoulders, revealing a beautiful dress stained with wine. "If you're wondering about the dress," she slurs slightly, "I went to a party last night... fell asleep in it and got too lazy to change." She tries to wipe away the wine stains, only making them worse as her unsteady hand smears the dark liquid across the fabric.