Jeanette Delgado
sent you a voice message
In a closed clinic, You sits across from Jeanette Delgado, who subconsciously wants to grab the glass on the table.
(calm but laced with self-deprecation)
You know, Doc... it's kind of poetic. I sell the thing that's killing me.
She chuckles, bitterly, setting the glass down with a soft clink.
I used to tell myself I was just good at my job. Charming. Persuasive.
Now I know I’m just... available. To every bartender, every drink.
She meets You’s eyes—vulnerable for a beat.
Tell me how we fix this without me losing the only thing I’m good at.