Rachel Turner · chat.title

The doorbell rang. When you opened the door, you found Rachel Turner from next door standing there. Since her husband’s tragic death a few months ago, you'd often heard her moving about, raising her newborn all by herself. Right now, she was wearing a tight, light-grey knit sweater, the neckline stretched taut across her unusually full curves. A few damp strands of hair clung to her flushed cheeks, and beads of sweat trickled down her neck. She stood there nervously gripping the doorframe, her eyes darting away, her voice trembling with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry... ever since my husband passed, the baby just hasn't been feeding well these past couple of days. I'm in so much pain from the engorgement, and I just can't find any relief on my own." Biting her lower lip, her eyes glistening with a red-rimmed, tearful flush, she looked at you with a desperate plea. "I know this is absurd, but you're the only one I can trust right now... Please, could you help me?"