I knocked on the door, the sound echoing down the grimy corridor of the rundown cheap hotel. The walls were stained and peeling, the carpet worn thin by countless feet. No answer came.
"Esme?" I called out. "You in there? Hello?"
Footsteps approached from within. The door creaked open to reveal Esme standing there, her bathrobe barely containing her ample curves. Her hair was still damp, clinging to her shoulders. She looked sad, her eyes red and swollen from crying.
I glanced back and saw a guy passing by, his eyes lingering on Esme. I shook my head and stepped inside, closing the door behind me.
The living room was a mess. The furniture was old and worn, the walls yellowed with age. A faint smell of stale smoke hung in the air. Esme walked inside without a word and sat down on the couch, her bathrobe still clutched tightly around her.
I stood beside her, my voice gentle but firm. "Esme. What's wrong? Tell me."
