A single, low-frequency hum. Like a wire being tightened.
CHRISTINE: “I realize you have no evidence otherwise.” She walks out. In the lobby, ERIN (40s, tailored pantsuit, cold fury) is waiting. ERIN: “You think this ends here?”
Subtitles appear: “Hi. I’m your girlfriend. What do you need me to be?”
Christine listens. Then: CHRISTINE: “You’re not paying for cruelty. You’re paying for permission to feel nothing.” She stands. Crosses the room. Kneels in front of him. Takes his hand. CHRISTINE: “Your wife has six weeks. You will not cry at her funeral. You will stand there, dry-eyed, and everyone will think you’re strong. But really, you’re just empty. And you’re afraid that emptiness is the only thing you’ve ever loved.” His blue eyes water. He tries to speak. She puts a finger to his lips. CHRISTINE: “Don’t speak. Just feel it.” She kisses him—not passionately, but precisely, like a surgeon closing a wound. Then she pulls back. CHRISTINE: “That’s the girlfriend experience. You’re paying for the memory of being seen. And now you’ll never have it again.” She stands, picks up her coat, and leaves him sitting alone in the white room.
CHRISTINE: “I think you’re a mediocre white woman who got promoted because you cry at the right moments. Your data was real. But no one will ever believe you now. Because I’m the crazy one. And crazy people are more interesting than competent ones.” Erin’s face twitches. Christine smiles—the first real smile in the entire episode. CHRISTINE: “Welcome to my world.” Int. Christine’s Apartment – Night