INT. DOCTOR’S OFFICE WAITING ROOM — DAY
Sitting in a chair is a WOMAN, 30s, filling out paperwork on a clipboard, reaching a section labeled EMERGENCY CONTACT.
She starts tapping her pen rapidly.
INT. COLLEGE DORM ROOM — DAY
A younger version of the same WOMAN is walking down the hall, arms full of belongings. Move-in day. Alongside her is her MOTHER, microwave in arms, already on the verge of tears.
INT. AUDITORIUM — DAY
The WOMAN walks across the stage, diploma in hand. Her MOTHER is in the audience, tears slowly rolling down her face.
INT. HOSPITAL — DAY
A more present-day version of the WOMAN sits by her MOTHER’s hospital bed, holding her hand and sobbing uncontrollably.
EXT. OFFICE ELEVATOR — DAY
The WOMAN rushes to catch the closing door. A MAN blocks it with his arm, ushering her in. They look at each other as the door slides shut.
INT. DARK ROOM — EVENING
The WOMAN flips on a light. The MAN from the elevator is down on one knee.
INT. DINING ROOM — EVENING
The MAN from the elevator is talking to the WOMAN, who has started to cry. She toys with the ring on her finger, then takes it off.
INT. OFFICE BOARDROOM — DAY
The WOMAN is being introduced to the rest of the office. She exchanges smiles with a female COWORKER.
INT. APARTMENT — DAY
The WOMAN and COWORKER drink coffee at their kitchen bar, pajama-clad and laughing.
EXT. APARTMENT — DAY
A U-Haul is parked out front and boxes litter the yard. The WOMAN hands her COWORKER a handmade card reading GOOD LUCK IN NEW YORK. They exchange a hug, tears flooding the WOMAN’s eyes.
END MONTAGE —
INT. DOCTOR’S OFFICE WAITING ROOM — SAME
Nothing but the sound of a tapping pen.