Suicide Hotline

She never knew what life holds ahead;

Marco was drowning with problems, and the only way out - was to give up.

After the downhill of her career, lover's betrayal, and the uncanny lost of her dog: She felt miserable! The girl has no one to talk to, and a coin was missing for a bottle of beer, vodka or something.

The phone beeps, as she ties a rope on the ceiling. Marco is quite doubtful at the moment. Could the plafond hold her weight down? Or the set-up would end as an epic fail?

"Yellow Haven at your service?" Marco rolled her eyes. Why did she bought this stupid-automatic phone anyway? Waste of time!
"Sir, Ma'am?" She furrowed her eyebrows, and the voice made her stop.
"Well I believe you called our number? A Suicide Hotline?" What is this? Marco thought to herself. It took her minutes to process what was actually going on;
"Oh, this must be a wrong number then."

Before the other line could even cut itself. Marco said something, that had surprised her mere being. "I called," she hopes the other line heard it.

"Thank God!" The woman uttered in full gratitude; wait?

Someone needs the assistance as well, but isn't it too providential - that help came before she even calls for one?