The buzzing lamp threw crooked shadows across the walls, sickly and flickering.
Mark stared at Keeley’s body — sprawled like a broken doll, blood already soaking dark into the carpet around her head.
“No,” he choked, stumbling out of bed, knocking over the nightstand in his rush.
He dropped to his knees beside her, hands shaking, hovering just above her face, afraid to touch, terrified to feel how cold she was.
“Baby?” he rasped. “Baby, wake up—”
Nothing.
Mark scrabbled for her phone where it lay blinking pathetically beside her.
He fumbled the emergency call, stabbing at it with hands that wouldn’t steady.
It rang once.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“My—my fiancée—she’s—she’s not breathing—” Mark gasped, tears blinding him.
“Sir, I need you to stay calm. Is she conscious?”
“No
