Then I saw blood on the wooden floor.
Arthur was lying beside his desk.
His white shirt was stained dark red, and his breathing was shallow.
I dropped the documents and rushed toward him.
I remember kneeling beside his body and trying to find his phone.
I remember moving a handgun away from his hand because I was afraid it might discharge.
I remember pressing my palms against his wound while begging him to stay awake.
His blood soaked through my blouse.
Before losing consciousness, he grabbed my wrist.
“Elena.”
I leaned closer.
“Don’t talk, Arthur, just breathe.”
His eyes widened.
“They know.”
I didn’t understand.
“Who knows?”
He tried to speak again.
Then his hand fell away.
I called emergency services.
I stayed beside him until police officers entered the house.
I thought they would help me.
Instead, one officer grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the body.
