Page 3 — The Heartbreaking Truth In The Back Bedroom
The bedroom was dim.
The curtains were drawn. The fan was off. The air was heavy.
And on the bed was a woman—still, unmoving—positioned like she’d tried to protect something.
Not a struggle scene.
Not chaos.
Just the kind of stillness that tells you the fight ended a long time ago.
On the nightstand was a glass of water, untouched.
Beside it: a prescription bottle, empty.
On the floor next to the bed: a small pile of kids’ drawings. Crayon hearts. Stick figures. A crooked “I love you” written in shaky letters.
Officer Hayes swallowed. “Where’s the suspect?”
