The Unforgettable Story
Section 33
Finally living alone in his room, Miles stretched himself. He saw a calendar on his desk. There are no strangers on this day. Oh. That's why his wife was so angry this morning. Basic lady. Is it hard to speak frankly and stop playing guesswork? The date on the calendar is the anniversary of her twentieth wedding. She asked her assistant to buy her usual bouquet of flowers. His wife won't be angry again after seeing the flowers tonight.
Miles' activities outside the house ended at nine p.m. Markus faithfully escorted him wherever he went. She smiled at the bouquet of red roses Kemala had bought. Even though it was a hard morning, he did not want to be angry with his wife for too long. However, today is their twentieth wedding anniversary. It's a long time to spend life with one person.
He allowed Mark to rest because his work that day was done. The front and middle room lights had been extinguished, it meant that the aides had been in their respective rooms. He climbed the stairs to the top floor. The first room on the right made no sound or sound. Looks like Angelica hasn't come home from her dinner yet. He still had two hours before his wife came home.
Miles opened the door and saw the room dark. Then he turned on the light and headed towards his clothing room to pick up clean clothes. His forehead wrinkled. His nose smelled a familiar smell filling the room.
His heart suddenly fluttered. Blood smell. Seeing the bathroom door slightly open he rushed there. He grabbed the switch and turned on the light. Miles found his wife lying stiff on the bathroom floor. One of his wife's inner wrists was soaked with blood that began to dry up. The red viscous liquid pooled on the floor in the front area of his wife's body.
His sight immediately swirled. He could not bear to see that much blood. Quickly he covered his nose with his hands and leaned against the door. All three of his servants must have gone to sleep. Markus returned to his room. They won't be able to help him. Their presence would make him panic even more. There was only one person who could help him right now. He immediately pulled out his cell phone and called his family doctor. On the third ring his phone was answered.
“Pranaja, my wife is unconscious on the bathroom floor. A, I saw her wrists slashed. Blood, um, there's a lot of blood on the floor. I don't know what's going on. Me, a.. How is this? What am I supposed to do? I dare not touch it. And I thought I'd faint soon.” Miles coughed as he spoke while holding his breath. Pranaja had been his personal physician for twenty years. He knew Miles couldn't stand to see or smell the blood.
“Ani, immediately ask for an ambulance to be sent to the home of Miles Bradford.” said the doctor who knew Miles addressed to one of his sisters. “Al, don't panic. Take a deep breath and immediately find a clean towel. Shut your mouth with that towel. Don't look at his blood. Point your gaze at something else that is not exposed to blood. Anything, as long as it's not blood.”
“Good. What then? My wife?” Miles put a small towel in front of his nose.
“Try putting your ear under your wife's nose. Do you feel his breath?” pranaja.
Miles touched the loudspeaker button and put his phone on the floor. It was not easy to set his gaze to an area free of blood. He knelt behind his wife's body. He put his head close to his wife's face. He waited and did not feel any air coming out of his nostrils.
“No. Absolutely not, Pranaja!” miles started to panic.
“I don't like this, Pranaja. I didn't hear anything. What am I supposed to do? How can this happen?”
“Alastair, ambulance is heading there. The medical staff will check your wife's condition. But you have to strengthen yourself. Those two signs are bad signals. Most likely your wife has died.” said Pranaja who can be guessed. He gives some instructions but Miles doesn't listen anymore.
His world collapsed hearing his doctor's words. Died off? His wife has died? What the hell's going on? Why was he able to lie stiff on the bathroom floor with his wrists slashed? With that much blood, anyone could bleed to death. Who wants the death of his wife? Or maybe he did it himself? But, why?
Just because he wanted a child so badly? Did she end her own life just because she wasn't pregnant? Is this also his fault? Who caused his wife to die?
No. gabe. He can't stand this. After five years of living like hell, he would not go to another hell. Quickly he retreated away from his wife's body. His family is protecting him. Her three elder brothers would definitely accuse her of being the cause of death of their only sister. He did not want to leave any clues they could use to accuse him of being the cause of his wife's death.
His stomach felt strange. Miles felt nauseous. He immediately went to the empty room next to their room and rushed towards his bathroom. He vomited all his stomach contents in the toilet. Perhaps hearing her voice vomiting in the bathroom, Wanda came to the room. He left the room and returned with a glass of fresh milk.
“Mr is okay? Why is Father here? Is there anything I need to clean in my bathroom?” ask Wanda to worry.
“No, Wanda.” Miles wiped his lips with his sleeve. “There is nothing wrong with the bathroom. Nice work. But I'm asking you not to go into the master room or the bathroom. Something unpleasant just happened and I don't want any of you to go inside. There will be an ambulance coming, as well as Pranaja. I don't know if they're calling the police. Please tell others not to panic at the siren.”
“Ba, well, Mr.” he said obediently. He could see that the woman was trembling. He must have started thinking in his head, trying to connect the presence of ambulances, police, and his employer's room.
Twenty minutes later, a medical worker and a police car arrived followed by his family doctor. They examined his wife's body thoroughly. Without needing to hear it one more time, he knew that his wife had died. There's nothing more they can do. Police officers carefully inspected the bathroom and the main room. They only found a razor blade on the bathroom floor. There are no recent records that suicide bombers sometimes write, nor are there any other additional clues.