She was sitting on their bedroom floor. The blood had soaked a part of the expensive Persian rug and it was spreading fast. She was still holding the heavy crystal vase in her hand with his blood stain at the bottom.
She looked at her dead husband, lying in a pool of blood. She still loved him and he had loved her too, in his own way. She looked at the various bruises inflicted by him on her body. They were the testimonials of his love.
You are very lucky to have got a husband like him her parents had said. If only they knew she thought. She grabbed her cell phone and called the police.