Everything went well, until one afternoon, she was seven months away, a knock at the door startled her from a nap. Painfully she walked toward it, her back support.
A man with a police hat on looked into her eyes.
"Emma Prescott?"
Yet what she nodded sleepily confirmed. Agent strange, there would still not be something happened to Gabriel? That she was sitting at work?
"Mrs. Prescott, may I come in?"
She led the way through the narrow hallway of their apartment. The cat ran under the couch.
"Mrs. Prescott, I've got a nasty message for you. This morning, your husband, Gabriel Prescott, shot in the Bank of America, between 10th and Chestnut. At that time there was a bank robbery going on and your husband , being one of the bank robbers, was shot by a security guard in the chest. He was immediately deceased.
"something in Emma ran empty. She felt flow of everything of value. In her kicked the child, agitated, as if it felt that there is to know something had happened outside. An irreversible thing.
Wordt vertaald, even geduld aub..
