“Michael?”
I moved closer to my husband. He was on his stomach, his face a mottled purple. It was morning and I thought he might have passed out drunk the night before. Maybe he had alcohol poisoning.
“Michael.”
I shook him. Nothing.
Again. Still no movement.
His body was stiff, arms stretched overhead.
I checked his neck for a pulse and it felt warm, but I couldn’t detect a pulse. Still, his neck was turned toward his shoulder — maybe I just wasn’t feeling for it in the right place.