The painting wasn’t coming out as good as Taylor had hoped. Sure the New York City skyline was beautiful. But She wasn’t feeling it, like the canvas’s back in Connecticut.

Taylor had a headache. It must be the combination of paint smell and appletini she had with Rae. Tension perhaps.
Sure she was proud and supportive of her husband. But there was something about big city life that wasn’t right.
She put down her paintbrush, removed her smock and got another sharp pain in the side of her head. She sat down again. Reaching for her cell she called Rae.
“Hey,” Rae answered. “What’s up? I just left you a minute ago.”
“My.. my head… Rae,” Taylor said as she fell on the floor.

Rae raced over, pushed open the front door, called out Taylor’s name. She found her on the floor.
At first Rae thought Taylor was dead, when she saw what looked like blood all over the wooden floor, but it was red paint, knocked over when Taylor passed out.
Rae called 911. The she dialed Adam at work.