It was only a child’s musical box, but Emma felt as if her heart had been ripped out when he crushed it under his heel.
She was too proud to let him see her cry, simply turning back to the potatoes she was peeling. He came up behind her and she tensed for a blow, but none came.
“If you didn’t talk back I wouldn’t have to punish you.”
He went and sat in his fireside chair as if nothing had happened.
Three days later he drove his tractor into the slurry pit. Heart attack, they said.
Emma smiled secretly.