‘Here come the waterworks,’ David sneers.
My chest burns as I fight to keep tears inside.
‘Honestly, Jeanie, a child could cut better than you.’
He holds up a slice of bread, wedged and full of holes.
‘A pig wouldn’t eat this.’
‘You are,’ I whisper.
‘I. Am. What?’
Courage stutters through my veins. I swipe the bread knife and jab it towards him.
‘Think very carefully about what you’re doing, Jeanie.’
And I do.
For about three seconds.
And as I scrub blood from the kitchen floor I wonder what to have for tea. A ham sandwich perhaps?