Mary Higgins sat there looking at the screwdriver in her hand and then looked at the body of her dying husband at the site of the new house they were having built. It was a muggy afternoon on the 2nd of August, 1956. She had only married Sam a few months earlier. She supposed it was more to do with family convenience than love. Mary had never loved Sam, never had the slightest romantic interest in him, not even on their wedding night.
No, the only reason she had married into the Nichols family was for money. Simply put, her family had none, their family had plenty. Her father had worked in the coal mines, and died before his fortieth birthday, as had many others like him. She determined that it was a reasonable sacrifice; her happiness in exchange for being able to take care of her three sisters and aging mother.
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