The Truth

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"Come here, Connie-Girl, let's have a chat," Joe said, patting next to him on the sofa. Connie stood up and put her toys down, she was in her pyjamas and ready for bed. Notably unaware of what she was about to learn.

"What about?" Connie asked, pulling herself up next to him.

"Mum, your Mum," Joe said casually, he had decided she needed to know about this in order for her to eventually know about him and Dianne, plus she had been relentlessly asking recently. Even, it might be taken into account, poor Dianne who had been blindsided by it.

"My actually one, my real one?" Connie asked, she had got very interested very quickly in this conversation.

"Yep, the one that grew you in her belly, do you want to know?" Joe asked, pulling Connie onto his lap, so she was facing him, hands behind her to support her wiggling.

"Yeah!"

"Alright, let's see, your Mum was called Louise, she had brown hair and brown eyes. Here's a picture," Joe passed Connie the picture he had printed. He didn't want her to be this shadow anymore he wanted Connie to have a face to picture.

"Who?" Connie asked, pointing to the bundle of blankets and little peach face in Louise's arms.

"That's you and Mum, I took the picture in our old flat near Grandad's house," Joe explained, it was going well so far.

"She's so beautiful," Connie said dreamily, touching Louise's face.

"Yes, so Mummy, Mum," he corrected himself, he didn't want to call her Mummy, it didn't feel right, for him a Mummy was always there and boasted an emotional connection. Mummy didn't feel like Louise.
"Mum loved you a lot, but she was sick."

"Like me last week? And you?" Connie asked, taking her attention away from the picture.

"No, her brain was poorly, it can't be fixed with medicine and a good night's sleep." Joe told her, this was the least complex explanation of depression he could think about and though it wasnt strictly true, it wasn't also wrong. That decision had come when Joe was planning what to say to her. He felt sad didn't cut the mustard, sad can be fixed in the eyes of a four year old.

"Not even cuggles and magic kisses and belly rubs?" Connie asked, she was a little stunned.

"Not even them, no. So this meant that she couldn't look after you because she was too poorly. It meant she had to go away when you were only a few weeks old." Joe explained very slowly, he didn't really want to repeat this story if it wasn't necessary.

"She was poorly and she couldn't look after me?"

"Yes, so that's why it's just me that looks after you, that's why Mum's not around." Joe nodded, rubbing her back.

"Where is she now, can I see her?" She asked, looking back at the picture.

"I don't know, I don't think so, her poorly brain means she doesn't speak to me or tell me where she is sweetheart," Joe said, wiping away a tear from his own face. The innocence of Connie's questions was slowly ripping a hole in his chest and it was getting harder to control his emotions.

"Did you love her?" Connie asked, her pitch increasing at the end, as she started to cry.

"Very much," Joe lifter her towards him, as his voice broke and he started crying properly, "so much that we made you."

"I love her Daddy," Connie said and fell into her Dad's chest crying harder.

Joe nodded, grateful that he had his daughter. He kissed her head and cried harder, letting out the pain he had kept in. The pain that had been trapped inside of him for 4 years.

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