Copyright (c) 2012, Hardguy. ALL Rights Reserved Date of first publication: Wednesday, August 08, 2012 Author: Hardguy Title: Daddysbed Part: Deleted Scene: Trisha's mother Summary: Trisha opens up to her father some of what she knows about her mother's past. Keywords: no sex, heavy, drama The following story is a work of fiction, meant to entertain the reader. It may contain offensive language of a graphic sexual and/or violent nature and details many activities which are highly illegal in much of the modern world. I do not condone or encourage any activity that may be harmful to the wellbeing of a minor, no matter the circumstances. Please realize that there is a line between being a pedophile and being a child molester. Any time that line is crossed, an innocent life is destroyed and a monster is created. Please do your part to ensure that all children are kept safe from those who cannot see that line. Thank you. "That's called rape, isn't it daddy?" I had to raise an eyebrow there. "Yes it is, how do you know what rape is?" That made her withdraw a little. "I promised not to say." Now I was worried a little more. "Trisha, did somebody try to do something with you?" "No, daddy...not me." "Another girl at school?" Trisha didn't answer. She just sat quietly, staring at her hands. I noticed something fall from her face and land on her shirt. Whatever it was that she knew about rape, it bothered her. I put my arm around her shoulder and she more or less dove onto my chest and cried. There wasn't much I could do but comfort her until she was ready to talk, so I just rubbed her back as she worked out whatever feelings she had inside. It took about 5 minutes before she could raise her head and look at me with her puffy eyes and wet cheeks. I wiped her right cheek clean as she rubbed at her left and nervously laughed. "Sorry, daddy, I got you wet." "It's ok baby. Are you sure you won't talk about it? Talking makes things feel better." She considered a moment as she wiped at her eye a little more and then looked me in the eye with an expression of confidence. "I want to show you something daddy," she said and then bounced off the bed and ran out of the room. I wondered if maybe I should follow after her, or if she was going to return, and less than a minute later she ran back into the room holding a book which she offered to me. I took it from her and looked at the cover. It was a diary. "Yours?" I asked her, not remembering ever buying her something like this. She shook her head, and opened it for me. The name on the inside explained part of this puzzle. 'Dairy of Kat McClaren.' It was her mother's. ==10== Trisha had cuddled up to me as I started to read, and fell asleep there by my side. Her mother, Kat, short for Catherine, spelled with a C that she apparently hated, had begun this diary when she was about Trisha's age. It was filled with prattle about boys, her body, music, friends, school, family, secrets, and dreams. I skimmed through it mostly, looking for something that made Trisha retrieve it when she did. There were some big gaps in time between the entries. She kept up pretty good from her 11th birthday until she was a little into 12, but then not again until she was 14 for a week or so, and then 15 where she lost her virginity and wrote almost non-stop about having sex for a month, though not in any detail besides where it was and if it felt good at all. Another large gap lasted until she was 18 and living alone at college. Usually after these gaps she'd recap what had happened during that time. Her father had died when she was 17, and so she talked mostly about how she worried about her mom. More meaningless writings went on an average of twice a month for the next year, and then another gap to when she was 23. That's where it was: mum's dead i got raped fuck the world The page looked like it had been ripped and taped back together, almost like after she wrote it, she had attempted to rip it up and erase it from her life. The next several pages were blank, and then she was 25 and pregnant with Trisha. I really started reading there, getting a chuckle as she mangled the spelling of my last name. I knew, being the classy guy that I was, that I had left a business card in her purse when I left the hotel room where we had slept together. Seems she only remembered my name, but had lost the card by the time she tried to spell it. It had been explained to me when I was contacted that she had kept my name written down in addition to the place where I had been working at the time, and that was how they had found me to give Trisha a home. Seems this journal was where she'd noted that information. As she talked about being pregnant, how terrified she was, but felt this was a calling for her, she mentioned that she would give this child all the love that she could never have given the other one. Other one? What other one? Trisha had never said anything about having any siblings. As I wondered about this, my grip on the book relaxed some, and a folded piece of paper slipped from between some of the latter pages into view. It was a handwritten note, the script matching Kat's handwriting. It read: 'I'm so sorry, little baby, but I can't do this. At first, after they told me that you were there, I cried so hard, not just because I was alone in this world, but because it was like I could never forget about that day now. You would always be a reminder to me of the worst week of my life. I pray that you will find your grams and gramps up in heaven, while I pay eternally for what I am about to do. I'm so sorry, but I just can't keep living this life any more. I love you. Mama Kat.' It was a suicide note, written, apparently to the unborn child that had been conceived in that rape. I looked at the quietly sleeping young lady by my side, and I had to wonder what had been going through her mind when she read this. The text on the pages where the letter had fallen from, explained that Trisha, having just learned to read, went on something of a spree through her mother's bookshelves one day, and had started to ask questions. The baby had been lost in the suicide attempt, and Kat awoke in the hospital, her neighbor holding her hand. It was from that grief that she formed the resolve to straighten out her life. She moved to the city, found a job, and one night after a group therapy meeting met "a dashing Yank" who got her pregnant. I could now understand what feelings were stirred in Trisha's head when the topic of rape came up. It had robbed her of an older brother or sister, driven her mother to forsake what surely be happier times, and nearly doomed her own existence. It was something of a double-edged sword though, since if the rape had never happened, neither would the chain of events that resulted in Trisha being born. END. Author's note: I had already kinda thought up some of this in my head when I started writing it, but as it went on, I started brainstorming more and more stuff to add in there, and at the end of it, it just felt too depressing to me to be included and kind of a lot of heavy stuff for Trisha to have on her mind regarding her mother. So even though I decided to cut it out, I do consider this to be canon history for the story. Thanks for reading, and feedback is always welcome. Hardguy 8=====>~~~ This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.