The Truth We Tell

THE TRUTH WE TELLNIKKI LEE TAYLORMagpie Creative Media Published by Magpie Creative MediaISBN 978-0-6484406-5-9 All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.Copyright © 2023 Nikki Lee TaylorThe moral right of the author has been asserted.All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior permission in writing from the publisher with the exception of except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.nikkileetaylor.com.au Contents Dedication Foreword 1. HARLOW 2. SOPHIE 3. HARLOW 4. SOPHIE 5. HARLOW 6. SOPHIE 7. HARLOW 8. SOPHIE 9. HARLOW 10. SOPHIE 11. HARLOW 12. VALENTINE 13. HARLOW 14. SOPHIE 15. VALENTINE 16. HARLOW 17. VALENTINE 18. HARLOW 19. VALENTINE 20. SOPHIE 21. HARLOW 22. VALENTINE 23. HARLOW 24. SOPHIE 25. HARLOW 26. VALENTINE 27. HARLOW 28. SOPHIE 29. HARLOW 30. SOPHIE 31. HARLOW 32. SOPHIE 33. VALENTINE 34. HARLOW 35. SOPHIE 36. VALENTINE 37. SOPHIE 38. VALENTINE 39. HARLOW 40. SOPHIE 41. VALENTINE 42. HARLOW 43. SOPHIE 44. HARLOW 45. VALENTINE 46. HARLOW 47. SOPHIE 48. VALENTINE 49. HARLOW 50. SOPHIE 51. VALENTINE 52. HARLOW 53. SOPHIE 54. VALENTINE 55. HARLOW 56. SOPHIE 57. HARLOW 58. VALENTINE 59. HARLOW 60. SOPHIE 61. VALENTINE 62. HARLOW 63. SOPHIE 64. VALENTINE 65. HARLOW 66. SOPHIE 67. VALENTINE 68. SOPHIE 69. VALENTINE 70. SOPHIE 71. HARLOW 72. SOPHIE 73. HARLOW 74. SOPHIE 75. VALENTINE 76. SOPHIE 77. HARLOW 78. VALENTINE 79. HARLOW 80. SOPHIE Epilogue THE TRUTH WE TELLBOOK TWO This book is dedicated to all the incredible women who have walked beside me over the years. Those we have lost along the way, those who live incredible lives in faraway places, and those who I am lucky enough to see every day. None of you are relatives, but all of you have been my sisters. ForewordThis book contains limited material relating to suicide and self-harm. While there are no deaths relating to self-harm included in this book, should it raise issues for you please contact a mental health services provider in your local area. If this book raises issues for you, please contact your nearest mental health provider. In Australia call Beyond Blue on 1300 223 636 or Lifeline on 13 11 14. Chapter One HARLOWThere is no heaven. When you die there’s no tunnel of bright white light or angels floating around a golden gate. There is nothing. You simply stop existing. End of story. A lot of people have argued with me about this, mostly because they’re scared and sometimes because they think I’m just a dumb seventeen-year-old. Like what do I know, right? But in the end, I always win the debate. And why shouldn’t I? I’m the only one who’s ever been dead.I was eleven when it happened. A car accident. Well, a kidnapping and attempted murder if we’re being honest, but the medical report called it a car accident. I was officially dead for three minutes before they managed to restart my heart. Apparently, that’s the longest your heart can stop pumping blood and oxygen before you begin to suffer irreparable brain damage.Everyone expected me to be traumatized by what happened, maybe suffer post-traumatic stress disorder having died so young and all. But for me, the experience was nothing short of cathartic. When my injuries healed, I left the hospital knowing exactly what I wanted. To be free of my fame-seeking mother, the infamous Madelyn-May Marozzi, parental blogging queen of North America. I wanted, no, I needed, to be free of her. I felt as though my second chance at life depended on it.Not long after I was released from hospital, my parents and brother Harry moved to Australia to start over. Much to my mother’s disgust, I stayed here in Philly with my best friend Chapter Two SOPHIEPoppy was born at one minute past two at the University of Maryland Harford Memorial Hospital, and to everyone’s surprise, she came out with an extra thumb. According to the doctors it wasn’t that uncommon. But lying there in the birthing suite, my hair wet and my skin slick with sweat, I felt as though I failed my daughter before she even took her first breath. In terms of natural childbirth, at age thirty-five I was considered geriatric. I knew without a doubt that it was my aging body that let her down. I hated myself but the doctors were adamant. There were no signs of congenital defects or issues of concern, other than the thumb. To them, she was perfect. Because Poppy arrived right on my due date, I took it as a sign she might be an easy baby. I hoped it meant she had some in-built understanding that the world of adults was ruled by dates and times. That she would work in with my plans. But she didn’t.As the weeks turned into months and months turned into years, Poppy became a tired and irritable child. I was sure she slept and cried more than any normal baby should. More than Josh had.By the time she was three, we were regulars at the Westbrook Family Medical Clinic, but no matter how many times I pleaded for him to look harder, Dr Martin Havinack remained adamant that she was fine. She was just ‘one of those children who needs a little extra