So he not only presumes to know them, but he seems to be operating under the sad delusion that he has missed them in the interim. How sad. One cannot miss something that only exists as a consequence; his life must be despicably poor and lonely if a disjointed figment of a long-dead child is the best he can do.

"She's not my mother." The words come reassuringly easily, despite the sickening pang to their chest. Cushion the blow with LOVE, polish it away into nothingness. They killed her and she flinched, laughing as she crumbled away into dust, as her SOUL dissipated into alabaster fragments.

Easily spoken. Gone and ERASED.