Connie sucks in a sharp, audible breath. The question is a little like a loaded gun, or a blade against the throat of a part of her she loathes to face.

"I don't know," she says, the words spat out like she wants them away from her as soon as possible. "The honest answer is... I don't know. I thought I did, when I started this, and I want to," god, she wants to, "but... there's a reason why it took until I thought I was leaving to even 'tell' you."