"Why couldn't you have just opened the window?" she wailed, hot tears of real sadness and empathy rolling down her face.
Because flies are dirty darling, and it would have died outside anyway as it's freezing out there.
"Ohhhhh, why did he have to die Mummy, why couldn't we have caught the fly and made him a little house?" she sobbed, her chest convulsing, struggling to catch her breath.
P was distraught. He had got the fly exterminator, a tennis racket-shaped fly zapper and electrocuted the rogue fly which was looking pretty ill and lazy stuck to the kids bedroom wall.
I don't think he would want to live in a jam jar, I explained.
"We could have made him little windows and a door!" she reasoned, dramatically sobbing over the fly's demise all over again.
I soothed her and explained that flies don't have the same feelings as us. How did I know that? Good question.
"Being dead is horrible Mummy, it must have hurt the fly and now he's dead...." cue more streams of tears.
She had a point, I don't know what flies feel and I have no idea if being dead is OK or pretty boring. I did learn that we have to be more careful around sensitive, little P - and just let flies out of the window.