Julia imagined Luna’s small body receiving doses meant for something else entirely. Fear rose—but beneath it, something stronger: a clean, protective anger.
She didn’t tell Richard. Not yet.
She had seen how he sat at the foot of Luna’s bed as if his life depended on it. But Luna was in danger—and Luna trusted her.
Julia began documenting everything: schedules, dosages, reactions. She watched the nurse. Compared bottles in the bathroom to those in storage.
The worst part was the overlap.
What should have been discontinued was still being used.
The mansion seemed to inhale differently the day Richard entered Luna’s room without warning and saw her resting calmly against Julia for the first time in months. Exhausted and afraid, he spoke more harshly than he meant to.
“What are you doing, Julia?”
Julia stood quickly, trying to explain. But Richard, hurt and confused, thought he saw a line crossed.
Then Luna panicked.
She ran to Julia, clung to her tightly, and cried out with the fear of someone begging for safety:
“Mommy… don’t let him yell.”
The silence that followed was not the usual silence of the house.
It was revelation.