The Little Moon

The day Terry dragged me into the operating room, I clutched my prenatal scan and wept.

Please, spare our baby. Shes innocent.

He sneered, gripping my chin, You, a murderer, dare to bear my child?

Later, he locked me in the basement for three years.

I forgot how to speak, but I remembered humming a tuneless song to the iron bars every night.

Until he knelt at the door, eyes bloodshot, clutching the truth in trembling hands:

Autumn

I tilted my head, licking my grimy fingers, giggling softly:

The butterfly flew away, and so did the baby, you know.

Soon, everyone in the city knew: Terry Sterling had lost his mind.

He watched over a woman who no longer recognized him, whispering endearments again and again.

Meanwhile, in the penthouse suite, I cradled a faded doll, gazing out the window:

Shhh, the moon is going home.

The basement door creaked open.

I curled into a ball, shrinking deeper into the shadows.

Someone was here, but it wasnt the mute who brought my meals.

Autumn

It was Terrys voice.

He lifted me into his arms.

My bones jutted against him; he seemed to stiffen.

He carried me outside.

The sky was a dull, leaden gray.

This was the first time Id seen the outside world in three years.

The first time Id seen the sky since Amelias suicide in my bedroom.

The moon I murmured, The moon is going home.

The arms holding me tightened abruptly.

Terry whispered, Who is the moon?

I lowered my head, gently stroking my abdomen, where only thin skin clung to bone.

I offered a faint smile: Shes my little moon. I named her. Shes calling me, can you hear?

Terrys steps faltered.

I felt his entire body trembling.

He cupped my face, studying me for a long moment, his lips parting and closing several times before he spoke: Its alright Autumn, well have other children.

His eyes were red, intensely red.

How strange, could he cry too?

I looked at his bloodshot eyes, but stubbornly shook my head: I only want my little moon. Shes afraid of the dark, I need to be with her.

Terrys head snapped up, turning to the person in the white coat beside him.

The doctor adjusted his glasses: Mr. Sterling, Mrs. Sterling has endured prolonged confinement and severe emotional trauma, leading to significant cognitive regression and stress disorder. Her current intellectual capacity is roughly at a childlike stage.

Childlike? I blinked.

My little moon, if she had been born, would be blinking now too.

I was taken to a vast house, ablaze with the blinding light of crystal chandeliers.

It hurts it hurts so much!

I covered my eyes, burying my face in my knees.

Turn them off! Turn off all the lights! Now!

Terrys voice roared, laced with panic and chaos.

Instantly, darkness enveloped me.

Only a faint, hazy light filtered in from outside the window.

He came over, drawing me into his embrace.

Let me see, Autumn, let me see your eyes. His voice was low, trying to soothe me.

He gently forced my head up.

My face was wet; were those tears? I didnt know.

His forehead gently touched mine, our breaths mingling.

I smelled his unfamiliar, expensive scent, mixed with a faint trace of blood C was it mine? Or someone elses?

Im sorry, he rasped.

Then, he carried me to the bathroom to bathe.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, gaunt and skeletal, my shoulder blades seeming to strain against my skin, eager to break free.

Terry held me, sobbing softly, warm liquid trailing down my shoulder.

During the bath, the tub was filled with little yellow rubber ducks.

I picked one up, squeezed it, and it let out a quack.

I laughed, squeezing it repeatedly, making it quack-quack-quack.

Terry knelt by the tub, sleeves rolled up, carefully using a washcloth to clean me.

His movements were clumsy, splashing water everywhere.

He watched me play with the duck, his eyes a tumultuous sea of emotions I couldnt decipher.

After the bath, he wrapped me in a thick towel and carried me to the large vanity mirror.

The woman in the mirror was emaciated, her wet hair plastered to a pallid face, eyes wide and vacant.

He picked up the hairdryer, his long fingers threading through my damp hair.

I stared blankly at his profile in the mirror; he was still so handsome, yet shrouded in a heavy shadow.

My gaze suddenly fell upon my wrist.

The towel slipped slightly, revealing a bony wrist crisscrossed with several grotesque scars.

When had these appeared? I couldnt remember, only that they hurt, more than hunger, more than the cold.

Ugly

I flinched, trying to hide my wrist, So ugly

Terrys movements stilled. He followed my gaze, his body instantly rigid.

The hairdryer hummed, hot air blowing on a small patch of skin, slowly growing warm.

He abruptly switched off the hairdryer.

The bathroom fell silent.

He gripped my wrist, looking at the scars for a very long time.

Not ugly, he said suddenly.

Then, he lowered his head, his cool lips, incredibly gently, pressing a kiss onto the deepest of those scars.

A damp, warm sensation registered, but I flinched as if branded, trying to yank my hand away with force.

My reaction seemed to wound him.

He lifted his eyes, seeing my frightened look, and suddenly asked, Would you would you not be afraid of me if I were just like you?

I didnt understand.

I just stared at him in fear.

He released my hand, straightened up, his gaze sweeping across the spacious vanity.

Then, he picked up a silver eyebrow razor.

The blade reflected a faint glimmer of light.

The first stroke, across his pale wrist, a thin red line quickly emerged, widening.

The second, overlapping.

Blood beads welled up, merging, then flowing down in gushes, dripping onto the marble counter.

The third

He didnt stop, his expression eerily calm.

The fresh scent of blood diffused into the air.

I watched, numbly, as the crimson liquid snaked down.

Then, I laughed.

Blood still flowed from Terrys wrist, but he smiled.

Autumn, were the same now.

Then, he stepped forward, pulling me into his arms with all his strength.

He held me so tightly, I could barely breathe.

His face was buried in my damp hair, hot liquid falling onto the skin of my neck.

Ill atone,

he whispered.

Please, let me atone.

Terry canceled all his work, dedicating himself to my 24/7 care.

The room was filled with things I used to love.

I was still afraid of light; even during the day, the heavy curtains had to be drawn.

The slightest sound made me flinch.

Ever since leaving the basement, I had nightmares every night.

The cold operating table, the blinding lights, and the icy pain in my lower abdomen.

Autumn, wake up.

Terry took my hand.

I clutched his sleeve tightly, crying out incoherently, Terry save me

His body jolted, then he hugged me fiercely: Im here! Autumn, Im here! Ill save you, Ill always be here!

He seemed incredibly happy, so happy he was almost crying.

I snapped awake.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness, seeing his face so close.

My mind was blank.

I pulled away from him, grabbed the vase from the bedside table, and threw it at him.

He didnt dodge; it hit his head with a dull thud.

The vase didnt break, rolling onto the carpet.

He froze, motionless.

Blood streamed from his temple, across his eyebrow, dripping onto his pajamas.

The door burst open, and the people waiting outside rushed in, staring blankly at the scene.

Terry seemed to finally feel the pain.

He lifted a hand to wipe at it, saw the blood, but didnt even glance at the newcomers, his eyes fixed on me.

Get out, he ordered. Everyone, out.

They looked at him, then at me, before retreating and closing the door.

We were alone again.

The scent of blood filled the room.

I was still trembling, but I glared at him without restraint.

He took a towel from the bathroom and pressed it to his head; the white towel quickly turned crimson.

Dont be afraid, he said, his voice low, as if coaxing a child, Ill be right back.

He turned and walked out, his steps a little unsteady.

The door wasnt fully closed; I heard the doctor outside gasp in horror:

Mr. Sterling, your wound needs stitches. Your wifes condition is too dangerous; shes exhibiting aggressive behavior. She needs to be admitted to a specialized psychiatric hospital

No, Terry cut him off, his voice sounding tired, Treat it here.

But

I said, no.

His voice deepened, Shes not going anywhere. She stays here.

After a pause, he added:

I wont let her leave my side again.

The doctor treated Terrys wound in the next room.

Mr. Sterling, the doctor couldnt help but speak, Mrs. Sterlings condition, if I may be frank, doesnt seem to be merely simple psychological trauma. Was there anything else that happened back then?

Terry leaned back in the chair, eyes closed.

The wound on his forehead throbbed.

It was me. All my fault.

The doctors hand paused; he looked up at him.

After the wound was dressed, he led the doctor back to my room.

I was huddled in the corner of the bed, hugging my knees.

Terry walked over, reaching to touch my shoulder, but I flinched violently, recoiling.

His hand stopped mid-air, slowly retracting, and he nodded at the doctor.

The doctor approached to examine me.

His brow furrowed deeper and deeper.

Finally, he put away his stethoscope, glanced at Terry, who stood by, and shook his head.

Mr. Sterling, Mrs. Sterlings condition is not optimistic.

Severe malnutrition; this isnt recent. On her body there are multiple old contusions and soft tissue injuries, some already scarred. Mentally, her stress response is extremely strong, with clear signs of post-traumatic disorder. She exhibits severe fear and wariness towards the outside world, especially towards you.

With each sentence, Terrys face grew paler.

By the end, he was almost devoid of color.

In summary, the doctor sighed, Mrs. Sterling seems to have been in an abusive environment for a long time. This has greatly exacerbated her psychological trauma, and recovery will be very difficult.

Abuse? Terry repeated the word.

The doctor nodded, saying no more, leaving recommendations for nutritional supplements and nerve-calming medication, then departed.

The room was deathly silent.

Terry stood there for a long time before slowly walking to the bedside.

I burrowed deeper into the covers.

He stopped a step away, not coming closer, only looking at me with that almost shattered gaze for a while, then turned and walked out.

Outside the door, the old butler stood with bowed head.

Alfred, Terry began, Three years ago, I had her confined to the basement. What were my instructions?

The butlers back bent even lower: You ordered to keep her well, not to let her leave, and to deliver meals on time.

And what else?

Nothing else, sir.

I never said she could be starved, or beaten, or left with those scars on her body, did I?

Terrys voice wasnt loud, but it was suffocating.

Cold sweat beaded on the butlers forehead: Sir, I I followed your orders. Meals, cleaning As for anything else, I, I truly had no knowledge! It must have been those scoundrels beneath me, seeing Mrs.seeing Miss Hayesfallen from grace, misinterpreting your intentions, and acting so brazenly! My supervision was lax, I

Alfred, Terry cut him off, rubbing his temples wearily, Youve been with my family for thirty years.

The butler fell silent, bowing his head even lower.

Youre dismissed, Terry said. Out of respect for the past thirty years, your pension will be provided. Give me the list of everyone who handled the basement, everyone who touched her, now, immediately.

The butler trembled, head snapping up: Sir!

The list.

Terry looked at him, the last trace of warmth vanishing from his eyes, Dont make me say it a third time.

Hours later, night had fallen thick and dark.

Behind the Sterling estate, the heavy iron door of the disused old tool basement was tightly shut.

Inside, muffled, jarring thuds and short, stifled cries of agony could be faintly heard, intermittently, for a long time.

Finally, the iron door was pushed open from within.

Terry emerged.

His white shirt was splattered with blood.

He walked slowly back to the main house, went upstairs, and entered the bathroom.

Turning on the faucet, he put his hands under the stream, scrubbing vigorously.

The bloodstains blurred in the water, fading, flowing down the drain.

He looked up, meeting his reflection in the wall mirror.

The man in the mirror was pale, a bandage on his temple, lips tightly pressed.

He gazed at that unfamiliar self.

For a long time.

Suddenly, he balled his fist and slammed it hard into the mirror.

CRASH!

The deafening sound was piercing in the night.

The entire mirror shattered instantly, countless fragments reflecting countless cold, pale, blood-stained, and frantic versions of his face.

He stood with his hands hanging, the knuckles scraped raw by the sharp shards, blood mixing with water, dripping little by little.

Under Terrys care, my body slowly began to recover.

The wound on his wrist, which hadnt been properly treated, had become red and inflamed in some places.

The doctor repeatedly urged him to go to the hospital.

No, she cant be left alone.

In the end, the doctor had no choice but to clean and dress his wound on the spot.

He always bore his injuries, carefully feeding me.

I ate slowly, and he never rushed me; a single meal would take a long time.

He seemed not to need sleep.

When I woke up in the middle of the night, I would always see him sitting on the sofa nearby, working on his laptop.

He was quiet when he worked, only the soft click of the keyboard.

Sometimes, if I merely shifted, he would immediately look up, only turning back to his screen once he was sure I was asleep again.

Once, likely due to an urgent company matter, he had to take a video call beside my bed.

Watching the faces flicker on the screen, hearing those unfamiliar voices, an unprovoked anxiety surged through me.

Before I even realized it, I had knocked the laptop from his lap onto the floor.

The computer hit the carpet, and the video call abruptly cut off.

Terry froze for a moment, then immediately stood up.

Its okay, its okay,

Dont be afraid, Autumn, its my fault. I shouldnt have made noise here.

He patiently comforted me until my fingers, gripping the blanket, slowly relaxed.

Then he rose, picked up the laptop, glanced at it, and set it aside.

It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, with bright sunshine.

Terry went downstairs to handle some business.

Suddenly, the door was pushed open, and a well-dressed, exquisitely made-up woman walked in, followed by two maids.

She was Terrys mother, Evelyn.

Her gaze fell upon my loose nightgown, my dull, lifeless hair, and finally on my still-dazed face, her brow immediately furrowing, her distaste undisguised.

Terry, look at yourself! What a mess youve become!

Neglecting the company, spending all your time with a

She didnt finish her sentence.

Ah!!!

A shriek ripped uncontrollably from my throat.

I grabbed everything within reachthe bedside lamp, a pillowand threw them at her with all my might!

Get out! Get away! Dont come near me!!

Evelyn staggered back, her face ashen with fury: Insolent! Shes truly insane! Guards! Someone! Hold this madwoman down! Call Crestwood Asylum immediately! Get her out of here!

The two maids hesitated, then moved forward, trying to grab me as I shrieked and thrashed, throwing things everywhere.

Everyone, stop right there!

Terry rushed in, fiercely shielding me behind him.

Anyone dares to touch her, just try me.

Terry! What kind of attitude is that?! Look at her! Look at the state shes in now! Shes a lunatic! A murderer! She killed your sister!

Evelyn trembled with rage.

She didnt!

Terrys veins pulsed on his forehead, We both know the truth! Youre not innocent in what happened back then!

Evelyns face paled, then she grew even more enraged: You youre abandoning your dead sister for this madwoman? You wont even listen to your own mother? She has to go to the asylum! Shes a menace if she stays here!

I said, no.

No one is taking her.

Mom, listen carefully. From now on, anyone who suggests sending her away is my enemy. That includes you.

Evelyn was stunned by the ruthlessness in his eyes, she stumbled back a step, staring at him in disbelief.

You youre going to spend your life with this this murderer who killed your sister? Have you lost your mind too?!

Terry didnt answer.

After a long moment, Evelyn seemed to finally accept the reality, turning and storming out of the room.