Judgment of His White Moonlight

When a psychopath broke into our daughters kindergarten, my husband offered up our little girl to exchange for a hostage, leading to her brutal death.

At a later dinner party, his best friend and his wife were doting on each other, their plump, healthy son full of life. Seeing how skeletal and hollowed-out I had become, the wife leaned in and whispered, "Thank God it wasn't my precious boy who died."

I flipped the dining table in a rage. A shard of broken porcelain cut her, but the person who panicked and rushed to her side first was my own husband.

In court, the killer escaped the death penalty. Outside the courthouse, my husband wept on his knees, begging for my forgiveness. Yet the moment he turned his back, he was whispering sweet nothings to his best friend's wife in the corner of the stairwell.

I launched a secret investigation. I discovered she was his college sweetheart, the white moon he could never forget. Even worse, I found records of her secret communication with the killer.

From that day on, I pretended to be completely broken and depressed. But beneath my hollow exterior, every time she looked down on me with smug pity, I was silently counting down the remaining days of her life.

Hearing the sound of the front door opening, I forced a small smile onto my face and walked over to greet him.

I knelt down to help my husband slide into his slippers, then took his briefcase. "William, we haven't had dinner together in so long. I made your favorites." My voice was still raspy from the endless crying.

He stared down at me, a flicker of disbelief passing through his eyes. My submissive behavior was a complete departure from how I had been acting lately. But he quickly masked it with a gentle smile. "That sounds wonderful."

He had to keep playing the role of the grieving, supportive husband, after all.

If this were the old me, if the stench of expensive, unfamiliar perfume wasn't clinging so heavily to his suit, I might have actually believed him.

But now, I knew he was worse than a beast. Even a wild animal protects its offspring, yet he, under the guise of being the school board director, had sacrificed our child for his own interests. He had physically pushed our trembling, five-year-old daughter into the hands of a madman, turning a deaf ear as Lily screamed "Daddy" with everything she had.

The first time I saw the security footage, I fainted from the sheer grief.

His excuse was always the same: "The situation was too critical. I was only trying to buy us time to de-escalate him." He hadn't even waited for the negotiator to arrive.

By the time I reached the school, all that was left of my daughter was a tiny, blood-soaked body.

Only later did I discover the real reason he was so eager to exchange the hostage. The other little boy trapped inside, the one he saved, was his biological son.

A son he had fathered with his best friends wife.

I forced the memories back down. Even though my hatred for him burned like acid, I had to play my part. I scooped some food onto his plate and told him I wanted to go for a walk after dinner.

He quietly pushed the food I served to the side of his plate, barely touching it. He was probably terrified I would poison him. Deep down, his conscience was eating him alive.

Every night, he would wake up drenched in sweat, gasping out Lily's name. I used to think it was grief. Now I knew it was sheer, unadulterated terror.

The evening breeze outside was cool and refreshing. I hadn't felt the open air in months. Nearby, several children were running around, laughing and playing.

Lily used to be one of them. A sharp pang of sorrow pierced my chest.

One of the neighbor's children spotted me and ran over, her eyes bright. "Auntie Lisa, why didn't Lily come down to play today?"

Her mother rushed over, instantly covering the girl's mouth. "I'm so sorry, Lisa. She's young, she doesn't know any better."

No matter how broken my heart was, I would never take my anger out on a child. I whispered that it was alright.

But my husband's face had already hardened into a mask of irritation. "Let's go back."

Does the mere mention of our daughter disgust you that much, William?

As we turned back toward our building, a little girl with straight bangs and two neat braids ran past us, giggling as she shouted, "Daddy! Daddy!"

Her hair was styled exactly like Lily's. I remembered Lily had a red dress just like the one she was wearing.

William gasped, taking several hurried steps backward in sheer panic. He tripped over the edge of the flower bed, tumbling backward into the dirt. His face was pale, beads of cold sweat breaking out across his forehead.

I felt a cold wave of amusement wash over me. Suppressing my disgust, I reached down to help him up.

"I'm fine," he choked out, completely losing his composure.

That night, I initiated intimacy, suggesting we try for another baby. Perhaps rattled by his panic in the courtyard, or perhaps fueled by my sudden warmth, he was exceptionally passionate.

It was repulsive. Afterward, I stood under the shower, scrubbing my skin until it was red and raw, trying to wash away his touch.

I stood over the toilet, retching violently until my stomach was empty. Then, with trembling fingers, I swallowed a morning-after pill.

I looked at my bloodshot eyes in the mirror.

William, Scarlett, the game has just begun. I will make you both pay for Lily's life in blood.

"Lisa, honey!"

I was in the grocery store aisle when a dripping, sweet voice called out from behind me, drawing the gazes of several nearby men.

I didn't even need to turn around to know who it was. It was the woman who had orchestrated my daughter's death, my husband's college sweetheart and his best friend's wife: Scarlett.

I quickly reached up, messing up my hair to make myself look even more disheveled and hollowed-out, before turning around.

Scarlett was holding her son Toby's hand, her high heels clicking loudly against the linoleum as she glided toward me. She had striking, cat-like eyes, the kind of bold, classical beauty that commanded attention. She wasn't just a quiet muse, she was a thorny red rose.

"It really is you," she purred, looking me up and down. "I'm surprised you're actually out of the house."

She raised a manicured hand to cover her nose, her disdain entirely undisguised. I didn't say a word, simply turning my shopping cart to leave.

Miffed by my silence and unable to tolerate being ignored, her expression hardened. "Lisa! You know as well as I do that what happened had nothing to do with Richard or me. There's no reason to treat me like an enemy. You flipped the table at the dinner party last time, and I still haven't even..."

"Then whose fault was it?" I interrupted, my voice flat.

"The killer, obviously!" she scoffed. "But he took his own life in prison, so who else is there to blame? Do you really have to keep making things so awkward for William and his best friend?"

So, according to her, it was my fault.

My fault for seeing the secret messages she sent to the killer, instructing him on how to play insane so he could dodge the death penalty.

She smiled, clearly believing she had won this little exchange. "Lisa, instead of throwing tantrums, you should keep a closer eye on William. Keep acting like this, and you might find yourself with no husband at all."

I sneered internally, but on the outside, my eyes welled with tears. I let them spill over, looking at her with a look of frantic desperation. "What do you mean?"

She leaned in close, whispering in my ear. "I saw William with another woman the other day. She was acting very familiar, even wiping his mouth for him."

"No... that can't be," I whimpered, letting my voice rise to a hysterical pitch. "You're lying!"

She looked at me with pure amusement, utterly satisfied by my unraveling. Ignoring my questions, she turned on her heel, pulling Toby along as she walked away with her head held high.

I rushed after her, grabbing her sleeve. She violently shook me off.

"Scarlett, please!" I begged, clutching at her coat. "Tell me what to do. Richard loves you so much. Please, teach me how to keep my husband."

I had to hold back the urge to vomit. I couldn't believe such pathetic words were coming out of my mouth.

"Well," she said, a cruel, mocking smile playing on her lips, "you have to play on a man's pity, honey. Cry and make a scene whenever he's around. If you act fragile and broken, he'll feel too guilty to leave you."

She was deliberately advising me to do the exact things that would push William further away, all while pretending to be on my side.

"Really?" I whispered, staring at her wide-eyed.

"Of course," she smirked, patting my cheek.

The moment she turned the corner, I pulled out a tissue and wiped the tears from my face. It was exhausting having to cry on cue.

I hoped she would savor her little victory. It would be the last one she ever had.

"William, Lilys life insurance payout finally cleared."

I quietly pushed open the door to William's study, placing a warm cup of milk on his desk.

A brief flash of excitement crossed his face before he quickly forced his features into a somber frown. "What good is money? No amount of cash can bring our sweet girl back."

"Don't say that, honey," I said, my voice dripping with devotion. "I know how stressed you've been with the business. This money can help you. Think of it as Lily's way of looking out for her father."

"Lisa, you are too good to me," he said, taking my hand and looking into my eyes with what looked like profound affection.

"As long as you don't leave me, I'll do whatever it takes," I whispered, kneeling beside his chair and pressing his hand against my cheek, playing the submissive, broken wife perfectly.

Back in Lily's room, I shut the door, slipped on my headphones, and turned on the receiver. The wiretap I had hidden in his study was working beautifully.

His phone call went through almost immediately.

"The payout is substantial," William's voice came through the static.

"See? Even in death, your daughter is finally useful," Scarlett's cold, mocking laugh echoed in my ears. A red-hot wave of fury surged through me, and I squeezed my fists until my nails drew blood. I wanted to tear her limb from limb.

"She wasn't my daughter," William replied smoothly. "My only child is our boy, Toby."

"Then you better make sure every cent of that money is spent on Toby and me. Richard's debts are piling up, and I can't live like this much longer."

A woman like Scarlett knew exactly how to wield her charm like a weapon.

"Be patient, darling," William cooed. "Once the money is secured in the new investment account, I'll file for divorce. We'll take Toby and move abroad." He paused, chuckling softly. "Lisa was just in here, crying on her knees. She said she'd do anything as long as I don't leave her."

"Pathetic woman," Scarlett sneered.

I pulled off the headphones, took a deep breath to steady my racing heart, and dialed a number.

"Uncle Thomas," I said when the call connected. Thomas was a private investigator and a close friend of my father. He had been helping me gather evidence ever since he found the recordings of Scarlett colluding with the killer.

"Lisa, how is your father doing?" Thomas asked gently.

"His hair has gone completely white over the past year," I whispered, my throat tightening. "I haven't had the courage to face him."

"Don't carry this burden alone, child," Thomas said softly. "Your father loves you. Let's finish this, and then you can go home."

A few days later, William casual brought up a topic at the dinner table. "Richard mentioned a new high-yield investment project. The returns are incredible. I was thinking we could use Lily's insurance money..."

"Is it safe, William?" I asked, putting on a show of deep anxiety. "I'm just so worried about losing everything."

He slammed his chopsticks onto the table, making me flinch. "Are you questioning my judgment?"

"No! No, honey, I'm sorry," I stammered quickly, shrinking back. "I just meant... maybe we should ask my father for advice first? He has so much experience with these things."

My father had been William's mentor, teaching him everything he knew about investment. But after Lily died, William's ego got the better of him. He thought he was a financial genius, rejecting my father's advice and losing a fortune in his own bad deals.

He sneered, pulling out his phone and dialing my father's number. "Father, it's William. I wanted to ask your opinion on a project..."

Before he could finish, my father hung up on him.

William's face turned purple, his embarrassment morphing into rage when he realized I was watching him. "Look at your father's attitude! Get back to your room!"

He immediately retreated to his study to call Scarlett.

Through the wiretap, I listened as Scarlett urged him to use me to get to my father. Over the past year, without my father's backing, William's business had dried up completely.

"I don't know, Scarlett," William murmured. "Lisa has been acting strange lately."

My heart skipped a beat. Had he figured it out?

"She's much more submissive than before," William continued. "Now that our daughter is gone, she realizes I'm the only thing she has left."

I let out a silent breath. His arrogance was truly his own worst enemy.

"Why? Are you starting to fall for her?" Scarlett's voice was sharp with jealousy. She couldn't tolerate him showing even a fraction of affection to anyone else.

"You know you're the only woman I've ever loved," William reassured her.

"What about your daughter? You seemed to care about her..."

"That's in the past, Scarlett. Don't bring her up again." His voice was instantly clipped and annoyed.

I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. The killer had once asked Scarlett why she wanted a child dead. Her response had been simple: "Because she was stealing my son's father."

She had helped murder my daughter out of petty, psychotic jealousy.

The weight of the truth hit me so hard my knees buckled, and I sank to the floor of Lily's room. I clutched her framed photograph to my chest, my body shaking with a silent, agonizing sob. I bit my lip until the taste of copper filled my mouth, forcing myself to make no sound.

The next day, William paced around the living room, looking hesitant.

I approached him with a warm smile. "William, I called my father. He said you can send over the project proposal. He'll look it over for you."

"Really?" His face lit up with greedy excitement. He rushed into his study, and a moment later, I heard him on the phone. "Father! Yes, thank you so much!"

When he came out, he wrapped his arms around me. "Your father said the project is solid. He's even planning to invest two million of his own money!"

"That's wonderful, honey," I murmured, resting my head against his shoulder. My eyes were as cold as ice.

William, Scarlett, enjoy the trap. It was designed specifically for you.

A month later, my father called William to report that the initial returns were incredibly high. William immediately transferred all his remaining capital, including Lily's insurance money, into the account. He even convinced Scarlett's family to pool their savings and join in.

William was ecstatic, constantly planning his future life abroad with Scarlett over the phone.

Two months in, the returns peaked, and William was practically walking on air.

By the third month, the project manager vanished into thin air. The website went dark, and the office was found abandoned.

I watched William frantically dial the dead number over and over, his face pale with dread.

I picked up my phone and sent a quiet message to Thomas: "The fish is caught. Pull the net."