When my shaking ten-year-old begged me to hurry home, I had no idea a nightmare was waiting. I raced inside to find my husband and child cold and motionless on the living room rug. Paramedics rushed in, but the lead officer grabbed my arm, shaking his head. “Ma’am, this wasn’t an accident…”

blinding afternoon sunlight. I paused on the porch for a fraction of a second.

I reached up and gently touched the new piece of jewelry resting against my collarbone. It was a delicate, sterling silver crescent moon.

The architect of our misery had utilized the moon as a poisonous lie to lure his own flesh and blood into the abyss. He had attempted to continue reading …