Chapter One: The Child Named Moon
Margaret Carter was once a sweet, loving wife and a strong pillar of the Carter family. She had been a devoted mother—one who never picked sides among her children, who never missed school activities, meetings, talent days, picnics, or camping trips. Her presence had always been constant, her love unquestionable.
But everything changed with the arrival of Moon Carter.
During the months Margaret carried her fourth child, tragedy struck the family. Her husband, Richard Carter, had a serious fallout with his business partner, James Mark. What began as a disagreement escalated into a damaging fight that cost Richard his reputation and his company. Investors withdrew their support, contracts were canceled, and the Carter firm collapsed into bankruptcy. The family lost almost everything they had built.
To Margaret, it felt like the end of the world.
Grief turned into bitterness, and bitterness searched for someone to blame. In her pain, Margaret fixed her heart on the unborn child in her womb, believing Moon was the cause of their downfall. The resentment grew so strong that she nearly ended the pregnancy. Only the desperate pleas of close friends stopped her, reminding her that she would be risking her own life over a belief born from sorrow and fear.
Months later, on what seemed like an ordinary holiday morning, Margaret went into labor. Richard had already left for work, his breakfast prepared by the family's maid, Catherine Morris. Though Margaret was heavily pregnant, life in the Carter household continued as usual.
Not long after Richard left, the contractions began. Margaret packed a small bag—some of her clothes, some baby clothes—said goodbye to her sons, and left for the hospital. The labor lasted fourteen long hours, each one filled with pain and exhaustion. At exactly nine o'clock that night, she gave birth.
"Mrs. Carter," the nurse said softly, smiling, "it's a baby girl."
Margaret turned her face away. She refused to touch the child. She refused even to look at her.
Moon was rejected by her own mother from the moment she was born.
She was a beautiful baby, with thick, full hair and delicate features that caught the attention of the nurses. Many of them grew fond of her immediately. They named her Moon because she was born at night, beneath a dark sky.
Margaret Carter often told that story—how the power went out, how the hospital was swallowed by darkness, how the nurses joked that the baby arrived with the moon watching over her. People smiled when they heard it. They said it sounded poetic.
What no one ever said was that the moon only shines when the sun is gone.
Moon Carter learned that truth long before she had the words to understand it.
She grew up knowing she was unwanted. No one in the Carter family showed her love or care—except her grandfather. He called often, visited whenever he could, and never failed to check on her. He had always wanted a granddaughter, and in Moon, he poured out all the affection she was denied. He promised never to miss a day in her life, and he kept that promise as best as he could.
Margaret never played the role of a mother to her daughter. Instead, Moon was raised by Catherine, the maid in her own home. Catherine taught her how to walk, how to speak, and how to be gentle. Moon's first steps, first words, and most important milestones passed unnoticed by her family. In time, Moon accepted the painful truth—she was alone, and she would have to learn how to survive on her own.
Their house on the outskirts of Melbourne was always full—full of noise, footsteps, and endless needs.
Joseph needed help with school. Emmanuel needed encouragement. Richard needed discipline. Genesis needed protection.
Moon needed nothing.
Or at least, that was how it seemed. That was how things were in the Carter family.
Moon learned to wake before everyone else to sweep the kitchen and help prepare breakfast with Catherine. She learned to eat last, speak last, and expect the least. Whenever Margaret's temper flared or Richard Sr.'s patience wore thin, Moon became the easiest target—the quiet child who was always nearby, always silent, always blamed.
"Moon, can't you do anything right?"
The words followed her like a shadow.
At school, teachers praised her intelligence. At home, it went unnoticed. Report cards disappeared into drawers. Awards gathered dust. Her achievements had no witnesses.
Yet none of this dimmed Moon's spirit. She remained bright, intelligent, humble, and kind. Catherine—the woman Moon looked up to as a mother—taught her to choose kindness no matter the situation she found herself in.
Rachel Thompson, Moon's best friend, often came to pick her up for school, while Moon's brothers were driven away by their mother in a luxury car. Moon was always left behind, but she never complained.
One afternoon during class, Moon asked permission to use the restroom. As she stood up, she didn't realize her skirt was stained with blood. She didn't understand what was happening—no one had ever taught her about menstruation.
Whispers spread across the classroom.
Jenna Cruz, a friend of Richard Jr., murmured cruel words with her friends, calling Moon weird and creepy. Laughter followed. Boys and girls alike joined in. When Moon finally glanced down and saw the stain, shame and fear crashed over her. She burst into tears and ran out of the classroom.
Rachel and Jacob—Moon's closest friends—followed her immediately to the restroom. Moon locked herself inside, crying uncontrollably. They knocked gently, begging her to open the door, speaking softly until she finally did. Rachel hugged her tightly. Jacob removed his jacket and tied it around Moon's waist to cover the stain. They stayed with her until she calmed down, then returned to class together, refusing to leave her side.
School ended at four o'clock that day. Moon's brothers had seen her being bullied—and instead of defending her, they joined in with their friends, laughing at their own sister, the only girl in the family.
That evening, Rachel and Jacob walked Moon home. Fortunately, her grandfather was visiting.
"Moon, my little angel," he called warmly. "How was school today? Why do you look so sad?"
Moon dared not speak in the presence of her parents, but thankfully Rachel explained everything. Her grandfather's anger shook the house. He scolded his grandsons for failing to protect their sister, for choosing cruelty over family.
Margaret dismissed his anger, telling him to calm down. She insisted her sons had done nothing wrong and accused Moon of being dramatic.
Moon broke down in tears, collapsing into her grandfather's arms. He held her tightly, then led her to her room. Outside, he called for Catherine, who came immediately. Catherine found Moon curled in a corner, crying silently. She comforted her, helped her wash up, and gently explained everything that had happened. She congratulated Moon softly, telling her she was becoming a woman, and showed her how to use tampons. Her calm words soothed Moon's heart.
Later, Moon came downstairs to see her grandfather off.
That night, Moon lay awake staring at the ceiling, listening to her siblings breathe in the next room. She wondered what it felt like to be missed.
That was when she began to make promises—to the darkness, to herself, to the silent moon outside her window.
One day, I will leave this house.
One day, they will say my name—and mean it.
The next day dawned cool and beautiful over the city of Melbourne. Families everywhere looked forward to Founder's Day at Melbourne Grammar School. There would be performances, exhibitions, and celebrations, with parents proudly present to support their children.
Jacob burst into Rachel's room, excitement lighting his face. They spoke happily about their parents attending the event—about being seen, supported, and celebrated.
Then silence fell.
They both thought of Moon.
They knew her parents would only show up for her brothers. Once again, Moon would be left alone. Without a word, Rachel and Jacob made a silent promise to each other—they would not let Moon face that day by herself.
Back at the Carter mansion, Moon's brothers were already plotting. They laughed as they planned how to ruin her favorite clothes, afraid that Moon's intelligence and brilliance might draw attention from their parents. Joseph Jr. said nothing. He neither suggested nor stopped them. He simply watched—and laughed—as the scissors cut through Moon's dress.
When Moon walked in and saw her favorite outfit destroyed, her heart shattered. She cried as her brothers laughed loudly, clearly pleased with her pain. Genesis leaned close and whispered cruel words, telling her she should be grateful it was only her clothes that were ruined—and not her face. Richard sneered, telling her she wasn't worthy of the Carter name, that she wasn't their sister, and that they hated her.
Moon stood there, broken, as their laughter echoed through the house.