I know how this sounds but please, before you judge me, listen to me. I can’t go to the cops, when I tried they laughed me out of the station. Then, they investigated me. They searched my home. They tore it to pieces. I’m sitting on the floor of my living room, surrounded by my belongings that they demolished. I guess I can’t blame them. But even after they found nothing, they wouldn’t listen to me. They threatened to have me institutionalized, especially since my husband and I are the prime suspects.

I love my daughter. My husband does too. We tried for her, wanted her, and were overjoyed when she came into our lives. She was special from day 1. She very rarely cried. She would look right at you and coo as you spoke. She giggled, smiled, and pouted, and just overall had such a big personality for a baby.

As she grew, so did her personality. Now at age six, she is funny and quick-witted. Sharp on her toes. She always has a comeback and often speaks like a much older child. Last week, she lost her first tooth and got a visit from the tooth fairy for the first time. She remarked, “Kinda weird that a fairy collects a bunch of kid teeth.” We laughed and laughed. She’s the kind of kid that’s so effortlessly nice to be around that everyone she meets adores her.

We named her Luella, nicknamed her Lulu. Lulu Leanne. My husband thought it was too many L’s in a name but I loved it so much that he didn’t put up much of a fight. The day she was born was the happiest day of my life, and the day she disappeared was the worst. I tucked her into bed. I read her a few chapters of “Peter Pan”. She fell asleep before they reached Neverland. I made sure her nightlight was plugged in and that she had a cup of water on her nightstand. I kissed her forehead.

I wrapped some Christmas presents and waited for my husband to get home. I warmed up his dinner for him and we watched The Grinch in our PJ’s before bed. He always went into her room to say goodnight when he got home, so as I made my way to our bedroom, he went to hers.

“Diana? Where is Lu?” he hollered at me from down the hall.

“What do you mean? She’s not in bed?” I answered.

“No,” he said, a twinge of panic entering his voice.

I rushed down the hall to see him opening her closet doors, “Lu? Where are you honey?” he said.

I immediately checked the window, it was still latched. I checked under the bed before running out of the room and checking everywhere else in the house. Both the front and back doors were still locked, and she couldn’t have relocked them if she went out of the house. All of the windows were closed, and besides, they were too heavy for her to lift open anyway. My husband and I searched all over the house, yelling her name in panic. After over an hour of searching, we called the police.

They took our statements as we sobbed, trying to explain that there was no way she could’ve gone outside or someone had come in. After 12 hours of her missing, search parties were scouring the neighborhood. They took fingerprints on all of the window seals and door knobs. Nothing out of the ordinary was found.

Then, the questions started coming my way. Even my husband was starting to question my story. I guess if roles were reversed, I would be too. I picked her up from school after my shift at the Deli on December 7th, we came home and had a snack. She did her homework and colored. We watched a show and ate dinner. And then I put her to bed, just like every other night.

But I was the only one with her. No one else saw us do these things. So, I guess the suspicion was understandable. When they interrogated me, I stuck to my story. Because it was fucking true. I love Lulu. I always will. After 12 hours of interrogation, I remembered some odd things that Lulu had been talking about lately.

Her first grade class had been learning about the phases of the moon, and I was helping Lulu with a homework assignment just a week earlier. We had to cut out the different shapes, glue them to a piece of paper like a clock, and label each one for each of the different phases. As we cut out the waxing crescent moon, she asked me, “Mom, how do we know about the different phases of the moon if we can’t see them?”

I was taken aback for a moment before I laughed and replied, “You can see the different types of moons. You and I have gone stargazing and seen when the moon is just a little sliver, and also when it’s a big circle.”

Lulu furrowed her brow and said, “Mm I don’t think so Mom. The moon is always big when I see it.”

“Honey, you might only remember when the moon is big and pretty, but I promise you, you can see the phases throughout the month.”

She shrugged her shoulders and continued cutting and pasting the different shapes on the paper.

Another conversation we had, probably last spring, was about how the moon follows you as you drive. I myself remember being little and riding in the backseat of my parents car, looking out at the sky. The moon did follow you, or so it seemed. I explained to Lulu that the moon follows everybody because it’s so big. It wasn’t easy explaining perspectives and planetary objects to a five year old, so I left it at that.

She was earnest in her response, “No mommy, the moon follows me closer. It takes up the whole sky. It’s always right by me.”

I laughed at this and said, “I know it seems like the moon is really close because we can see it, but it’s actually really far away. It’s kind of like how the sun seems to take up the whole sky when it’s out because it’s so bright, and the moon takes up so much of the sky when it’s dark because it reflects the sun’s light.”

I heard a quiet “hmph” from the backseat and as I glanced in the rearview mirror, I watched her fold her arms and look out the window.

“The sun doesn’t like me.”

Like I said, she was effortlessly funny. “Lu, the sun doesn’t have feelings. It’s just a star,” I began. “The moon doesn’t have feelings either, it’s just a moon.”

She looked longingly out of the backseat window for a moment before replying, “The moon doesn’t like when you say that.”

Maybe I should’ve questioned it more. Maybe I should have continued the conversation from there. But you don’t think about the moon stealing your daughter when she’s just saying weird stuff like kids do. At least, I didn’t. Then, our last conversation, right before I read her Peter Pan…

I was tucking her into bed and grabbing the book off of the shelf when she said, “Tonight is the cold moon mommy.”

I glanced out the window to see a full moon peering down at me, “Is that what December’s full moon is called?”

She nodded enthusiastically.

“Did you learn that in school last week?” I asked, settling into the chair next to her bed.

“Mmhmm. And the moon reminded me today. It said it was very powerful, and it said that I should come with it.”

I giggled at her, “Oh did it?”

But she didn’t smile at me. She just looked me dead in the eyes and said, “I told it I don’t want to go. But I don’t think I can say no to the moon.”

“Don’t worry. The moon isn’t going to get you. You’re safe with me. I’ll make sure dad checks on you when he gets home.”

She seemed anxious still, but after a couple of chapters, I watched her sleepy eyes close. I hoped she would dream of flying to Neverland, just like the characters. As I closed the book and set it next to her glass of water on the night table, I admired the moon in the window. It did look bigger. Closer. Almost like I could reach out of the window with a broomstick and touch it. I thought it was a super moon. I didn’t even care to check Google for an answer as to why it was so big and beautiful. I just went and put my PJ’s on and waited for her dad to get home.

I know…I know it sounds crazy. My husband and the cops think I did it. Hell, you probably do too. And honestly, I thought I was going crazy myself. I was ready to turn myself in, admit that I must’ve had a mental breakdown and don’t remember what I did with my own daughter, but–

But the moon is still full. It’s been 22 days since Luella went missing and every single day that I look, the moon is full. In the night sky, it’s dominating and big. Like it’s gloating. Like it’s smiling at me and saying “I’ve got her here with me, like you said I couldn’t”. When I mentioned this to my husband, he called me crazy. He said it was a half moon. But I see the full moon. And I think it sees me.