Write

The Moon would never the the same again. That's what I told John after I watched him smooth over the earth with the shovel, cover the grave with branches and walk ahead of me back to the car.

We didn't mean to kill him. But night after night hearing him beat and rape his small Asian wife whilst their young daughter cried in another room eventually made us realise that something had to change.

We just wanted to scare him, role reversal. Make him feel like he was worthless. Had no-one to turn to. Somehow the gun went off, that's what I will always tell myself.

It's been a month and we've been hearing laughter through the walls. Lila looks up and smiles at us over the garden fence.

Sometimes at night I don't want to look up at the moon. Too many memories.