ON THE MOUNTAIN TRAIL, OUR SON AND HIS WIFE PUSHED US INTO THE RAVINE — I LAY BROKEN AS MY HUSBAND WHISPERED, “STAY STILL… PRETEND YOU’RE DEAD.” THEN HE TOLD ME WHY IT HAD HAPPENED — AND IT WAS WORSE THAN THE FALL.

The tires crunched over loose gravel as our SUV climbed the narrow road leading up the Blue Ridge Mountains. My husband, Robert, sat behind the wheel, humming softly, while I, Margaret, tried to keep my nerves steady. In the backseat, our son Daniel and his wife Emily exchanged quiet glances. Something about their silence unsettled me, but I brushed it off as mountain tension — Emily had always hated winding roads.

We were supposed to spend the weekend at a rented cabin. Robert had insisted it would be a good chance to “reconnect as a family.” But the air in the car was stiff, almost suffocating, as if something unspoken hung between us.

Halfway up, the view opened to a breathtaking cliffside. Robert slowed to point it out. “Look, Maggie. Isn’t it beautiful?”
I leaned closer to the window, smiling despite myself — until the world tilted.