After Richard’s death, Damian changed. He became more attentive, more loving, as if trying to fill the void. I thought it was his way of dealing with grief. I was naive. He was building a perfect mask to hide the monster inside.

The years passed. Damian married Melissa, a sweet girl who called me “Mom.” They had two beautiful children, and I felt like life was giving us a second chance. But now, lying at the bottom of this gorge, I understand that all that happiness was a carefully constructed lie.

The first signs that something was wrong began six months ago when we decided to update our will. We had saved nearly $200,000. It was Damian who suggested we see a lawyer. “It’s important to have everything in order,” he told us with a smile that now seems sinister. Melissa would nod, stroking my hand with the same fingers that would later push me to my death. “We love you so much,” she’d add.