But what was worst was not the impact of the thirty-meter fall, it was the secret that our daughter had kept for two decades and that had just been revealed. I would never have imagined, at 58 years old, that I would pretend to be dead to escape my own children.

For thirty-five years, I had built what I believed to be a perfect family. Our mornings began with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the singing of birds in the hills around Lyon. I taught literature in high school while Jean created handcrafted furniture in his workshop. We had two children: Julien, our eldest, charismatic and protective, and Claire, five years younger, always reserved and observant.

On Sundays, we all gathered around the table that Jean had carved with his own hands. Julien spoke enthusiastically about his plans to become an architect while Claire played with her plate, avoiding our gaze. In the evenings, Jean and I would walk along the banks of the Saône, planning our retirement and dreaming of the trips we would take when our children went their own way. I thought I was happy.

Everything changed one night in September, exactly twenty years ago. Julien did not return home after going out with friends. We waited until the early hours of the morning, frantically calling everyone we knew. Claire stayed in her room, pretending to review her exams, but there was something strange about her behavior that I didn’t understand at the time.

Jean went with the neighbors to look for him. At dawn, they found his body at the bottom of a ravine near the Rhone River. The police concluded that it was an accident, probably a fall in the dark. I have never questioned this version. How could I have imagined the truth?

The years passed. Clare changed drastically after Julien’s death. She became caring, helped with household chores, and spent more time with us. I thought it was his way of dealing with grief. What a cruel mistake.

The years went on. Claire married Marc, a quiet man from a nearby village in Provence. They had two beautiful children. Finally, I felt that life offered us a second chance. Marc called me “mom” and Claire followed in her father’s footsteps, opening her own carpentry workshop. Our family seemed to have finally been rebuilt.

Everything seemed perfect again, but now, lying at the bottom of that ravine, with broken ribs and the metallic taste of blood in my mouth, I understand that all this happiness was just a carefully orchestrated lie.

The first anomalies appeared a few months earlier, when Jean and I decided to update our will. Between our house on the banks of the Loire, the land I had inherited from my parents and our savings, we had about 1.8 million euros to bequeath. It was Claire who suggested consulting a notary.

“Mamma, Dad, you are over fifty-five years old. Everything must be organized.

She said it with that smile that now seems sinister to me. Marc pressed my hand, icy fingers that would later betray us.

Jean squeezed my hand, his breath panting.

“Anne… Don’t move. Listen. They go down.

The voices of Claire and Marc approached by the narrow path. I closed my eyes, letting the warm blood run down my cheek. My whole body was shaking, but I had to follow Jean’s improvised plan.

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” Marc said, panting. They weigh more than I imagined.

“Be silent,” replied Claire, with a coldness that chilled my bones. Make sure there are no signs of life.

I felt their footsteps on the gravel. One… Two… The sound of stones under their boots.

And then John did something that I’ll never forget.

“Claire! he cried, rising abruptly. Why, my daughter?!

My heart stopped.

She took a step back, surprised but not scared. No. She seemed… Tired. Exhausted from pretending.

“Because it should have been you, Dad,” she whispered in a soft voice that I had mistaken for shyness all these years. Not Julien.

My eyes opened. Jean looked at me with a guilt deeper than my broken bones.

“Anne… he began. Twenty years ago… Julien has discovered something… something I had hidden from him.

Claire burst out laughing bitterly.

“Tell me, papa.” It’s time.

Jean swallowed his saliva, trembling.

“Julien… saw me with another woman. An adventure… a mistake. We had an argument near the ravine… and… He fell.

I felt the world split in two.

“He didn’t just ‘fall,’” Claire interrupted. I was there. I saw it all. Julien was yelling at you… and you pushed him.

“No! John sobbed. He slipped! I have told you a thousand times!

But Claire was no longer listening. She was slowly sinking into the abyss she had carried within her for two decades.

“I saw my brother die… And I saw how you hid it all, Mom.

I looked at her in horror.

“Claire… My daughter…

“Don’t say ‘my daughter,’” she spat. For twenty years, I lived in the illusion of this “perfect family”.
Do you know what it’s like to grow up knowing that one of you killed the other?
Do you know what it’s like to keep silent so as not to destroy mom?

The weight of truth struck me like another blow from the ravine.

Marc whispered behind her:

“Claire, that’s enough. Let’s go. The fall should have killed them. There is no need to go any further.

But she shook her head.

“You must hear something else.”

She approached me. Its shadow covered me like a total eclipse.

“Two months ago I found Julien’s old notebook. The one that was in the safe.
He had written what he had seen… what you did, Dad.
And also… she murmured, breaking her voice for a moment. that he suspected that I was not his sister.

My blood froze.

“What…?”

Claire looked up, fighting back the tears that were finally coming in after twenty years.

“Mamma… I am not your daughter.
You couldn’t have any more children after Julien.
Dad knew it.
Dad… bought me.

The silence became so deep that even the wind seemed to be afraid to touch our wounds.

Jean burst into tears.

“Anne… I… I did it so that you would be happy. To give you the family you wanted…

Claire looked away as if seeing him cry hurt her.

“When I discovered everything…” I hated you.
And I hated you too, Mom. Because you were living in a lie and you never saw anything.

The stones began to slide again.
Claire took a step back. Another one. As if she wanted to disappear into the darkness that had shaped her.

Marc tried to stop her, but she had already made up her mind.

“I’m not going to kill you,” she barely whispered. I’ve already done it once, without touching anyone.
Guilt will kill you more slowly.

And then, the final twist that I never imagined happened.

A gunshot. Sec. Mortal.

Claire fell, her eyes wide open in surprise.

Marc was holding the weapon. His hand trembled.

“I… I’m sorry,” he stammered. I couldn’t let our lives be destroyed. I too knew the truth.
Julien wrote it.
You were going to destroy everything…

Suddenly, everything fell silent.
Only the echo of the gunshot echoed between the walls of the ravine.

I lost consciousness.

I woke up in the hospital.

Jean was alive. Me too.

Clear… No.

The police spoke of a “crime of passion,” of a “family dispute,” anything but the truth.

Marc disappeared before he could be arrested.

Jean and I decided to sell the house, the workshop, everything.
Not out of fear. Out of shame.

Our perfect family never existed.
We were just emotional corpses walking for decades.

Sometimes I can still hear Claire’s voice.

“You’ve never seen anything.”

She was right.

This is my punishment.