I hung off the edge of the cliff, looking up at the man I loved. We were on a beautiful hike up north, a day he had planned. The wind had a gorgeous, slow breeze and the birds were active. I thought he might propose. Instead, when we were looking over the edge at the valley below, he pushed me.

I know he did. I felt it, I saw the look in his eyes, and I would have been dead if I hadn’t turned at the last minute, allowing me to grab the edge of the cliff. Now, I was at his mercy.

“Take my hand!”

I refused. He looked so solemn, so sad, that this went down this way. He would have succeeded. A fall, so easy to cover, but now? Now, fellow hikers crowded at my scream, the noise of the shuffling.

I’d rather die than take his hand again. I let go and his startled gasp was the last thing I heard.