My parents pushed me and my six-year-old son off a cliff: while I was trying to comprehend what was happening, my son quietly whispered, “Don’t cry, Mom, pretend you’re dead until they leave” 

And when we managed to get out of the ravine, I learned the truth that shocked me 

Mom and Dad suggested that we go on a hike.

— Just the three of us, Mom said. — Maybe your sister too, if she can make it.

I agreed. I wanted some normal family time, without arguments or tension.

But at the last moment, the babysitter called and said she couldn’t come. I had to take my son with me. My parents didn’t like that at all.

— It’s too dangerous here for a child, Dad frowned.

— It’s okay, I’ll stay right by his side, I replied.

What was strange was something else: my sister never came. My parents were tense, exchanging glances, speaking very little. We drove almost an hour into the mountains, then turned onto a narrow dirt road I had never seen before.

— Dad, this isn’t a normal trail, I said.

— It’s a secluded place, he answered with forced cheerfulness. — A beautiful view. There are hardly any tourists here.

When we parked, there was only silence around us. No signs, no people, no proper trail. A sense of unease washed over me.

We walked along a barely visible path, and suddenly the trees parted. In front of us was a cliff — a deep valley below, wind, loose stones under our feet. My head spun. I tightly squeezed my son’s hand.

— This is too close, I said. — Let’s move back.

Dad placed his hand on my son’s shoulder.

— Come on, buddy, I’ll show you the lake down there.

— Dad, stop. This is dangerous, I said sharply.

At that moment, Mom stepped in.

— We want to show you something.

I looked into her eyes and felt a chill. There was no warmth, no care. I stepped forward, but Dad had already lifted my son into his arms.

— Grandpa? my son cried out, confused.

— STOP! I screamed.

Mom came up behind me.

— You’ve always been a good daughter, she said quietly. — But sometimes sacrifices have to be made.

She shoved me hard. The gravel slid out from under my feet, and I lost my balance. Dad raised my son higher, as if he was about to throw him. I rushed toward them, but Mom pushed me again.

— MOM! my son screamed.

And we fell.

I pressed my son to me with my entire body. Branches tore at my skin, stones struck my back, my head rang, and the world collapsed into pain and darkness.

When I came to, I was lying on the rocks. My body wouldn’t obey me. My son was crying, trembling, clinging to me. Then he leaned toward my ear and whispered:

— Mom, quiet. Don’t cry. Pretend you’re dead until they leave. I’ll tell you everything later. 

Continuation in the first comment 

I held my breath. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard voices above us. Then footsteps. Then — silence.

When we managed to get out, my son told me the truth. It turned out he had accidentally overheard a conversation between Mom and Dad back at home. They were talking about money.

About the inheritance I received after my husband’s death. About my sister’s debts, the threats against her, and the fact that I would never give them that money.

— They said there was no other way, my son said quietly. — But I didn’t understand then… I only understood now.

At that moment, I realized the horrifying truth: my parents had decided to get rid of me and my child for money. For my sister. For other people’s mistakes.

And it was my six-year-old son who saved our lives.