On the mountain path, my daughter-in-law and my son suddenly pushed my husband and me off a cliff. Lying down there, bleeding, I heard my husband whisper: “Don’t move… pretend to be dead!” When they left, my husband revealed a truth more terrible than the fall.
The mountain path above Aspen was barely wide enough for comfort—a thin strip of stone clinging to the cliff like a promise that could fail at any moment. My husband, Richard Hale, walked ahead of me, steady and deliberate. Behind us came our son, Ethan, and his wife, Laura. The trip was meant to heal … Read more