The only one who knows the real truth is me. That’s what the police, the press, even our friends and family all think. But they are wrong.

I said what I needed to say to protect myself, spun a story of that day and stuck to it ever since. But that’s all it is – just a story, just a dream.

Because even I don’t know.

On any different day, it could be any of the three: jump, fall, push. I picture each just as clearly. Every memory is both as real and as dream-like as each of the others.

They say the truth will set you free. Confess, admit, accept and that cage of guilt and those bars of mistrust will be gone. But I will remain ever imprisoned, because whatever the truth is, I can never let myself know.