Our family secrets were hidden in the trunk in the basement of our house. When I opened the trunk, I learned things that completely changed my outlook on life.
My uncle, George, passed away four years ago in a car accident, or at least that’s what my family had told me. He was a well-respected man in our neighborhood and had a seemingly perfect life. He had a loving girlfriend, a cute dog, and a massive house. I remember visiting him with my mother and aunts once a week and even though my aunts and mother don’t get along now, those were some of the best times of my life.
When I opened the trunk, I found a bunch of pictures of our neighbors and family members; some of them had a red cross on their faces and some had several question marks drawn in the background. When I dug further, I found more and more clues about George’s death. 
Just then, I heard a huge bang at the door and looked behind to see my mother standing at the door with a worried look on her face.
“I guess you have found it after all…” she murmured. I nodded softly with a guilty smile on my face.
My mother walked slowly and sat next to me. I handed her the photos I had in my hand. “It was all a silly mistake.” She said while looking at the photos. “You know what? I don’t want to lie to you. Just—not anymore.”
“What is it?” I asked, my eyes wide open.
She held my hand and started to speak. “We didn’t exactly get along with George but all of us loved him.” She grunted. “His only mistake was to be stupid enough to trust us.”
I had a bad feeling about where the story was going.
“We were drunk. George… He didn’t want to drink because he was going to drive.” My mother swallowed and continued to speak: “I got into a fight with my sisters, they weren’t approving of my relationship with your father; we had a lot going on in those days.” She let go of my hand and started to stare at the ceiling. “Things got out of hand and I accidentally hit George. He got out of the road and… Well, you know the rest.” She scoffed. “Funny, isn’t it? Only the innocent died.”
“What did you tell the police though?” I asked.
Her lips formed into a straight line, “We covered it up, we covered up our brother’s murder.” She whispered.
“But what are all the photos about?” I pointed at the trunk with my chin.
“It was all a part of the game; we thought that a basic accident wouldn’t be convincing enough to the police. So, we pretended that we were shot, and that was the reason George got nervous and he drove out of the road.” She looked back at the pictures. “We pretended to try to find the shooter.”
We stood silent the rest of the night.