I jumped and the rope snapped. Not all at once, but it slackened enough to save my life in the exact moment I decided I wanted to be saved. We’d used similar rope in the barn to lift thousand pound beams to brace the ceiling. I was lucky.
I jumped when my dad snapped. His loaded trigger finger sent a bolt deep into the tree over my head where he forced me to stand with a photo of my mother held around my head with elastic. He usually had terrible aim. I was lucky.
Third time’s the charm.