You Are My Destiny.

Catherine Pov:

"Hello?" I answered, my voice hesitant, as I picked up the phone that had been ringing incessantly for the past few minutes. I checked the caller ID, but it was unknown, which only added to my growing unease.

"Hello, this is St. George Hospital. Is this Mrs. Mike?" a gentle female voice asked, her tone laced with a hint of urgency.

My heart skipped a beat as I replied, "Yes, how can I be of help?" My mind raced with worst-case scenarios, but I tried to push them aside, hoping for a more benign explanation.

But the nurse's next words shattered my hopes. "There was an accident at the roundabout near our emergency center, and a man was found dead on the scene. We found your number on his phone, and we need you to confirm his identity." Her words hung in the air like a challenge, forcing me to confront the unthinkable.

My world began to spin out of control as I struggled to process the news. Mike, my loving husband, my rock, my everything – could he really be gone? I felt like I was drowning in a sea of uncertainty, desperate for a lifeline to cling to.

I was frozen in silence, my mind reeling with shock and disbelief. The nurse's voice broke through the fog, "Hello, are you there?" I managed to stammer, "Alright, I'll be there," though my words felt like a distant echo.

As I arrived at the morgue, the door creaked open, and a tray rolled out, bearing a lifeless body. The nurse gently unwrapped the wrapper, revealing Mike's face. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine as I gazed upon his peaceful expression. His hair was still neatly brushed, his eyes closed as if in a deep slumber.

"Is this your husband?" the nurse asked, her voice soft and gentle.

I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper, "Yes, this is Mike." I couldn't tear my eyes away from his lifeless body, laid out on the cold metal tray. He looked serene, as if he were merely sleeping, not gone forever. The thought pierced my heart like a dagger, leaving me breathless and bereft.

This was the first time I'd seen Mike sleep so soundly, so peacefully. Little did I know, it would be the last time I'd see him at all.

Mike always had a habit of sleeping with one eye open, as if he was always waiting for me to be near. Whenever I stood by his side as he slumbered, he would instinctively reach out and grasp my hand, as if he knew I was there, watching over him. It was a gentle gesture, one that filled my heart with love and warmth.

Just days before, he had shared his excitement with me about the upcoming Olympic seminar, where he would finally unveil his groundbreaking new theory – the culmination of five years of tireless work. He had been bursting with pride and anticipation, his eyes shining with a passion that was infectious. "I'll launch it tomorrow," he had said, his voice full of conviction.

But fate had other plans. Instead of returning to me with tales of triumph and success, Mike was brought back to me in a pool of blood, his lifeless body a stark reminder of the fragility of life. The contrast between his vibrant dreams and his brutal end was a cruel irony, one that left me reeling in shock and grief.

The funeral proceedings unfolded with a sense of urgency, as if time itself was grappling with the untimely loss of a life barely halfway lived. Mike's passing at 40 years old seemed a cruel aberration, a stark reminder of the fragility of life. The church we had once worshiped together now served as the somber backdrop for his final farewell. His mother and sister were there, their faces etched with grief, as we bid our last goodbyes.

As I returned home after the burial, the silence felt oppressive, punctuated only by the echoes of memories we had created together. Our son, a constant reminder of Mike's presence, seemed a bittersweet comfort now. Everything still felt like a dream, a surreal landscape I couldn't awaken from. The harsh reality of Mike's absence felt like a constant, gnawing ache.

I wandered into his reading room, a space that still bore the imprint of his presence. His chair sat, untouched, just as he had left it. His desk, once a canvas for his brilliant calculations, now lay cluttered with the remnants of his unfinished work. The rough sheets, once a testament to his tireless pursuit of knowledge, now seemed a poignant reminder of the projects he would never complete, the dreams he would never fulfill. The room seemed frozen in time, a bittersweet tribute to the life we had shared, and the future we would never have.

Tears streamed down my face as I remembered Mike's tireless efforts to prove the law of uncertainty. He had dedicated himself to his work, pouring over equations and theories late into the night, driven by a passion to build upon the foundations laid by Isaac Newton. His dream was to make a groundbreaking discovery, one that would change the face of science forever.

But now, he was gone, leaving behind only his unfinished work and the memories of his unwavering dedication. I wept for the potential that would never be realized, for the brilliance that had been extinguished far too soon. The pain of his loss felt like a weight crushing my chest, making it hard to breathe.

I cried out for Mike, for the partner and friend who had been taken from me. I longed to see him again, to tell him how much I appreciated his genius and his love. But deep down, I knew it was a futile wish. Mike was gone, and I was left to face the darkness alone. The silence was deafening, and my tears fell like rain, a bitter reminder of my sorrow.

As the days went by, a steady stream of visitors came to offer their condolences and support. My parents-in-law were among them, and they expressed their concern for my well-being, especially since I was now a single mother.

"We're taking Gift with us," my mother-in-law said, her voice laced with a mix of kindness and firmness.

I was taken aback, my mind racing with questions. "Why? How can you even suggest that?" I asked, trying to keep my emotions in check.

My mother-in-law explained that they had discussed it with Mike's father and thought it would be best for me, given my workload and the challenges of raising a child alone.

"It will be too much for you to handle, and we want to help," she said.

But I was adamant. "No, I can't let you take Gift away from me. She's all I have left of Mike, and I need her by my side. We're good together, and I can cope with her help. Please, don't take her away from me," I pleaded, my voice cracking with emotion.

I knew I had to be strong for Gift, and I couldn't bear the thought of losing her too. She was my connection to Mike, and I was determined to keep her close, no matter what challenges lay ahead.

My mother even suggested that I should consider remarrying, citing my relatively young age of 35 and Gift's tender age of 4. But the truth is, I had no desire to marry again. My heart belonged to Mike, and I couldn't imagine sharing my life with anyone else. Instead, I chose to devote myself to raising Gift and fulfilling her father's dreams for her.

I returned to my job as a school teacher and threw myself into my work, finding solace in the routine and structure it provided. I was determined to create a stable and loving home for Gift, and I was proud of the progress we had made together.

But life had other plans. One day, while working in my office, I suddenly collapsed. I was rushed to the hospital and regained consciousness to find myself surrounded by doctors and nurses. The diagnosis was devastating: I had a brain tumor, and my time was running out.

"You have glioblastoma," the doctor said, his voice firm but gentle.I stared at him, unsure what to make of the term. I had noticed some symptoms - constant headaches, difficulty sleeping, and occasional memory lapses - but I had no idea what they meant.

The doctor saw my confusion and took a deep breath. "Glioblastoma multiforme is a type of cancerous brain tumor that forms from the glia cells in the brain. These cells normally protect and support the brain, but in this case, they've turned malignant."

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. Cancer? Brain tumor? The words swirled in my head, refusing to make sense.

"Is it life-threatening?" I asked the doctor, noticing the sad look in his eyes.

"Yes, generally glioblastoma is life-threatening. It's an aggressive form of cancer, and the expected outcome varies from person to person depending on factors like age, overall health, and how far the cancer has spread," he explained.

"Can it be cured?" I asked, searching his face for a glimmer of hope.

The doctor hesitated, and I could read the reluctance in his expression. "Up till now, there's no proven medical solution for it. Considering the level it has spread, I'm afraid your condition has really worsened. You can't be operated on as the brain veins have become too thin from the cancer spread, making it too difficult."

"Then what's the end result? Death?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor removed his spectacles, and his eyes seemed to cloud over. "How much time do I have left to live?" I asked, my voice cracking.

"It's impossible to give a definite answer or predict exactly how long a person may live, but in general, the average surviving time is around three months without treatment," he said gently.

My world crumbled with the doctor's words. I had only three months left to live. I stood up, feeling like I was walking through a nightmare, and turned to leave.

"Take this drug," the doctor said, handing me a prescription. "It will help relieve the pain, and be careful out there. You can't be alone, as you will be experiencing hallucinations and frequent memory loss."

I took the prescription, my mind reeling with the thought of the limited time I had left. Three months. That's all I had. I left the doctor's office, feeling like I was walking towards my final goodbye.

As I walked into my home, I was met with the peaceful sight of my daughter sitting in a chair, fast asleep after completing her assignments. But instead of feeling a sense of comfort, my heart was overwhelmed with fear and anxiety. Who would take care of my precious child after I'm gone? Who would provide for her needs, comfort her when she's sad, and guide her through the ups and downs of life without complaining?

Tears streamed down my face as I gazed at my daughter's innocent face, her gentle breathing a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside me. I was terrified, not about my impending death, but about leaving my child behind. Who would love her with the same ferocity and devotion that I do?

I felt like I was drowning in a sea of uncertainty, unable to find a lifeline to cling to. My mind raced with questions, each one more daunting than the last. Who would be there to celebrate her milestones, to wipe away her tears, and to whisper words of encouragement in her ear? Who would be her rock, her safe haven, her forever home?

As I stood there, frozen in fear and despair, I knew I had to find a way to ensure my daughter's future, to secure her happiness and well-being, even if I wouldn't be there to see it myself. But for now, I could only weep, my heart shattered into a million pieces, my soul consumed by the darkness of my own mortality.

"Where did everything go wrong?" I wailed, my voice echoing through the silent room. "I did everything right! I slept 8 hours a day, drank water regularly, exercised for 2 hours every day, meditated for an hour daily, and ate a balanced diet with plenty of fruits. I never drank alcohol or smoked. Where was my health malfunction?"

I held my child tight, tears streaming down my face as I gazed at my husband's photo on the wall. I felt like I was screaming into a void, with no one to answer, no one to comfort me. I cried louder, my body shaking with anguish, as if the sound of my despair could somehow reverse the cruel fate that had been dealt to me.

My child stirred in my arms, sensing my distress, and I held them closer, trying to shield them from the pain and fear that consumed me. But it was no use. I was alone in this darkness, with no escape from the cruel hand of fate that had taken my health and threatened to take my life.

I wept for the life I once knew, for the future I had envisioned, for the memories I would never make. I wept for my child, who would soon be left without a mother. And I wept for my husband, who was no longer here to hold me, to comfort me, to tell me everything would be okay.

I walked into the principal's office, my heart still heavy with the weight of my diagnosis. But I had made a decision to secure my daughter's future, no matter what lay ahead. I had invested all my savings in a life insurance policy, hoping it would provide for Gift's needs after I'm gone.

" Good morning Mrs Mike,there is a particular student transferred to our school and he will be in your class, but there's something I have to say about the boy. His father is our current vice president, we want you to take extra care of him as he lacked some basics and his identity should never be out to the world." she said.

" No problem ma, I will definitely do so" I walked back to the class to take attendance.

As I began taking attendance, my eyes scanned the room, and that's when I saw him ,the new student. He was sitting in the back corner, looking a bit out of place. While his classmates chatted and laughed, he sat quietly, his eyes fixed on the floor. There was something about him that caught my attention, a certain vulnerability that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

" Tell us your name please" I questioned.

"Okay, Mike Einstein, I mean Wilton," he said, trying to compose himself.

I was taken aback, my mind racing with questions and doubts. How could this student, this stranger, bear the same name and nickname that only my husband used? It was as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on me. I felt a lump form in my throat as I tried to process this revelation.

"Welcome to the class. Please, take your seat."

As he sat down, I couldn't help but steal glances at him, searching for any resemblance to my husband. But there was none. He can't be my husband, he was younger, with a different face and build. Yet, the name and nickname were identical.

The murmurs and whispers from the other students continued, praising his good looks and charming voice. I felt a pang of jealousy, wondering why this stranger was receiving such admiration when my husband, the real Mike Einstein, was no longer with me.

I tried to shake off the feeling, focusing on the lesson at hand. But my mind kept wandering back to the mystery of this new student and the uncanny coincidence of his name.

I had my eyes stuck at him. One thing about the new kid, Wilton, is that he's of the lazy type. He slept throughout the whole lesson, he contributed nothing in school. It's after the time we're done in school, and now I'm on my way back home.

Just as I stepped outside, about to leave, I heard one of the teachers calling out my name. When I looked back, the environment I was in suddenly changed. I found myself in a deep forest. I had this disturbing migraine again; my head hurt like it would explode. This must be part of the symptoms of my disease. I was feeling weak now; I couldn't move from where I was standing.

The forest looked so white, with white leaves instead of green, it looked like snow had fallen on it. The temperature of the forest was so chilly, and I could hear the sound of the breeze blowing loudly.

Then I started hearing the ground shaking like there was about to be an earthquake. I looked behind me and saw a lion running towards my direction, I was too weak to move, I couldn't move from where I stood. Then I heard the lion roaring out, but it sounded like a car honk.

It remained some little distance before I could be hit with the Lion running towards my direction, that was when I saw Wilton (new student) pushing me off where I stood at. When I hit the floor, I turned around and found my environment changed again.

It turned out that I was hallucinating been in the forest, I was actually on the street, and the lion I saw running towards me was not a lion but it was a vehicle that nearly crushed me down on the road.

"The boy is not moving," I heard one of the people present said out..that was when I remembered that a new student helped me out from been attacked by a Lion.

I pulled the people around him aside and saw Wilton collapsed on the floor. I was scared to death as I moved to him. "Hey, new kid, wake up!" I slapped his cheeks, trying to wake him, but he wasn't waking up. I was scared to the bone. I started giving him CPR to resuscitate him back to life.

As I pumped his chest, his shirt wound up, and his stomach was exposed.

That's when I saw it - "20th of March 1984" - my husband's date of birth written boldly on his stomach.

I remembered the day my husband told me about it, when I asked why he had the birthmark, he said it was done by his mother to mark her barrenness freedom, and she drew love on top of it.

I couldn't believe I was seeing the same birth tattoo on Wilton, identical to my husband's own.

Tears started streaming down my face as I continued CPR, hoping he would wake up. "Wilton, please wake up!" I shouted, my voice shaking.

Wilton sneezed and woke back up, sitting on the ground. The whole crowd present was surprised too. "Are you okay?" he asked me, his eyes filled with concern. I was taken aback by his question. Something I noticed was the worried look he was wearing, and we locked eyes for some moment. Then, a bodyguard ran over to us. "Are you okay, boss?" the man said.

I swallowed my saliva as I stood up from the floor. "Are you hurt anywhere?" Wilton asked me again. "Or would you like to visit the hospital?" He said, his tone soft and caring.

"But why are you not using honorifics with me?" I said out loud, noticing how he was talking to me as if we were age mates. "Why are you dropping the formal language?"

Wilton chuckled. "But does that really matter now? If you're sick, you can just take a leave and rest at home. Why wear yourself out?" He said loudly, his voice firm but gentle, as he picked up his bag from the ground and walked away. The bodyguard followed him, leaving me standing there, still trying to process what just happened.

As I watched them disappear into the crowd, I couldn't help but wonder who Wilton really was. A student, a bodyguard, or something more? And why did he seem to care so much about my well-being? The questions swirled in my head, leaving me with a sense of confusion and curiosity.

I checked the time and found out that time had gone; it was just a few minutes left until 6 pm. I remembered checking the time when I left school, which was 4:30 pm. How did I spend two hours and end up back on the street? That was when I remembered I was yet to pick up my child from school.

I rushed to the school, my heart racing with worry. When I arrived, I was greeted by a concerned teacher. "But you came two hours ago to pick up your son," she told me. I was perplexed; I couldn't recollect anything right from when Miss Tolerance called me. Aside from that, I couldn't remember anything else.

I became even more worried as I ran over to my house to check on my child. "Gift! Gift! Where are you?" I screamed with my deepest voice. I was so scared when I couldn't find my daughter, and that was when I checked inside her room and found her sleeping peacefully.

I was relieved to see her safe and sound, but the questions still lingered in my mind. What happened during those two missing hours? Why couldn't I remember anything? And who was Wilton, the mysterious student who seemed to be connected to my husband's past? I held Gift close, trying to push aside the questions and fears that were swirling in my mind, but I knew I couldn't ignore them for long.

"Mom, have you returned? Did you get my ice cream?" my baby speaks from her sleep, her voice groggy and confused.

"Wake up, honey, can you tell me what happened? Where did I say I was going?" I ask her, tapping her gently to wake her up and talk to me.

She rubs her eyes, still half asleep. "When we were at the bus stop, you asked me to wait while you got me an ice cream. I waited for a long time, the sun was so scorching, I waited and got scared. When it was after an hour, that was when I started walking home by myself," my little girl says, her voice trembling.

My eyes become red from getting teary, and I feel a lump form in my throat. How on earth could I forget my daughter and go missing for 2 hours? The guilt and shame are overwhelming.

"Oh, Gift, I'm so sorry, baby. Mommy made a mistake. I don't know what happened, but I promise it will never happen again," I say, hugging her tightly and trying to hold back my tears.

Gift looks up at me, her eyes filled with confusion and fear. "What happened, Mommy? Why did you forget me?"

I take a deep breath, trying to explain. "I don't know, sweetie. Mommy got lost for a little while, but I'm back now, and I'll never leave you again."

My death day is getting nearer. Am I really dying soon? The thought sends a chill down my spine. I decided to return to the doctor's office, hoping to find some answers.

As I sit in the doctor's office, I can feel the fear and anxiety building up inside me.

"I'm not saying I won't die, but can I spend the rest of my day in peace?" I plead, my voice shaking with emotion. "It normally takes about 15 minutes before...I lose track of time in 15 minutes. But now it's 2 hours, and I left my young, innocent daughter alone, wandering around the streets. I'm scared of losing track of time and finding myself in a dreamy yet life-threatening hallucination again. I don't want to endanger my daughter's life. I want to enjoy the rest of my time with her," I say, my eyes welling up with tears.

The doctor looks at me with a sympathetic expression, and I can see the concern in his eyes. "Let's run some tests, and we'll see what we can do to help you," he says gently.

I nod, feeling a sense of desperation wash over me. I need answers, and I need them fast. I can't bear the thought of leaving my daughter behind, not like this. I take a deep breath and try to calm down, but the fear and uncertainty are eating away at me.

"I'm sorry, but there's really nothing I can use to help you. The level of your forgetfulness is affiliated with how fast the cancer is spreading. Very soon, 2 hours will become 4 hours, 4 hours will become 12 hours, and soon you might forget a whole day in your life. The memory of people you love will start disappearing from your head until you can't remember anything again." This was so scary to hear from the doctor; I went home feeling devastated. I was crying as I glanced back at my husband's photo hanging on the wall.

"Honey, how's everything over there? Have you met Albert Einstein, the one scientist you're bent on meeting? The doctor said I'm dying in 3 months." Could you believe I forgot Gift for 2 hours? She cried and slept famished. Do you remember that night we conceived her? You and I couldn't sleep until the following day; we were all chatty and playful with her pinky little nails. I said, crying and looking at his picture.

"But babe, I want to tell you something. I don't know if I'm hallucinating again. I saw a boy with your birthday tattooed on his chest, just like yours. When I asked about his name in class, could you believe he gave me your name, Mike Einstein? Just like you always said, 'I don't really know, maybe you are back in a new human form.'" I soliloquized as I slept beside my daughter, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, my husband was still with me in some way.

Tears streamed down my face as I held onto the memories of my husband and our life together. The thought of forgetting him, forgetting our daughter, and forgetting my own life was too much to bear. I felt like I was losing myself, piece by piece, and I didn't know how much longer I could hold on.

( Wilton point of view: )

I stood in my house, trembling in fear, washing away blood from my hands. "No, I'm not the one, I didn't kill anyone! I'm fine, I should compose myself," I said, trying to calm down as I looked at myself in the mirror.

But as I walked out of the bathroom, I saw Catherine in the sitting room, her face twisted in fury. "Why did you do it?" she shouted, her voice piercing through the air.

"Wait, I can explain," I begged, trying to reason with her.

But before I could say another word, she pulled out a gun and shot me. I felt a searing pain, and everything went black.

But as I opened my eyes, I realized it was all just a dream. I sat up on my bed, relieved, and let out a deep sigh. I stood up and began to undress, ready to take a shower.

As I entered the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and froze. My chest had a deep black wound, and the date of birth tattooed on my chest seemed to be staring back at me, looking deeper and more ominous than before.

I shook my head, trying to clear the haze. On the table, I saw the rough sheet I had been using to work on a problem related to Newton's law of uncertainty principles. My mind was still reeling from the dream, and I couldn't shake off the feeling of unease.

Just then, my phone started ringing. The display showed "Dad" as the caller. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should answer. The phone beeped for a few minutes before stopping. When it did, my background photo displayed Catherine's picture.