Fate's Identity

Prologue

I carefully pour the hot water into the cup of hot chocolate powder. A small puff escapes as the rest diffuses with the water. I bring the kettle over to the other cup fill with the same hot chocolate powder. My wrinkled hands shake a little as I set the kettle down. I pull out a drawer and grab two small spoons. I set one in each cup as some particles floats to the top. I grab both handles and carefully make my way to my lovely beautiful wife, Camila, who resides in a sofa in front of the fire place. Her eyes were glue to the fire that gave her warmth.

"Here," I spoke. She turns to me and smile. Not a day old, she still looks the same forty-six years ago when we first met.

"Thank you, Zayn," her gentle voice said.

I take the seat in front of her, letting out a groan of tiredness. My eyes shift to the window. Deciduous trees were already losing their leaves, and it was barely Autumn.

I hear footsteps approaching me. I lift my cup and slowly take a sip, hearing one of my children speak, "Dad, how is uncle feeling?"

I frown and turn to look at Camila, who share my expression. I reach over to the small table beside my chair and set the cup down gently, not wanting any spills. I turn to my son, who takes a seat in front of us, and answer his question, "He is improving." I would choose to lie, rather than to speak the truth. Only the truth can be as frightening as the lies. And the lies are what began this long journey of waiting.

"You are lying," he points out. "Your hands are playing with one another."

I lower my head and see his accusations true. My hands were indeed picking at one another. Oh, how my son knew me too much.

"Don't mind your father, sweetie," Camila says. "He is just a tad bit on the edge of his seat."

"But I want to know the truth," he pouts, giving me the same kiddish look he gave ever since he was four.

"Ben William Malik, are you still a child or what? Act your age," Camila lectures.

Ben shrugs. He was in his late thirties. He embodies my charm and Camila's personality. He is happily married and has a son, Charlie. Charlie is a sweet kid. He's very obedient, unlike me. I guess he must have got that from his mom or grandmothers.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I just want to know more about Uncle Liam."

"Why exactly?" I question.

"The other day, Charlie asked a lot of questions about him," he answers. "He wanted to know why Uncle Liam is always sad."

"Ben, we've been through this a million times before," Camila says. "Uncle Liam has not been feeling well."

"Yes, I know, but there is something more to that," he states, his voice raising. "You both are not telling me. What is the big story that I am not allow to know? Why can't you share them with me or Allison?"

"Ben, your sister has made peace within herself to not know the truth," I speak. "It can be traumatizing."

"Well, I'm ready to hear the story," he says.

I tilt my head, not ready to open up. Stories in the past should stay in the past. I shake my head and reply, "No."

Camila holds onto my hand, and I raise my eyes to meet hers. She creases her eyes a little, gesturing for me to tell the story. I shake my head at her and cover her hand with mine. "No. Camila. It's too old for us to talk."