Chapter 1 - Unwanted Beginnings

I woke up to golden rays of sunlight shining on my face. Birds were chirping merrily outside my window, so it must have been past dawn at the earliest.

'That's weird,' I thought, thoroughly confused. 'My alarm usually wakes me up before sunrise. Is it the weekend? I didn't think so but maybe I'm just too out of it.'

"Hey babe? Did you turn the alarm off?" I groggily mumbled. My words were barely understandable to my own ears. A large yawn escaped my mouth while I patted the bed beside me. I was surprised when my hand touched a dusty mattress and not my sleeping wife. That's when I realized that I was not sleeping on sheets and did not have any blankets on me.

I sat up with a start at that sudden realization. All traces of exhaustion left me in an instant, as if I had been given a shot of epinephrine. I took in my surroundings and couldn't help but wonder where the fuck I was and how in the hell I got there. I was definitely in an abandoned house by the looks of it. The place looked like it had been hit by a tornado and then been left to wither away and rot. There were papers carelessly strewn everywhere and chunks of ceiling hanging precariously, with some crumbling on the floor; even the wallpaper was coming off of its original placement. There was a thick layer of dust on every surface and floating in the air like little clouds. The damaged walls and ceiling were coated in spiderwebs and, presumably, the spiders that inhabited them. It was obvious that no one had stepped foot in this house for a very, very long time, until now that is.

I took another quick look around before gently getting off the bed, trying not to disturb the dust and release more into the air; it was already hard enough to breathe without me making it worse. My feet cautiously maneuvered around the wreckage on the floor and lead me to the door, even though my brain was starting to panic. Once I was outside of the room, I ran down the stairs as quickly as I could, practically jumping down them in my haste. I bolted to the front door and sprinted outside. I didn't know what I was expecting to find, but it most certainly wasn't this.

Trees. Goddamn trees. There was nothing but trees and trees and, guess what, even more trees. I slowly looked back at the house, only to realize that it was a cabin rather than a house, which explains why there were so many bloody trees. I couldn't see a single house or road or any sign of human life anywhere.

"Is someone there?" I yelled into the quiet forest, the only answer being the echo of my voice. "Is this some kind of prank? 'Cause if it is, I'm gonna kill you." There was still nothing but silence. Even the birds weren't chirping at this point, as if they too were holding their breath in anticipation. "Was this you Paul? Come out now and take me back home and I might go easy on you. Maybe." The last word I whispered under my breath, hoping that whoever did this would jump out from behind a tree and yell 'Surprise!'

I waited a few minutes but nothing came; there were no people and no surprises, just me alone in the middle of nowhere with nothing. Whoever did this left me with no belongings, no identification, no money, not even my fucking phone. The only good thing about this entire situation was that they were kind enough to leave me in my pajamas: a pair of underwear, booty shorts, tank top, and no bra, unfortunately. Not the outfit I would have chosen if I had a choice, but much better than being naked.

I was absolutely livid, to say the least. I was half tempted to go beat up one of the surrounding trees to relieve my anger and frustration, but decided against it since I would only end up hurting myself. Instead, I hurled every insult and curse word I could think of at the sky, sometimes including the names of the suspected culprits. After my much needed outburst, I began my trek into the surrounding woods, as that was really my only option at this point. I merely hoped that it was closer to civilization and not deeper into the forest surrounding me. That's all I'd need: to get lost in some unknown forest with no food or water and no cell phone.

I continued my hike for what I believed was an hour, but I was always rubbish with keeping track of time; almost as bad as my instincts for direction. By some miracle, I spotted a town up ahead. It was small, obviously unknown by most; hell, it might not even be on a map. As I began walking through, I noticed a lot of people staring at me, most with curiosity. Who could blame them though? I'd probably stare too if I saw a disheveled twenty five year old in pajamas and with bare feet who was obviously lost. Some, however, catcalled at me, and if I wasn't in such a predicament I would have punched them in the face, at the very least.

While most people got out of my way as quickly as possible, as if I was infected with the plague or something, one man walked straight towards me. He looked to be about in his seventies, with graying hair, wrinkles, a cane, and a pair of old school khakis. I was weary for a second, but he had a nice, friendly smile and my instincts weren't raising any alarms. That's the thing about me: my instincts were absolute crap when it came to directions, but were always excellent with people or situations; it really helped me a lot in the hospital.

The man stopped right in front of me, causing me to stop as well. I was just about to step around him when he spoke up. "Do you need any help miss?" he questioned with a concerned look, almost like a parent.

'Maybe he is.' I was just about to tell him no, that I was fine, when a thought struck me.

"Do you have a phone, sir? And if so, may I please borrow it to call my family?" I asked pleadingly, practically begging even.

'God, I sound fucking pathetic.'

"Why yes I do," he explained comfortingly as he pulled a flip phone of all things out of his pocket and handed it over to me.

He began to ramble on about how his son made him get a phone because he liked to wander off into the woods without telling anyone. He was adamant that he was a grown man and didn't need a babysitter, dammit. His words, not mine. Nodding my head along, I pretended to listen to his rant and agree with him about his nosy, overprotective, and overbearing son. In reality, I began to type in one of the few numbers I knew by heart: Abigail's. Or at least, it should have been my wife's number.

The person on the other end of the line picked up after two rings. I was expecting worry, fear, maybe even anger, but I was not expecting a gruff, baritone voice, that most certainly did not belong to my wife, to say "What!" in an annoyed tone. I checked the number I had dialed, even triple checked it, but I was 99.99% certain that this number belonged to my wife. I even checked the area code, including the international number. It just didn't make sense.

'Is this a part of that stupid ass prank, too?'

"I'm sorry, who is this?" I tried to say in the most polite way possible, even though I could feel my anger beginning to rise again.

"Doug Wright. And who the hell are you? Don't you know what fucking time it is?"

Jesus Christ, I was already on a short fuse as it is, but this rude asshole was not helping. Like, no matter how terrible this dude's day was, I can guarantee that mine would win a goddamn prize for the absolute worst. I really didn't want to blow up on this prick, 'cause then I probably wouldn't get any answers, like, why this dude has my wife's phone and why his name sounds so familiar.

"My name's Kaylah Tenhoff. I'm sorry if I woke you, sir, but I am trying to get in contact with an Abigail Johnson. Do you happen to know her?" I was running through possible scenarios as to why he would have her phone.

'Doug. Doug. Where do I know that from? Does he work at the hospital? I'm pretty sure I would have known if that was the case. Maybe he's a friend of Abigail's who's just borrowing it? But then why would he sound so angry and not just give the phone to her? Maybe he stole it? Maybe he was some douchey relative that was just being a bitch?'

All of these thoughts and more whirled around in my head as I tried to come up with some plausible explanation.

After what felt like years of thinking, even though it was probably only a few seconds, the man on the other line answered. "Are you talking about Abigail Wright? Her maiden name was Abigail Johnson, but no one's really called her that since we got married." He still sounded angry at being woken up, but some of it had subsided.

Me, though? My mind was whirling around at a thousand miles per hour, trying so desperately to understand. My confusion must have visibly showed because the old man who had still been jabbering about his son gently took my arm and guided me to a bench. I sat down, still not able to understand.

'This can't be right. It must be a different Abigail.'

My brain started to actually think, and I had to thank my medical training for making it so that I could think and function even when I was internally screaming in frustration. Pieces began to fall into place, pieces I didn't even know existed before. Like how Abigail dated a dude in high school named Doug, back when she still thought she liked dudes, and how she planned on marrying him until he ditched her at prom. She used to say how she would fantasize being called Abigail Wright before she knew how much of a dick he was.

'So, that's why his name is so familiar. But that's impossible. I mean, what are the chances that Doug Wright marries a different woman named Abigail Johnson who has the same number as my Abigail? They're practically nonexistent. But, on the other hand, what are the chances that my Abigail is actually married to this asshole and has been lying to me for over a decade, has been lying to our kids?'

I wouldn't let myself believe it, I couldn't. But there was a little thought in the back of my head that I tried to push away that kept nagging at me that anything was possible. And to think, this all started with some asshole's idea of a prank.

'I need to know. I need to know. I need to know.'

Those four words kept running through my head as I gathered every ounce of courage I could muster and spoke into the phone, hoping to God that my voice didn't betray my whirlwind of distraught emotions.

"I understand that it's late, but may I speak to your wife, please? It's an emergency." Surprisingly, my voice came out evenly, although it did crack a little bit on the word wife, because of that stupid nagging thought. The amazing man next to me, who was silently listening to my turmoil, must have heard the crack as well because he began to soothingly rub his hand up and down my back. I felt my body relax, just a little bit, into the comforting action that was greatly welcomed and needed.

"Uh, yeah, sure, I guess." He definitely didn't sound convinced that it was an emergency, but he complied anyways. The gentle rustling of blankets could be heard over the line as the man tried to wake up his wife.

"What is it?" she hissed, obviously drowsy and upset at being woken up. Other words from their conversation drifted over the line, but I was too shocked to single any of them out. That was Abigail's voice, my Abigail. Even sleepy and angry, I would recognize that voice anywhere. An hour ago, I would have been overjoyed to hear her voice, but the implications hit me like a sledgehammer to the stomach.

'She cheated on me. That has to be the case. It isn't possible for Doug Wright to marry a woman named Abigail Johnson who also sounds exactly like her. That's just not possible. How could she do that to me?! To the girls?! How could she cheat on me with some asshole who dumped her on prom?! I thought I knew her better than that. I thought she was better than that. She's even gay as fuck so what the shit?!'

My mind felt like a hurricane was running through it and destroying all the memories we had built together. I knew this woman for 7 years of my life and I had loved her for that long, and this was how she repaid me?

Everything inside my head was falling apart, until I heard those five words that would make me question everything. The background noise that I was previously tuning out suddenly became clear when I heard Doug say my name, followed by Abigail saying, "I don't know that woman."

The hurricane of thoughts and emotions was stunned into silence by those words. They were said with so much sincerity and conviction that they must have been true. Abigail was always a shit liar. I knew her tells like the back of my head, and that statement was definitely the truth. The ramification of her words knocked the breath out of my lungs and made it difficult for me to breathe. The man beside me began to stroke my back again. I was so caught up in my head that I hadn't even realized that he had stopped at some point.

The hurricane that was previously roaring exploded once again in a more ferocious manner. Every thought and emotion was muddled to the point where I couldn't pinpoint anything except those five words. Those five words that kept revolving around in my head, that shot daggers into my heart every time I heard them in her voice, that were mentally and physically breaking me.

'How could she not even know me? How?!'

Even my internal thoughts sounded broken.

I barely registered that dick, Doug, telling me to fuck off and not call again before the click of him hanging up rang in my ears. My hand moved of its own accord to hand it back to the kind man beside me. I didn't look at his face, but I could practically feel his pity and sympathy washing over me. I couldn't hold it in anymore. I was in the middle of nowhere with no belongings, my wife didn't know me, and it was probably the same for my kids. So, I let it all out; my frustration, my anger, my confusion, my grief rained down my face in swaths of tears. I leaned on to the bony shoulder next to me and sobbed. I cried until there was nothing left.

After about half an hour of that, I began to feel much more relaxed and calm. Well, that's what I like to pretend I felt. In reality, I just felt drained. My head was empty and emotionless and the only thing I wanted was to wake up to find this was all a horrifying nightmare. But I knew deep down that it wasn't. My barefoot, pain-filled trek through the forest had proven that, unfortunately. There were so many thoughts running through my head but I was too tired to really think about any one. I'd rationalize my situation later, after some much needed sleep.

When the tears ran dry and I stopped sniveling, I looked up at the man to apologize for making a mess of his shirt. However, he shushed me before I could get a word out.

"Don't worry about it. I have two children and five grandchildren. This isn't even close to the worst mess I've had to clean," he assured, with a warm, genuine smile on his face. The smile fell slightly when he continued. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened? I promise that I will not be upset if you do not wish to talk about it with a stranger."

An inner turmoil began in my head of whether I should tell him or not, and if so, what I could tell him, since I had no fucking clue what was going on myself. I didn't want to end up in a mental asylum or anything. It didn't help matters that I didn't know if he would be accepting of the fact that I had a wife or not.

'Fuck it. It's not like today can get any worse.' The thought crossed my mind before I could stop it. 'This is not the bloody time to be jinxing yourself.'

"Um," I started, trying to think of what to say, "I was staying at a relative's house a few miles away, but she kicked me out. She found out that I married a woman and decided that she didn't want me in her house anymore because she thought I would turn her daughter gay. She wouldn't even let me change or collect any of my belongings. So, I started walking until I found this town and then you were the first person to offer me help. I decided to call my wife to see if she could come pick me up, but as it turns out, she thought this would be the perfect time to have a man over to cheat on me. Then, when I found out, she kicked me out of our house. Now, I have no clothes, no money, no family, and no home to go to. I'm all alone."

The only parts of my story that were true were the last two sentences and they were said with so much hopelessness that I would have pitied me too if I was him. I guess my partially made up story was convincing because he wrapped me up in a big hug that almost made me start crying again.

"I'm so, so sorry about everything. All of those things should never happen to anyone, especially not on the same day. I insist you come stay with me, for at least one night, just so you could get your bearings again. I know my husband would be more than delighted to have a guest over, especially one who could use some help." Even though he said insist, his tone was practically demanding. Like a parent trying to force their child to eat their veggies. It reminded me of my wife telling our girls to go to bed. That thought hurt more than I'd like to admit.

I balked at his words; not because I thought he had any nefarious plans, but because his words were so genuine. This man was willing to let a complete stranger into his home so that they could get back on their feet.

"I don't know what to say," I replied, completely awestruck by his generosity. "That would be amazing. Thank you so much." The large smile on my face was definitely out of place compared to the puffy eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and creaky voice that I was positive I had.

The old man, who seemed more angel than man, 'well the ones in stories, not in Supernatural,' gave me a reassuring smile as he kindly lead me to his house. The journey was slow due to his leisurely movements, but it didn't feel that way. The time was filled with talking. He told me all about his husband and his kids and grandkids. They all sounded so wonderful. Thankfully, he didn't ask me any questions about my family, as he must have guessed that that was a very sore topic.

Eventually, we found our way to his house. It was on the outskirts of the town and very rustic looking. Some of the house was made out of natural colored wood, which was the doorways, window frames, and archways over the doors and windows, but the rest was made out of smoothed stones. There were a few outside lights drilled into the walls here and there. The roof was made of a very nice brown tile that really added to the whole look. Overall, the house had a very homey feeling to it. It just made me feel warm and invited, but also homesick for my own home. One that I'd probably never go back to if this was all real and not some prank or dream, like I was starting to fear it was.

We continued making our way down the driveway and he hurried in front of me in order to unlock the door. He let himself in and I quickly followed after him, wiping my feet off on the floor mat in front of the front door. The interior of the house looked very similar to the exterior. It was filled to the brim with wood: wood archways, wooden tables, light fixtures made out of wood, wooden stools and chairs, bookcases, a TV cabinet, wooden stairs with a matching handrail. The nice thing was that the wood was all the exact same color, a glossy black, so there was this beautiful flow to the place. There was a black leather reclining couch in front of the TV and its cabinet. The bookcases were overflowing with books of obvious different genres, from guides to science fiction.

He continued leading me through the house and up the stairs until we reached a plain door.

'This must be a guest bedroom.' As if reading my thoughts, he stated that this was the guest bedroom where I would be staying until I was able to properly take care of myself again.

"I suggest you get some sleep; you look exhausted. You can meet my husband, John, in the morning." He was just about to turn around to leave when it looked like a thought struck him. "Oh, where are my manners. My name is Mark. And what's yours?" he questioned gently.

"Kaylah," I answered drowsily, laying down on the bed and welcoming the wonderful thought of sleep. "Goodnight, Mark," I said, a yawn making its way past my lips.

"Goodnight, Kaylah," he repeated, quietly closing the door behind him. I was already fast asleep before it closed, without even making my way under the covers. I dreamt of playing in the park with my wife and kids.

The smell of fresh cooked pancakes and bacon pulled me from my wonderful dreams. I wore a smile on my face for a few seconds, that quickly fell as I remembered the events of yesterday.

'What the hell is going on?' My inner voice sounded just as frustrated and confused as I felt. Every possibility I could think of just didn't fit the situation; this wasn't a dream since I could feel pain, it wasn't a hallucination because those are more like impossible things in an ordinary situation, not really an entire impossible situation, and it wasn't a prank since Abigail would never go along with something so cruel.

I continued to lay in bed, contemplating my situation. An explanation would pop into my head only for me to dismiss it just as quickly. My endless thoughts were beginning to drive me crazy when I heard a quiet knock at the door. For a second, I thought I was beginning to hear things, although, that wouldn't be the craziest thing to happen to me lately. As if to prove my thought wrong, another knock, louder this time, followed the first.

"Kaylah? Breakfast is ready if you're feeling up to it. There's some fresh clothes outside the door for you. I don't quite know your size but you look about the same as our daughter so hopefully they fit. You can also take a shower and brush your teeth after eating if you'd like to freshen up." Mark's words were spoken with so much sincerity, more than I expected to find from a complete stranger. His graciousness almost brought tears to my eyes. Almost.

I cleared my throat quickly, trying to dislodge the bundle of emotions there. "That sounds wonderful. I'll be down in a second," I said, answering his unspoken question. I listened to his footsteps retreat back down the stairs before moving towards the door leading to the hallway. Opening it I found a pair of Marvel comic sweatpants, a plain, black tank top, a simple bra, and a matching pair of underwear. Surprisingly, everything fit fairly well, although the bra was just a bit too large.

Walking through the hallway and down the stairs, I took note of little things that I was too exhausted to notice last night. Like the pictures all over the walls of the hall, or the little ticks of children's growth on the inside of bedroom door frames, or the smoothness of the worn down handrail of the stairs. It was obvious that this house was lived in and loved. The walls were practically oozing with memories and happiness. The people arguing downstairs, however, told a bit of a different story.

There were three masculine voices, seemingly talking over each other. One was definitely Mark's, but I didn't recognize the other two, until I heard one of them say the word dad.

'Ah. He must be their son, the one he was kindly complaining about. So I'm gonna assume that the other voice is John, but I could be wrong.'

I didn't want to eavesdrop, I really didn't, but I'd always been too curious for my own good. On top of that, it seemed like they were talking about me since I continuously heard 'she' and 'stranger.' Based on the tone of his words, the son did not like the idea of me staying here with his 'defenseless' parents. Well, I had heard enough.

I started walking down the stairs, making sure that my steps were a bit louder than I'd have normally made them in order to get their attention. It worked like a charm, since everyone immediately shut up. The best part was reaching the bottom of the stairs and seeing them all try to act like they weren't just talking about me. Spoiler, they didn't do very good.

"Good morning, Mark," I said with a friendly smile on my face. Looking around at the other two men, I waited patiently for someone to introduce themself.

Mark seemed to be the only one to get the hint, as he quickly piped in that the older man of the two was his husband, John, and the youngest man was their son, Jeffrey, before introducing me as well. John looked to be a bit younger than Mark and he was extremely fit for his age, with visible muscles in his legs, arms, and, I'm assuming, stomach. He had mostly grey hair, with a corresponding mustache, and a stony look covering his squarish face to pull the whole thing together. A voice in the back of my head was telling me that he could be threatening, but I was too tired to listen to that little shit head. Jeffrey, on the other hand, looked completely opposite. He looked to be about my age, with short, black hair and his own matching black mustache and just barely a hint of a beard that looked good with his oval face. On top of that, he had brown skin, which was much different from the light skin of his parents.

'He must be adopted.'

"Good morning, Kaylah," Mark said, followed by the other two, although they didn't sound nearly as cheery. The silence that followed was deafening and the tension in the air could have been cut with a knife. Mark must have felt it too because he immediately began serving everyone a plate of food and then ushered us to the table.

Breakfast was comprised of coffee (mine with three sugars and milk, which was met with disgusted looks from all three, who took theirs black), scrambled eggs, bacon, and chocolate chip pancakes, which were delicious.

'Abigail would kill me if she heard me saying this, but I think they're even better than hers.'

The thought of Abigail quickly killed any good mood I was starting to have due to the normality of having breakfast at a dining room table.

Everyone was silent during the meal. I couldn't quite figure out if it was because they were too busy eating or didn't know what to say to me. I'd bet my money on the second, but either way, the tension and awkward silence settled back around the four of us like smoke. It was finally broken when I finished eating and thanked my hosts for making such an amazing meal. They each quietly said, "you're welcome," before beginning to clear the table. I tried my best to get up and help but Mark gently pushed me back to the table, saying that I was their guest. Jeffrey even snorted at me when I realized I was fighting a losing battle, especially when John joined in to side with Mark.

The table was clean once again; the only things remaining were the coffee mugs. Its previously missing occupants sat back down again. The silence settled around us once more, although it had subsided somewhat and it was almost companionable. I wasn't focused on the silence, though; I was too busy thinking of what to do. I needed answers, that much was certain, and the fastest way to get them, like with most things, was the internet. So I asked the question I had been both dreading and anticipating.

"Do any of you have a computer I could borrow?"

John, surprisingly, was the one to answer. "Yes we do. It's upstairs in my old office area. Jeffrey, would you show her?"

I could tell that Jeffrey wanted to argue, but at the hard look on his father's face that screamed 'do as I say,' he begrudgingly lead me away from the table and up the stairs.

I was stuck in my own head, as usual it seems, when Jeffrey suddenly stopped right in front of me, causing me to stumble into his back. I mumbled a quick sorry before looking around the room that I hadn't even noticed we walked into. There was a bookshelf filled with books, similar to the ones downstairs, a few metal cabinets that must have been for filing, and a nice redwood desk with an ancient computer on top of it. And when I say ancient, I mean prehistoric. The monitor looked like one of those old box TVs, the harddrive was the size of a cement block, the mouse was connected by a thick wire, and the keyboard had an even thicker wire. To top it all off, the whole ensemble was striking white, as if it was brand new. Which was impossible.

'Nobody sells these pieces of junk anymore, and definitely not in this condition. Seriously, what the hell is going on?'

Unfortunately, Jeffrey must have taken my stunned silence as awe-filled since he began to ramble on about how amazing it was and how he had to practically force his fathers to buy it. My moment of shock was finally broken when he said that it was the best on the market.

"I'm sorry, what? What did you just say?" I asked, absolutely confused.

'The computer I got a few years ago could run laps around this thing and that's considered outdated, so how could this piece of junk be brand new?'

He looked at me, clearly just as confused as I was. "It runs amazingly?"

"No, not that. After that," I clarified, beginning to get frustrated. It didn't help that a feeling of foreboding was starting to build in the pit of my stomach.

"It's the best on the market?" he questioned, still not understanding.

"What model is this?"

That feeling was spreading throughout my body like a plague and I was dreading the answer. I almost wished I hadn't asked.

"An Amiga 2000. Why?" he asked, completely perplexed by my reaction, which was me leaning onto the desk for support and then slowly collapsing into the nearby chair.

'2000? How? How can it be 2000?' Once I got over the initial shock, I started putting pieces together, like a big jigsaw puzzle that would tell me what the fuck was going on instead of showing a picture. 'So, 2000. That would explain the flip phone and the old ass computer and the fact that Mark and John aren't wearing wedding rings, even though they've clearly been in love for a long time. Even if I do believe that I'm in 2000, which is a big-ass if, that still doesn't explain how or why. And why was Abigail the same age as in my time, when she should be a teenager? And if she is somehow the same age, why is she somehow married to Doug the Dick? It seems like I'm only getting more questions and no answers.'

Meanwhile, Jeffrey was unaware of my second existential crisis in two days and decided to just leave me, since I was obviously a weirdo. Or at least, that's what I thought he was thinking when I became aware of my surroundings again and found myself alone. It seemed like life had it out for me.

Once I managed to get my raging emotions under control, which wasn't an easy feat, by the way, I turned on the computer in order to continue on my original path for answers.

'Do I still want answers though? Since they keep hurting me more and more?' I quickly pushed those thoughts out of my head. Of course I wanted answers. I wanted, no, needed to know what happened to me and if I could fix it. The only way to maybe get back home was with answers. Besides, I would rather know than spend the rest of my life wondering.'

It took forever for the computer to turn on and even longer for the internet to start up. When everything was finally in order, I began to search. I looked for family members, friends, acquaintances. It was a bit hard since there were pretty much no social media services, but at least I had Google.

Despite it being seventeen years earlier than the year I was from, it seemed that everyone I knew was the same age. Which was definitely weird. Even weirder though, was the fact that I couldn't find any information about me. There were no pictures of me with friends, nothing about my wedding to Abbigail or our kids' births, no information at the hospital I worked at, I couldn't even find my birth certificate.

'It's like I don't exist.'

I tried to brush that thought away due to its absurdity, but the more I considered it, the more it made sense. Which means I would also have to be in another universe, like that Doctor Who episode with the Cybermen. I didn't know which thought was more terrifying: me not existing or me being in another universe.

The icing on the cake was when I finally did find news of a child born to my mother and father, but it wasn't me. The child's name was Kaleb, a boy born on the 16th of February, the same day as I was, exactly seventeen years earlier, like everyone else. He was an only child born to my parents, who were born to my grandparents. A thought struck me that suddenly made my situation perfectly understandable.

'He was born instead of me. Which means that I am all alone in a universe that isn't mine where I don't even exist.'

My mind was a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts and the last one I remembered before I was consumed by suffocating darkness was, 'why me?'

A/N

This is my first shot at a fanfiction. Reviews are very appreciated because they give me motivation. So, please review, but only constructive criticism if you're going to criticize. Thank you for reading.