Isn’t fate a beautiful word? Elegant. Comforting. The most sophisticated excuse humanity has ever invented.
But what we call fate is often nothing more than a story we whisper to ourselves at night just convincing enough to quiet the truth. The blame is always elsewhere: time was cruel, circumstances unfair, our hands empty. It’s easier that way.
Until one night, standing alone in front of the mirror, the story stops working. The face staring back is not just a reflection it is a ledg ...