Rain had been falling since afternoon when David left the city. It wasn't the kind of downpour that made the road disappear, but a thin, steady rain that kept wetting the windshield, like someone deliberately dragging their fingernails across a clear surface. The wipers moved in a monotonous rhythm, sweeping the water from left to right, then back again, while the lights of the vehicles ahead blurred into red and yellow streaks. He had been driving for nearly three hours, but strangely, David didn't feel tired. Maybe it was because, for the past three years, he had grown accustomed to a kind of exhaustion that sleep alone couldn't cure. His hands tightened around the steering wheel as the road began to climb and the city's buildings slowly vanished behind him. Office towers, billboards, restaurants still open late into the night—all of them gave way to rows of tall trees and fog hanging low between the hills. His phone, lying on the passenger seat, suddenly vibrated. A notification appeared on the screen. David only glanced at it before looking back at the road. Nothing important. Just an email from work. Normally, he would have opened it, checked the reports, answered a few messages from his subordinates, then made sure everything remained under his control. That was how he had lived for years. David had always believed that as long as he worked hard enough, considered every possibility, and didn't let his emotions make decisions, nothing could truly destroy his life. Until that night.
He still remembered the sound of the door slamming. Still remembered the glass shattering on the floor. Still remembered his wife standing a few steps away, her eyes red from crying. The memory came without warning, like a recording someone played inside his head whenever he let his guard down. “I just want you to listen to me for once, David.” Her voice still sounded so clear. Too clear. Even after all these years, David could still remember the tone of his wife's voice when she said those words. It wasn't the anger he remembered most, but the exhaustion beneath it. The exhaustion of someone who had been asking for the same thing for too long and had finally realized that the person she loved might never understand. David had been angry then, too. He'd answered with words he now wished he could pull back out of the air. Words that should never have left his mouth. Then his wife had picked up her bag, walked toward the door, and looked back once before leaving. Just once. David hadn't chased after her. He had let her go. A few hours later, the call from the hospital came. After that, his life never truly returned to normal.
David's car rounded a sharp bend, and he jolted back to the road. To the right, a dark ravine stretched beyond an aging guardrail. In the distance, the mountains stood like enormous shadows shrouded in fog. David slowed down. He saw a small wooden sign by the side of the road, its simple lettering nearly covered in moss: SANCTUARY — 12 KM. Its arrow pointed toward a narrow road leading into the forest. David turned on his signal even though there were no other vehicles behind him, then made the turn. The road was far worse than he had imagined. The asphalt was cracked in places, small rocks had fallen from the slope, and the trees on both sides grew so densely that he could barely see the sky. After a few minutes, his phone signal disappeared. One bar. Then nothing at all. David lifted the phone and stared at the screen for a moment before slipping it back into his jacket pocket. He should have felt anxious. Instead, he felt something strange—a kind of relief. No calls from work. No messages. No one who could reach him. For the first time in a long while, the world seemed to have stopped chasing him.
David had actually found the place by accident. A few weeks earlier, a former therapy patient had given him a small brochure after a bad session. David had almost thrown it away. On the cover was a picture of mountains shrouded in fog and a sentence written in plain lettering: “Not every wound has to be remembered in order to heal.” He didn't believe in things like that. To him, a wound was something to be understood, not erased. But that night, after returning from therapy and sitting alone in his apartment again, David opened the brochure. It described a trauma-healing retreat far from the city, free from work interruptions, social media, and the pressures of everyday life. The program lasted several weeks and used a combination of meditation, group therapy, journaling, and a letting-go ritual they called a method for helping someone make peace with the past. There was no promise that every wound would disappear. They promised only one thing: letting go. David didn't know why that word made him stop reading. Maybe it was because he hadn't truly wanted to heal all this time. He had only wanted to stop feeling guilty.
After nearly twenty minutes on the forest road, David saw light between the trees. A large wooden gate appeared at the end of the road. There was no guard, no visible camera, only two stone pillars carved with a strange symbol shaped like a circle split down the middle. The gate opened as the car approached. David slowed down and drove through. Beyond the gate, the atmosphere changed. The road became neater, surrounded by well-kept gardens and small lights glowing dimly along the footpaths. Several wooden buildings stood among the trees. It didn't look like a hospital. It didn't look like a rehabilitation center, either. The place was more like a large villa built for wealthy people who wanted to disappear from the world. David parked in front of the main building. He turned off the engine. The rain was still falling, but much more softly now. He sat for a few seconds without moving, both hands still resting on the steering wheel. In the windshield, the shadow of his own face appeared faintly. The face of a man in his late thirties who looked far older than he should have. Hollow eyes. Slightly disheveled hair. Lines of exhaustion that never went away, no matter how hard he tried to hide them with expensive clothes and a high-ranking position.
David took his bag from the back seat. Before opening the door, he looked at his phone one more time. No signal. No new messages. The black screen reflected his face. For a moment, he thought of his wife. For some reason, the woman's image felt so close that night. As though she were sitting in the passenger seat, waiting for him to say something. David shook his head slowly, then opened the door.
Cold air touched his face at once.
“Welcome.”
David was startled. A woman stood several yards in front of the main building's entrance. She looked to be in her fifties and wore simple white clothes with a gray cardigan. She held no umbrella. Her partially gray hair was neatly tied back. She smiled, but there was nothing excessive about it. If anything, it was too calm.
“David?” she asked.
David nodded. “Yes.”
The woman walked closer and held out her hand.
“My name is Mara. We've been waiting for you.”
David shook her hand. The woman's palm was cold.
“Waiting for me?”
“We always wait for new participants.”
There was something about the way Mara said it that made David uncomfortable. But he was too tired to think about it.
Mara took David's bag before he could refuse. “The trip must have been exhausting. You don't have to do anything tonight. Dinner will be served shortly. After that, you can rest.”
David followed her toward the main building.
Before going inside, he turned to look back.
The wooden gate that had been open moments ago was now closed.
David stopped for a moment.
“Is the gate always closed at night?” he asked.
Mara didn't answer right away. She only gave him a small smile.
“Here, David, we don't really like leaving doors open.”
Then she walked inside.
David stood alone in the doorway for several seconds before finally following the woman.
He didn't yet know that from that night on, his life would change for the second time.
And this time, there might be no way home.