David woke before sunrise, cold sweat soaking his neck and back. For a few seconds, he had no idea where he was. The wooden ceiling above him felt unfamiliar, the cold air stung his skin, and the sound of rain falling outside the window made him think he was still in his own home. Then his gaze fell on the wall in front of him, and he remembered Sanctuary. Memories of the ritual from the night before returned little by little. The circle of ash. The clay bowl. Adrian’s voice, relentlessly pressing him to say what he had kept hidden all this time. Then the journal. The sentence that had appeared on the blank page in handwriting resembling Elena’s. David immediately got out of bed and searched for the book. The journal was still on the table. Its pages lay open. The writing that had appeared the night before was still there, but the last sentence he had read now looked fainter. David touched the paper with his fingertip. There was no wet ink. No trace of anything having been erased. Even when he turned to the next page, there was nothing. He went back to the previous page. Blank. Nothing but white paper. David fell silent. He didn’t know whether he was hallucinating from exhaustion or whether Sanctuary was truly playing with his mind. But there was one thing he knew for certain: he had never written that sentence. He closed the journal and put it in his bag. Then he took Elena’s ring from the jacket hanging over the chair. The black stain inside the ring was still there. David rubbed it again and again. It still wouldn’t disappear. He was about to put it away when a memory suddenly surfaced so clearly that it stopped his hand.
It had happened six years ago.
Back then, they didn’t yet know the word loss.
It was still dark that morning when David woke to the sound of a blender running in the kitchen. He opened his eyes lazily, pulled the blanket up to his chest, and then heard Elena laughing outside the bedroom. “You’re awake?” she called.
David didn’t answer.
“David.”
“Five more minutes.”
“You said that fifteen minutes ago.”
David smiled without realizing it. He still remembered that morning with perfect clarity. Sunlight hadn’t yet entered through the windows, but the smell of coffee had already filled the entire house. Elena always woke earlier than he did. She had a habit of opening every window in the morning, even when the air was cold. She said a house that stayed closed up too long would make the mind feel cramped too. David used to tease her about sayings like that. He thought Elena read too many psychology books and articles about mental health. But Elena only laughed whenever David teased her.
“One day you’ll understand,” she said.
David walked into the kitchen with his hair tousled and found his wife standing by the table with two cups of coffee. Elena was wearing one of his oversized white T-shirts and a pair of shorts, her hair tied up carelessly. She turned when David arrived and smiled.
“See? You finally got up.”
David took his cup. “I got up because I smelled coffee.”
“Not because of your wife?”
“The coffee’s more appealing.”
Elena smacked his arm with a small towel. They laughed. It was so simple. So ordinary. So easy to forget for someone who had never lost anything.
David closed his eyes in his room at Sanctuary and let the memory continue. He remembered how they spent their weekends in their little house. There were no fancy outings. No trips abroad. Sometimes they simply cooked together, watched old movies, or walked to the convenience store at the end of the street. Elena had never cared much about money. David was different. Even when they were on vacation, he still checked his work email. He always brought his laptop. Always answered his phone. Always felt that if he didn’t keep an eye on something, everything would fall apart. Elena often complained about it, but she never truly got angry. At least not at first.
“You know what your problem is?” she said one night as she sat on the couch.
David was still staring at his laptop. “What?”
“You’re always present in the wrong place.”
David laughed. “What do you mean?”
“When you’re at work, your mind is at home. When you’re at home, your mind is at work.”
David stopped typing. “I work for us.”
Elena gave him a small smile. “I know.”
“Then?”
“I just want you to work for yourself once in a while.”
David didn’t understand at the time. To him, working was a form of love. Providing a comfortable home, paying for everything they needed, making sure Elena never had to worry about money—that was how he showed his affection. He didn’t know that for Elena, none of it could replace one simple thing: time.
The memory shifted.
Another night.
Elena sat alone on the balcony. A light rain was falling. David had just come home at eleven that night after attending a meeting that was supposed to end at eight. He opened the balcony door and found his wife sitting in a chair with a blanket around her shoulders.
“You’re not asleep?” he asked.
Elena shook her head. “I was waiting for you.”
David looked at his watch. “You didn’t have to wait.”
Elena looked at him. “I know.”
“I have to leave early tomorrow.”
“I know.”
There was something in the way Elena answered that made David uncomfortable.
“Why?” he asked.
“It’s nothing.”
David sighed. “You always say that.”
Elena smiled bitterly. “Because whenever I tell you what I’m really feeling, you usually say I’m overthinking.”
David fell silent. He wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. Elena turned her face toward the yard.
“I used to think that if I ever left, you might finally realize I hadn’t been happy for a long time.”
David felt angry when he heard her say that. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it doesn’t make sense.”
Elena gave a small laugh. “Maybe not to you.”
David looked at her. “What am I missing?”
Elena didn’t answer.
“I’ve given you everything.”
“I never asked for everything.”
The sentence left David speechless.
“I only asked for you.”
The memory stopped.
David opened his eyes.
His breathing was heavy.
He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. For years, he had always remembered himself as the husband who lost his wife in an accident. He remembered their final argument as a terrible event that stood on its own. They had fought. Elena had left. The accident had happened. The end. But now, as old memories began resurfacing, David saw something different. That argument hadn’t been the beginning of the crack between them. It had been the end of something that had been broken for a long time. He didn’t want to admit it because it was much easier to blame one night than to acknowledge that he might have been slowly losing his wife for years without realizing it.
A knock sounded at the door.
David quickly wiped his face.
“Who is it?”
“Lena.”
David opened the door.
Lena stood there with two cups of something warm.
“I thought you might need this.”
David accepted it.
“You know I haven’t had breakfast?”
“No. But you look like someone who needs coffee.”
David almost smiled.
They walked toward the small balcony at the end of the hall. From there, the forest was shrouded in fog. Lena stood with her back against the wooden railing, holding her cup.
“Did you see something last night?” she asked.
David turned to her.
“What do you mean?”
“After the ritual.”
David said nothing.
Lena looked at him.
“Don’t lie.”
David sighed.
“The journal.”
“What about it?”
“There was writing in my journal.”
Lena didn’t look surprised.
“What kind?”
“Like the handwriting of someone who’s dead.”
Lena lowered her head.
David watched her.
“You know something.”
“No.”
“Lena.”
“I said no.”
David stepped closer.
“Then why do you look like that?”
Lena tightened her grip on the cup.
“Because I’ve seen the same thing.”
David froze.
“When?”
“Five days ago.”
“What did it say?”
Lena didn’t answer.
“What?”
She looked at David.
“My younger sister’s name.”
David felt his throat go dry.
“Your sister died?”
Lena nodded.
“Eight years ago.”
They fell silent.
Then Lena said very quietly, “After that, I started looking into this place.”
David looked at her.
“And?”
“I found something.”
“What?”
Lena looked toward the forest.
“Don’t ask here.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know who’s listening.”
David looked around.
There was no one there.
Only fog and trees.
Yet for some reason, after hearing that, David felt as though someone was standing behind one of the trees.
Lena set down her cup.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“If Adrian asks you about the last night you spent with your wife…”
Lena stopped.
“Don’t tell him everything.”
David frowned.
“Why?”
Lena looked at him, her eyes suddenly very serious.
“Because he isn’t trying to make you remember.”
“Then what is he doing?”
“He’s trying to find out what you’ve forgotten.”
Lena left before David could ask anything else.
David remained standing alone.
In the distance, a bell rang.
The participants began emerging from their respective buildings.
David slipped his hand into his pocket.
His fingers touched Elena’s ring.
And for the first time since arriving at Sanctuary, he realized that perhaps the pain he had wanted to let go of all this time wasn’t something he needed to get rid of.
Perhaps that pain was trying to tell him something.
Something very important. Something he had deliberately made himself forget. Something about Elena. And about the night his wife died.