It had been two months since Rey started writing.
Every morning, he would enter that small workroom, open the old laptop, and stare at the blank screen… until the words began to appear—one by one—like old wounds finally finding space to breathe.
He wasn't writing to become famous.
He was writing to heal.
And the story he wrote… wasn't fiction.
It was real. About himself. About Aurel.
About a love that never had the chance to become reality, and wounds that never truly healed.
Its title:
> "The One Who Returned After the House Had Already Fallen"
He published it anonymously. No name, no identity.
Only a single initial: R.
The hospital staff submitted it to a trauma survivor writing blog.
Unexpectedly, it spread.
Comment after comment began to appear:
> "I cried reading this…"
"Whoever you are, thank you for writing this."
"It felt like you were telling my life story…"
And one quiet morning, the story reached Aurel.
---
That day, Aurel was breastfeeding Reyhan while browsing on her phone.
She clicked a link sent by a friend from her parenting group.
The title stopped her heartbeat for a second.
"The One Who Returned After the House Had Already Fallen"
Aurel read.
Line by line.
And the deeper she went into the story, the more it felt like…
> It wasn't just writing.
It was a voice.
The voice of someone she once knew inside and out.
Rey.
---
The sentences struck her gently, yet deeply:
> "I didn't leave because I wanted to. I left so I could return as someone worthy."
"But when I came back, my home was already empty. You belonged to another world. And me? I was still standing in the yard, heart whole—but too late."
"I wanted to be angry. But who could I blame, except time that never learned to wait?"
Aurel covered her mouth.
Her eyes burned.
Tears fell one by one, streaming down her cheeks as Reyhan slept in her arms.
She knew…
This wasn't fiction.
This was a confession.
---
That night, Aurel sat alone in the living room.
Damar was already asleep. Reyhan lay in the crib.
She reread the story, from beginning to end.
This time slowly.
This time with her heart—not just her eyes.
---
At the end of the story, one final sentence shattered all her walls:
> "If one day you read this and realize it's about you… don't come looking for me. I don't need you to return. I just want you to know: you were once loved completely by someone who couldn't save anything—not even himself."
Aurel cried.
Not out of anger.
But out of longing.
A longing that no longer had a home.
---
The next morning, Aurel created an anonymous account and left a comment:
> "Thank you for this story. I know you probably don't want to know who I am. But your words… saved me from the guilt I've buried for so long."
> "Thank you for loving me once, even when time was never on our side."
She didn't sign her name.
Just as Rey had never named anyone in the story.
But they both knew…
The comment reached the heart it was meant for.
---
That night at the hospital, Rey read the comment.
He didn't cry.
He wasn't surprised.
He just closed the laptop gently and looked out at the night sky.
> "Thank you…" he whispered.
"For still reading me… even after we were over."