People were screaming, cameras blinked blindly like wounded birds. The air smelled of blood and fear. After firing the third shot, Kamil stepped back, losing his focus for a moment, not understanding whether he had hit Bahar or not… they kept getting in his way… every time, with every shot, someone would step between them, shielding her. A wave of rage surged inside him — she wasn’t alone, while his Ayşe had been all alone, and no one had rushed to help her. Kamil raised the gun again, tried to aim, but someone was covering Bahar, holding her tightly, shielding her with his own body, offering his back.

Evren surged toward him, seeing nothing but Bahar and the gun aimed at her. His punch was precise, harsh, straight to the jaw. Yusuf appeared beside them and instantly knocked the gun out of Kamil’s hands. The two of them tackled him to the floor, and security burst into the hall moments later. Evren kicked the gun aside, making sure Kamil was disarmed, then turned toward Bahar.

He held her tightly, even though blood was seeping from his wound and soaking his jacket. Sert Kaya stood shielding Bahar with his own body. Blood ran down his leg, dripping onto the floor, and he held her as though she were the last thing he could possibly save.

— Bahar, — Evren ran toward them.

— I’ve got her, — Sert whispered, still not letting go, — I’ve got her.

— Let me, — Evren placed a hand on his shoulder, and Sert looked up at him.

He loosened his grip, and Evren immediately pulled her into his arms. The moment Bahar was in Evren’s embrace, Sert slowly sank to the floor. He was breathing heavily, looking at the chaos he himself had set in motion, at the people who suffered because of him. At the woman who had raised his son and whom Ismail was now holding in his arms. At Bahar’s mother, who was leaning over Professor Reha, covering his wound as blood seeped between her fingers. He had almost destroyed his own family.

The air trembled with screams, crying, the metallic scent of blood, and the deafening wail of sirens. Evren held Bahar as if the world were collapsing in his hands and he was holding it together by sheer force. Her breath was uneven, her fingers trembling, her eyes darting — to where her mother was, to where Professor Reha lay, to where Ismail was shouting, to where Rengin lay unconscious.

— Evren… my mom… — Bahar tried to turn, but he held her still.

— Stay still. Stay, I’m here, — his voice was firm, though everything inside him shook. — Are you hurt? — he asked silently.

Bahar only nodded, unable to say anything at all.

— The baby? — he mouthed as well.

Bahar nodded again, closing her eyes for a moment.

— Evren, — Gulçicek shouted. — Bahar? — she was pressing down on Reha’s chest wound, looking at them, trying to understand whether her daughter was safe. — Reha, — tears stood frozen in her eyes.

— Mom, — Bahar jerked and tried to run to them, but Evren held her. — The professor.

— I’ll go, — he almost released her, then tightened his grip on her hand. — Together, — he breathed suddenly. — From now on, together only. I’m not letting you out of my sight.

— Code Red! Room 333! Immediately! Professor Evren Yalkın! — the speakers tore through the air.

— Evren, Rengin, — Serhat shouted. — Esra! — he reminded him, lifting Rengin into his arms.

Evren tightened his grip on Bahar’s hand and swept his gaze across the hall, breathing heavily.

— Why did you jump in front of bullets? — Gulçicek looked at her husband, shaken and furious at the same time.

— Because otherwise you’d kill me yourself, — he still tried to joke. — The warmth of your hands — what could be worth more? I’ll remember that… and your eyes looking at me, — he whispered with effort.

Reha stared into his wife’s eyes, and slowly his gaze began to fade, her face blurring… and he lost consciousness in her arms.

— Reha, — Gulçicek screamed, crying, pressing her hands harder against his wound.

— Evren, — Ismail shouted, — Nevra — he was also pressing down on her wound, trying to stop the bleeding even a little. — Evren, help, she’s slipping away, — Ismail pleaded.

He was kneeling, holding Nevra as if afraid to let her go… she had been right… he had failed to protect her again… failed… and he couldn’t lose her, not like this, not when they hadn’t even had the chance to discover anything, to live their love.

— I won’t let you go, do you hear me, Nevra? I’ll never let you go again! — he said it as though making a vow.

— Ismail… — she exhaled, and he understood he was too late again, something inside him cracked. — You already let go, — Nevra whispered. — Bahar? — she barely asked.

— She’s safe, — Ismail whispered. — Hold on… do you hear me, hold on… — he repeated, burying his face in her hair, his hands trembling, barely breathing.

Nevra sighed with relief and lost consciousness.

— Evren, help, — Serhat begged, not understanding what was happening to Rengin, but the sleeve of his coat was already stained red.

Meryem, clinging to the wall, tried to move toward Bahar and Evren, toward her family, toward what could still be saved.

Carter, holding Çağla’s hand, rushed into the hall. He kept her behind him.

— Mom? — he ran to her immediately.

— I’m all right, sweetheart, — Meryem grabbed his hand. — Evren needs help, — she whispered. — Çağla, — she smiled at her as if she knew her, — my girl, always beside Bahar, even today.

Çağla stared at her in astonishment. She wanted to run to Bahar, but Carter held her back, not letting her move.

— Serhat, Rengin to Siren! — Evren suddenly commanded, ripping off his tie and throwing it on the floor as if freeing himself from a noose. — And you, — he glanced at Reha, — you take the professor! Now! — he ordered, watching Ferdi roll in a stretcher for Rengin, while other nurses brought stretchers for Reha and Nevra. — Where is Siren?! — Evren shouted, not understanding her absence.

— Evren, you can count on me, — Jennifer stood before him, unintentionally reminding him of her presence.

— Sert Kaya, — Evren answered simply, — take him to the OR!

— Evren, — Bahar pulled him toward Gulçicek and Nevra. — Nevra, — she whispered.

— Carter, go, — Meryem pushed her son. — Go! — she insisted. — If I could, I would do it myself, — she looked at unconscious Reha, at his wife pressing her hands to his wound.

— Carter, let me go! — Çağla tried to see at least something from behind his back.

— You stay right here, with my mom! — Carter turned sharply to Çağla. — I’m trusting you with her, all right? — he said. — You take care of yourself and your baby, so I don’t have to answer to your husband!

— I don’t have a husband, — Çağla blurted out at once.

Carter frowned slightly.

— He will, — he nodded.

Çağla didn’t even have time to answer before Carter let go of her hand and headed toward Ismail and Nevra. He involuntarily glanced at Reha and forced himself not to stop, made himself walk past his father — a man he hadn’t even recognized.

— I’ll take her, — he said loudly, even with Evren there. — Go, — Carter finally turned to him at that moment, — save the one you’re meant to save.

Bahar sank to her knees beside her mother. She managed to touch her cheek, managed to wipe away a tear.

— Go, my girl. Go, but take care of yourself and the baby, — Gulçicek whispered.

— Now it’s my turn, Mrs. Gulçicek, — Serhat knelt beside her. — Professor, you’ve been visiting my OR far too often lately, — he somehow managed to say it while watching Ferdi roll out the stretcher with Rengin, trying not to listen to the loudspeakers.

Serhat didn’t know if he would see his daughter alive again… and no one could tell him, no one this time could give him any guarantees.

Evren, glancing at Carter from under his brow, nodded, and the three of them ran with Bahar toward the exit. Ignoring the cameras, ignoring the chaos in the hall, they ran down the corridor toward Esra’s room.

— Siren, — they gasped when a stretcher blocked their way, with Cem lying on it.

— Cem? — Evren almost bent over him, but seeing Siren’s eyes, he recoiled.

She only shook her head, saying nothing.

— Cem… — Bahar squeezed Cem’s cold fingers. — How… how did this happen? What happened? — she looked at Siren.

— His heart is beating, — she answered, — but his brain… — she didn’t finish.

Evren jerked his head up. His eyes burned from the pain and from a choice no one should ever have to make.

— He’s breathing, — Evren said after checking. — Put him on a ventilator! It’s too early to say anything — nothing is lost yet! — he ordered. — Brain death still needs confirmation, — he whispered, then added at once, — Siren, you take Rengin.

Bahar and Siren exchanged glances.

— What’s wrong with her? — Siren didn’t understand.

— She’s pregnant, — Bahar said.

— She is too? — Evren blinked in surprise.

— Do you really want to talk about that right now? — Bahar snapped.

— Come on, — Bahar and Evren rushed forward.

Evren tried not to think about Cem, about what he had left behind in that hall. He was gripping her hand so tightly — what mattered was that she was beside him, that she was, at least relatively, safe with him.

***

The room was too bright. The light cut the eyes like during an autopsy. The machines beeped unevenly, as if drowning, and that felt worse than a steady tone — that would have sounded more like a cry for help.

Esra lay motionless on the bed, her skin turning a grayish shade. Doruk was performing chest compressions, trying not to look at the monitor. Uraz was connecting the IV line.

— Fetal heart rate is dropping, — Uraz reported as soon as he saw them enter the room.

Evren reluctantly loosened his fingers and let go of her hand.

— Bradycardia… severe, — Bahar leaned over Esra. — Evren! She’s slipping!

— OR. Now, — his gaze turned cold.

— Professor, we may not get her there in time… — Doruk panicked.

— We will, — Evren snapped, bending over Esra, checking her pupils — nothing. — She’s in a coma. Asystole incoming. On the stretcher!

Everyone moved fast, like a single organism. They wheeled the stretcher down the corridor, running beside it. Bahar held the probe in place, her other hand gripping the stretcher rail. Evren saw how pale she was but said nothing.

In the hallway they intersected for a brief moment with Serhat, who walked beside the stretcher carrying Reha. Gulçicek held her husband’s hand, not letting go… no one spoke, they only exchanged glances before rushing to their separate operating rooms. Serhat didn’t even reach out to touch Esra, wouldn’t let himself — he simply believed, because that was all he had left to hold on to. Esra in one OR, Rengin unconscious in another… and he didn’t know what would be waiting for him when he finished the surgery… each one stepped into their own hell.

The lights burned. The sterile air was full of fear.

— Establish ECC, — Evren commanded, giving himself no time to think.

Doruk opened access to the femoral artery and vein. The machine hummed to life, circulating the blood. All eyes turned to the monitor — Esra’s heart was no longer beating.

— Asystole, — Uraz whispered.

— Ignore it, — Evren cut him off. — Maintain perfusion, — he looked at Bahar. — We need the baby, immediately!

Her face was hidden under the mask… only her eyes, blue as the ocean. Her breathing was shaky, but she held on… they didn’t have even a second to process what had happened, who had been hurt… they became doctors again, pushing all emotions aside.

— Are you all right? — Evren still asked her.

— Later, — she answered the word so familiar between them today, repeated more than once. — Esra first.

Evren understood Bahar could collapse, that she was running on fumes.

— Scalpel, — she said firmly, and her fingers didn’t tremble when the instrument was placed into her hand.

She made the incision quickly, precisely, with confident motion. Uraz handed her the retractors.

— Severe hypoxia… — Bahar whispered as she spread the tissue. — She’s not breathing…

— Now, — Evren exhaled, as if promising not only her but Serhat, himself as well.

A second later Bahar delivered the baby. A bluish, limp little girl hung motionlessly in her hands… no cry.

— Give her to me! — Evren took the girl and began resuscitation.

Seconds stretched into eternity. The beeping monitors tore the silence apart. The silence on the resuscitation table and the silence from the child pressed down so hard it made you want to scream.

— Breathe, — Bahar whispered. — Breathe, — she continued the operation, closing the tissues.

Bahar sutured the layers, laying down even stitches… and suddenly a thin, feeble cry cut through the OR… barely audible… the girl responded to resuscitation.

— We’ve got her, — Evren breathed out. — Into the incubator, — he handed the baby to Doruk and returned to the table.

He watched as Bahar placed the last stitch and lifted her hands, taking a step back. The ECC machine ran, but the heart did not beat.

— Professor? — Uraz looked at Evren.

Evren didn’t take his eyes off Bahar, saw how she swayed.

— You’re not going to fall! — Evren whispered, looking straight at her.

— Don’t you dare… not now… don’t you dare think about me right now, — she snapped back instantly. — Don’t… — her voice trembled. — Esra? — she stared at her pale face. — Are we losing her? — she voiced what everyone was afraid to say.

Evren closed his eyes for a moment.

— Without a heartbeat — yes, — he said quietly, and it sounded like a sentence.

Bahar swallowed hard. Tears flickered in her eyes.

— How do we tell him? — she asked softly.

— I can’t, — Evren’s voice broke.

— You have to, — Bahar stared at the flat line on the monitor.

Evren looked into her eyes… and began to understand just how fragile she was, how much strength it took for her to keep the world around her from collapsing… holding it the only way she could.

— Bahar? — he studied her face with worry.

— If I fall, — she answered his unspoken call, — then later, not now, Evren.

Evren nodded, and only now noticed how her hands were shaking. He realized she truly was on the verge of fainting… the awareness of everything that had happened was finally catching up with them… the gun pointed at her chest, that image impossible to erase… Reha on the floor. Gulçicek’s hands slick with his blood. Nevra unconscious in Ismail’s arms… and Sert Kaya taking the bullet meant for Bahar… a bullet that would have taken her life.

And Cem… no one had spoken his name again, but he was there somewhere in a room… and both of them understood this day was far from over — it was only beginning.

***

The machines hummed quietly in the room. Reha lay motionless. He had just regained consciousness, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, as if trying to understand whether he was even alive. His body ached, everything inside him still ringing after the gunshot. Reha wanted to call Gulçicek — softly, in a whisper, the way he always did… but he heard her voice. Warm. Soft. Too… alive. But not beside him.

Through the half-open door spilled light from the hallway, and he heard a man’s laughter — gentle, caring… and his wife’s voice. A voice he hadn’t heard addressed to him in a very long time.

— Mrs. Gulçicek, what an unexpected surprise to see you here… you haven’t changed at all… and your pastries… how I’ve missed them… missed you, — the man’s voice made Reha sit up in bed as if shot again. — How’s your shoulder?

Pain slashed through his side, but he slowly lowered his legs off the bed. Blood pulsed beneath the bandage, but he stood. Holding onto the wall, Reha moved forward, teeth clenched so tightly his jaw ached. Each step burned through his body, and a scorching jealousy pulled him straight toward the door. He reached it, pushed it open — and froze.

A man in a white coat with a neatly trimmed beard was smiling at his wife. He held her hand in both of his, as though it were the greatest treasure. Standing far too close… and right before Reha’s eyes, he leaned down and touched her hand with his lips.

— You can’t imagine how glad I am to see you again, — he whispered, kissing her hand. — Where did you disappear so suddenly? You stopped coming for your massages, — he looked at her without lifting his head.

Gulçicek blushed and gently tried to pull her hand away, but the stranger in the coat held on, not letting go. Reha felt something explode inside him.

— She was busy! — he stepped into the hallway, and even to himself his voice sounded strange and unfamiliar.

Reha clung to the doorframe, his other hand pressed to the bandage where blood was already seeping through. Gulçicek flinched and turned. The stranger released her hand at once and stepped back.

— Professor, — the man nodded.

Reha let go of the doorframe and came closer, standing before Gulçicek, staring into the stranger’s eyes.

— Step away! — he demanded, his voice edged with steel.

— Forgive me… I… this is a misunderstanding, — the man lifted his hands, retreating. — I’ve just known Mrs. Gulçicek for a long time.

— A long time? — Reha repeated. — And very warmly, it seems? Closely? — he took a step toward him. — Missed her terribly, did you?

— Professor… I… — the man paled.

No one noticed Meryem. She stepped out from around the corner and stopped as she saw the scene unfolding. Reha — the same Reha who had loved her so fiercely in their youth — was now looking only at his wife. Only protecting her. Jealous, furious, not caring about the wound, about the blood seeping through his bandage… and Meryem smiled softly, sighed, turned, and left just as quietly as she had appeared.

Gulçicek seemed to snap from her shock and grabbed Reha’s arm.

— Reha! Enough! — she demanded. — He just…

— Just what? — Reha turned sharply to her. — Just kissed your hand? Just held you? Just looked at you like he hadn’t seen you in a hundred years? Just gave you massages?! — his face changed. — Did you undress for him, Gulçicek?!

— Only my hand, — she flared up. — And you?!

— What about me? — a bitter smile twisted his lips. — Should we start measuring now? Who kissed whose fingers? Who hugged whom? Who tore whose heart apart? — he snapped.

She froze. Her eyes widened. The man, seizing the moment while Reha’s fury shifted entirely to Gulçicek, quietly retreated and disappeared around the corner. Reha barely held himself together, trembling with rage that consumed him… and with the pain tearing his soul apart.

— You… are jealous? — she whispered.

— Me? — Reha looked startled. — I wake up after surgery, and you’re not there! — he said through clenched teeth. — I hear your voice, and you’re standing with another man, letting him touch you, kiss your hands! And massages? — he stepped closer, staring straight into her eyes — Massages! — he swallowed hard.

— Just a massage, — she shot back.

He flinched as if she’d struck him, as if she’d slapped him.

— The way you looked at him, the way you smiled! And he was kissing your hands! — he couldn’t hear her anymore, that image looping mercilessly in his mind. — I wish I’d died, — he whispered, — I wish I’d died rather than see that, rather than know!

— Don’t say that! — Gulçicek sparked. — Don’t you dare say that! — she was ready to hit him in the chest, ready to shove him if she had to.

— Why? — he staggered but kept his balance. — You would… mourn? Or bake him pastries? Ask him for a comforting massage?

Gulçicek shuddered as if slapped.

— How could you— — she flared, stepping toward him.

— And you?! — he stepped too, but pain slashed through him and he grabbed the wall. — How could you stand with him so close… smiling like that… when I’d barely come to myself, and you weren’t even there?

She caught him, held him upright, keeping him from falling.

— He is no one! — she burst out, not letting him go. — No one! And you…

— Don’t, — Reha squeezed her hands, trying to pull away. — Not now, don’t touch me! Not like this. I— — he swayed, the stain on his bandage spreading.

— Reha, stop! — Gulçicek cried, stepping beside him and guiding his arm over her shoulders.

He resisted, wanted to walk away, slam a door, disappear anywhere just not to see, not to remember — but his legs gave out, and he had no choice but to accept her support. Gulçicek — his stubborn, proud, fiercely loved wife — didn’t ask his permission. She simply laid him down in the bed. Took him and simply did it, because he was her husband… stubborn, proud.

Reha tried to turn away, to lie on his side, but the wound throbbed, reminding him of itself, and he stayed on his back, staring at the ceiling… yet all he could see was the image of another man kissing her hands… and his mind kept drawing pictures — the massage, those hands on her skin.

— I was scared for you, Reha, — he suddenly heard her voice. — I thought you were going to die right before my eyes. I was terrified when you took so long to wake up after the surgery.

— So terrified you went to meet him, — Reha muttered without looking at her.

— I wasn’t flirting with him, — she continued, trying to ignore his remarks. — I was trying to breathe. I just wanted a sip of water while you…, — she stopped, her voice wavering.

He still didn’t look at her, but his breathing faltered.

— You… — his voice softened just a little, — you were really scared for me? — he asked.

— To death, — Gulçicek admitted and closed her eyes. — To death, Reha.

He slowly turned toward her. And inside him everything collapsed — all the jealousy, all the fear, all the anger. With a trembling hand he found her fingers and squeezed her palm.

— I can’t bear it… if I ever again see you smile at someone like that… — he confessed in a whisper. — I’ll lose my mind, — he breathed out. — You’ll drive me insane.

Gulçicek leaned toward him slightly.

— Why? — she asked softly.

— Because I love you more than life, — he whispered without opening his eyes.

Reha felt the warmth of her breath — so close, so near. Gulçicek gently touched his cheek, just like on their very first evening, when they had their first kiss.

— And I love you, — she confessed barely audibly.

The pain faded, the anger dissolved, but the fear remained — warmer now… they hadn’t reconciled, they had survived a storm… and the fear of losing each other meant one thing for both of them: to love truly, fiercely, painfully.

He lay there staring at the ceiling like an offended boy who didn’t know whether to keep being angry or ask for forgiveness. His breathing was still heavy, his shoulders tense, the bandage on his side darkening, blood seeping through the fabric.

— Reha, — Gulçicek leaned over him.

— Don’t touch, — he jerked away.

— Of course, — she said as if agreeing with him, — I won’t touch, — she placed her hand on his chest just to keep him from getting up. — I’m not about to let you die because of your own stupidity.

Reha wanted to protest, but his breath hitched — from pain or from the certainty in her touch, he couldn’t tell. Wherever her fingers touched his skin, something inside him calmed. Gulçicek didn’t call anyone, didn’t alert the nurses. She carefully removed the bandage… saw the clean suture, and just as patiently applied a new dressing, working with such care it was as if she feared hurting him. Reha watched her secretly.

— You’re still angry, — he whispered.

— Very, — she admitted.

— And jealous, — he added.

Gulçicek froze, then slowly lifted her head and looked into his eyes in a way that made him stop breathing for a moment.

— I am jealous? — she asked quietly. — After what I saw today?

Reha tried to turn away, but her fingers touched his cheek — confidently, tenderly, almost possessively.

— Don’t move, — she said softly. — You’re dizzy.

Reha pressed his lips together stubbornly. Those were the same hands another man had kissed — and he wanted to argue with her more, but his body betrayed him, his eyes closing. Gulçicek adjusted the pillow, sat on the edge of the bed, and covered his hand with hers. His large, strong hand, and her small palm over it. Reha exhaled for the first time with a hint of relief.

— You know, — Gulçicek whispered, — I never thought I’d see you jealous like this…, — she lowered her gaze, tracing the line of his wrist with her fingertip. — So… defenseless. So… real.

He opened his eyes.

— You’re my wife, — he answered in a whisper. — And I… won’t stand it if someone ever looks at you the way he did. Kisses your hands.

Gulçicek smiled faintly.

— Mmm… so that’s what this is… — she squeezed his hand a little tighter. — So you are jealous after all.

Reha wanted to throw back a remark, but his eyelids grew heavy, his breathing steadied.

— Sleep already, — she leaned closer to him. — Before you decide to get up again and go solve things.

— If he… ever comes near you again…, — Reha frowned through sleep.

— Reha, — Gulçicek interrupted gently, — if anyone ever comes that close to me…, — she leaned over his face. — I’ll be the one to tell him to stay away, — she ran her hand through his hair, amazed at herself for doing it, for wanting to touch him, despite having seen another woman kiss him. — Sleep, my stubborn one, — she whispered. — I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.

His face softened, his shoulders relaxed, his breathing evened out. Reha fell asleep as if someone had turned off the light inside his fear. Gulçicek stayed beside him. She didn’t leave. She stroked his hand, as if afraid that if she let go, he would disappear. And only when she was certain he was asleep did she allow herself a small, barely noticeable smile — shy, warm. That same smile that comes after pain, after fear, after jealousy.

***

The corridor, after everything that had happened that day, was unusually quiet. A silence that wasn’t real — the kind in which every breath, every step, every heartbeat could be heard.

They walked side by side. Evren was holding Bahar’s hand as if he needed constant proof that she was alive, that her hand was warm, that she was right there beside him. Bahar tried several times to pull her hand free, wanting to walk faster, to find out how her mother was, how Reha was, how Nevra was, how Cem was, how Sert Kaya was — the man who had taken her bullet. But Evren, without meaning to, slowed her down, not letting go. He didn’t hold her by force — only out of a fear he had not yet overcome.

— Evren… — Bahar said quietly.

— No, — he answered just as softly. — Wait.

Bahar heard no irritation in his voice, no anger — only a quiet plea. They turned the corner and saw Serhat. He was standing by the glass wall of the neonatal unit. Standing and looking at the tiny incubator where his granddaughter lay. A thin tube, a tiny mask, the soft ticking of the monitor that counted her life and displayed it in numbers on the screen. Serhat rested his hand against the glass, leaning his forehead against the cold surface.

He noticed Bahar and Evren from the corner of his eye but didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. They stopped beside him. Evren exhaled. Bahar swallowed hard, fighting off the rising wave of nausea. Serhat spoke first.

— She’s… so small… — he traced the glass with his fingers. — And so… alive…, — he breathed out. — And her mother… her mother is slipping away.

Bahar turned and buried her face in Evren’s shoulder, barely holding back tears. Evren looked away — for a second, no more, but it was enough for his face to harden and his gaze to turn focused and cold.

— A donor? — Serhat still asked and turned to them.

The silence stabbed straight into his heart, knocking the air out of him. Serhat nodded and looked back at the incubator. Bahar watched him — the way he fought himself with every breath, the way he lost hope one heartbeat at a time.

— Not yet, — Evren answered and squeezed his shoulder.

Serhat closed his eyes, his fingers sliding down the glass.

— So… — he whispered, barely audible. — We might… not make it in time?

Evren said nothing. The speaker above them crackled softly. Somewhere in the hospital someone was fighting for life, somewhere in another wing a baby was crying, and somewhere close by Esra’s life was fading.

— I don’t know how to tell her that her mother might never come back, — Serhat whispered, staring at his granddaughter. — How do you tell such things… to an infant? — he managed to force a smile, with tears frozen in his eyes. — Esra didn’t even see her, didn’t hold her. She carried her for 32 weeks, and the baby doesn’t even have a name. Esra never gave her daughter a name, — Serhat shuddered and looked at them. — And what if she never wakes up to give one? What if she never learns what her daughter is called?

Serhat leaned his forehead against the glass again. Bahar clutched Evren’s fingers tightly. She wanted to reach out to Serhat, to hug him — but her legs wouldn’t move.

— We’re looking for a heart, Serhat, — Evren said quietly. — We can’t lose hope. I’m not leaving Esra. Do you hear me?

— You might simply not make it in time, Evren, — Serhat responded, and for the first time he looked completely broken, as if he’d accepted the inevitable. — There is no “later” anymore. Nothing left.

He wasn’t shouting, wasn’t crying, wasn’t demanding anything anymore. He just stood there looking at his granddaughter… and that made it even more terrifying. Looking at her as if trying to remember every second. Evren pulled Bahar closer, and again she hid her face against his shoulder… again fear pierced them.

Later. The word stabbed deeper than the bullets fired that day. He turned and met her eyes. Serhat looked at them as well. Bahar shuddered.

— Go, — Serhat asked suddenly. — Just go.

— And you? — Evren asked.

— Me? — he repeated. — I’ll stay here for as long as she breathes. I’ll be right here, and I don’t care that it’s the machine keeping her alive. She’s still here. I feel her.

Evren exhaled heavily, tightened his grip on Bahar’s hand, and they hurried forward. As soon as they left the neonatal unit, they found themselves amid voices, fast footsteps, rattling stretchers — and then they saw her. Rengin. She was sitting in a wheelchair. Ferdi pushed it carefully, as if afraid to hurt her. A transparent tube ran from her arm to the IV bag fixed on the chair. Ahu walked beside her with a tablet in hand.

— Room 216 — surgical, immediately, — Rengin said in an even tone, her voice steady. — Station No. 4 must be closed until re-sterilization. Notify the lab: analyses go out of order.

— Already done, Professor Rengin, — Ahu typed quickly on the screen. — Sending it now…

— Maybe… you should go to your room after all? — Ferdi said cautiously. — You need…

— What I need is for this hospital to function, Ferdi, — she said calmly. — Keep going, — she motioned ahead.

She turned her head and saw them. Bahar and Evren froze before the corner. She looked at them. She noticed Bahar’s paleness, her exhausted eyes. She noticed Evren’s tension, the way he held Bahar’s hand with quiet desperation — holding her as if terrified to let go. Evren gave her a short nod, and Rengin returned the gesture. And in that glance was everything: no jealousy, no envy — only the understanding that each of them was doing exactly what they were meant to do. He — saving lives, she — running the hospital. In that moment their connection became even clearer, quieter, stronger. They looked like one team, each in their proper place, even if fate had thrown them to opposite sides of the battlefield.

— Keep going, — Rengin turned away from them.

And Ferdi obeyed, Ahu hurried beside him, following the new instructions. Evren and Bahar watched Rengin go — not comparing, not judging, simply understanding that she was doing a job no one else could handle, not in calm times, not in the chaos they had all been thrown into.

— Professor Rengin, are you sure you don’t want to go to your room? — Ahu muttered.

— If I lie down, — Rengin replied, — half the departments will collapse. Keep going.

Ferdi pushed her wheelchair forward. Ahu scurried along with them. Rengin issued orders as if there were no IV line in her arm, as if she were standing on her own two feet.

— Let’s go, — Evren said quietly.

And they ran forward again. The corridor was too long, the light too bright. Evren and Bahar ran side by side, as if death itself were chasing them. Their breath was uneven, their footsteps echoed, their hearts pounded in their chests.

When they turned the corner, they stopped at the exact same moment, as if something had slammed into them. Evren braced one hand against the wall and with the other squeezed her fingers so desperately it almost hurt.

— Bahar… — he exhaled as if finally letting himself feel. — One more second… one more second and…, — he didn’t finish, his voice breaking.

Bahar met his eyes — and she saw it. The same terror he had lived through, the same terror she had felt in that hall with a gun pointed at her chest.

— You would have lived, — she whispered. — You would just… go on living.

— Not without you, — he said with that familiar stubborn note. — Don’t you understand — I could have lost you. I could’ve… not even had the chance… I haven’t even managed to become your husband yet.

— Evren…, — her eyes reddened.

— We haven’t done anything yet. No wedding. No home. No… none of the things we were supposed to live through, — he spoke so softly, but every word hit like electricity.

Bahar bit her lip, squeezed his fingers harder, and leaned her forehead against his shoulder.

— Just don’t propose to me right now, — she whispered. — Don’t you dare. Not after a shooting. Not out of fear, Evren. We’ve already been through that.

— That’s what you think? — a bitter half-smile froze on his lips. — That I want to marry you out of fear?

— Isn’t it? — she asked carefully.

— I want to marry you because I want to wake up next to you, Bahar! — he breathed out.

— And I want first… — her voice trembled, — I want to go on at least one normal date with you, Evren. Without sirens. Without blood. Without operating rooms.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, pressing his chin into her hair.

— Are you serious right now? — he asked softly.

— Yes, — she sighed, not understanding why they were even discussing this in the middle of a corridor, but unable to rush him, unable to say “later” anymore.

— After everything that’s happened, we’re talking about a date? — he pulled back slightly to look into her eyes.

— We’re talking… about life, Evren, — tears glimmered in her eyes. — The life we never got to live. The one that can end at any moment… like today.

— So you don’t want to marry me? — his voice was quiet, dangerously quiet.

— Are you serious right now?! — she stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. — We had a shooting! Our people are injured! Your aunt, your brother, your family! Our patients! Nevra! Reha! Cem! Esra! And you want to discuss this?!

— Yes! Yes, I damn well do! — he raised his voice for the first time. — Will you marry me, Bahar?! We’re having a baby! — he reminded her.

Bahar stared into his eyes as if reliving the terror on the terrace — the moment she said yes only because she had been too scared to say no.

— I want a date first, Evren, — she whispered.

— A date? — he echoed in disbelief. — Now? When everything is collapsing?

— Yes! — she insisted. — Because otherwise it will always be a catastrophe! And you’re trying to drag me into marriage again between a coma and a heart transplant!

— Because I’m scared for you! — he raised his hands, almost surrendering. — Because I… — he took a deep breath. — Because I love you so much it’s killing me.

She froze. Her breath caught. And for a moment — just one — real fear flickered in her eyes.

— And what if I lose you? — she whispered. — What if you disappear again? — her voice shook.

— I won’t leave again, — Evren stepped closer. — Under no conditions, — he held her tight. — I want you to be my wife, Bahar. And I want our child to be born into a family. Our family.

— Evren… I don’t want marriage… because of fear, — she hugged him tightly. — I want to marry you when we choose each other. Not fate. Not death. Not danger. Just us. Just you and me.

Evren looked at her for a long moment.

— Then promise me one thing, — he said.

— What? — she whispered.

— That you’ll stay alive, — he whispered so quietly she barely heard it. — And that the baby will live.

— That’s not something I decide, — she murmured, closing her eyes.

— No, promise me, — he insisted, pressing his forehead to hers. — Promise you won’t disappear in my arms.

— If you stop proposing between shootings and surgeries, — she squeezed his hand, — then maybe I’ll think about it.

He closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them, everything swirled inside: rage, fear, love, weakness, guilt — all of it barely fitting into his chest.

— If you… if you had died… — he lifted her hand and pressed it to his cheek, — I wouldn’t survive it. Do you hear me?

— You would, — she whispered. — But I… I wouldn’t.

He pulled her even closer, but didn’t kiss her. Just pressed his cheek to hers.

They stood there, barely breathing, in the middle of the chaos that slowly settled back into the steady rhythm they had come to know so well.

— I don’t want to lose time anymore, — Evren whispered. — I don’t want to postpone anything. I don’t want “later.”

— Later might never come, — she answered, breathing in sync with him.

— Then tell me, — Evren asked softly, — what do you want, Bahar? How?

— I want… to walk, — her voice trembled, — not run. Together.

— Even if everything around us is falling apart? — he asked.

— Especially then, — she breathed out.

— Deal, — he said quietly. — But know this…, — he touched her chin, lifting her eyes to his. — I’ll still keep the ring in my pocket. Just in case I realize again that I could lose you.

— Evren, — she almost smiled, shaking her head.

A siren wailed somewhere above them, and at the exact same moment, as if cued, they grabbed each other’s hands and ran forward…

***

Voices could be heard behind the doors, but inside the room it was unnaturally quiet. Only the beeping of the monitor reminded them that time hadn’t stopped, that life was still moving forward. Nevra lay on the bed, almost blending into the white sheets. Her breathing was shallow. When her eyelids fluttered, Ismail immediately leaned over her, as if afraid she might vanish.

— Nevra… — he whispered. — Can you hear me? — his fingers brushed her cheek.

She slowly opened her eyes, trying to focus. A second, another — and she recognized him. There was no reproach in her gaze, only weariness.

— How is Bahar? — she asked right away.

Ismail exhaled. He had expected accusations again, blame — but for the first time, he heard concern, not for herself, but for others.

— Alive. She’s all right, — he said, — and the baby too. She and Evren are in surgery.

He wanted to add something else, to explain, to justify himself once again, but the lump in his throat made it impossible to breathe. Nevra closed her eyes with relief.

— I didn’t protect you, — Ismail whispered, — not from Meryem, not from the bullet. Forgive me, — he squeezed her hand, — forgive me, I should have stood in front of you, shielded you. I failed you again. Failed, — he lowered his head.

Nevra didn’t cry. She opened her eyes slowly and looked at him.

— I’m used to it, — she said. — Used to being just a shadow, used to not mattering.

Suddenly Ismail stood up, walked around the bed, and sat on the other side, where there were no wires.

— I’ll take you home with me, — he said. — You’ll leave the hospital with me.

These weren’t just words — it sounded like a decision he had made without her consent. Nevra turned her head; something like a sad smile flickered in her eyes.

— As what? — she asked quietly. — Not a wife. Not a lover. What would I be? A woman who needs to be taken?

— As… someone I’m never letting go again, — his breath hitched.

— You’re devaluing me… — she said so quietly he barely heard her. — You’re offering this… only because you got scared of losing me. Is that it?

Her words made him lower his head, his shoulders trembled.

— Then let’s do it differently, — he said softly, and took off his shoes.

He carefully moved closer and lay down beside her, on the side without the cables. Nevra gasped, startled, her heart pounding loudly.

— What are you doing? — she whispered.

— Arguing with you, — he said, almost smiling. — I can argue for days. Just to keep you next to me, — his hand gently rested on her waist, and he turned onto his side, nuzzling against her shoulder. — I’ll argue if that’s what you want, if that makes you feel safe. I’m not leaving. I’m not backing away. I’ll stay here until you yourself say, “Ismail, all right.”

Nevra closed her eyes. Her shoulders trembled. Her hand slowly, as if afraid of being burned, found his hand, and she intertwined her fingers with his.

Ismail closed his eyes and breathed out in relief for the first time in twenty-four hours. She lay beside him, listening to his breathing, and allowed herself to think that maybe… maybe they could move forward. Slowly. Carefully… but maybe together.

***

The hospital foyer blazed with camera flashes. The air was thick, stretched tight like a string. Ferdi stopped Rengin’s wheelchair carefully in front of the press. Ahu stood slightly behind her — a shadow, a steadying pillar.

Rengin lifted her head. She looked exhausted, pale, but there was such stern clarity in her eyes that the journalists fell silent for a brief moment.

— I will make a short statement, — she said, her voice even, rough, resolute.

Microphones thrust toward her like thorned hands.

— Today an armed attack took place in our hospital. Several people were injured. Everyone is alive. Everyone has received care, — she spoke without acknowledging her own pain. — Dr. Bahar Ozden and Professor Evren Yalkın… — she paused, — saved a patient and her child. The surgery was critical. The girl has been placed in an incubator. She is alive.

Journalists murmured. Cameras clicked like insects.

— The condition of the patient herself is critical, — Rengin continued. — She needs a heart donor. We are fighting. We are not giving up.

She looked calmly at the reporters — the ones searching for something to twist, to inflame — and she gave them nothing.

— I want to address everyone: an attack on a hospital is not only a crime. It is a blow to every doctor who stands between a human being and death. We must not be afraid to treat. We must not be afraid to come to work.

She spoke not as an administrator, but as someone who herself was sinking, yet still held the entire system on her shoulders.

— And one more thing. Your aggression, your accusations, your thirst for blood — none of that is about the doctors. Doctors are the ones who shielded patients with their own bodies today. The ones who operated under gunfire. The ones who saved lives even when their own were at risk, — she leaned slightly forward. — I am asking you to respect them. Just today. Just for a minute — let us do our job.

She fell silent, and an awkward stillness filled the air… then one journalist raised his hand, and she nodded.

— Sorry… are you the chief physician? — he asked.

Rengin looked at him calmly.

— No, — she said after a long pause.

She gave a light nod to Ferdi, and he turned the wheelchair. He pushed her away beneath the bursts of flashing cameras. The journalists didn’t dare ask another question. Their silence left the air feeling as though someone had just closed the door to an operating room — and behind it, the fight for life continued, unseen by anyone…

***

They burst into the room, and the cold light hit their eyes. The monitor displayed its numbers in a monotonous rhythm. The ventilator worked without emotion — a machine simply doing the job of a person’s lungs.

Yusuf was in the room alone. He didn’t turn right away, didn’t look at them immediately — he only gripped the bed’s railing harder, his knuckles turning white. Evren stepped closer. Bahar stayed just behind him.

The room was so quiet their own breathing sounded like a shout, and in that silence, for the first time all day, Evren allowed himself to flinch. He looked at Cem, and in that moment he wasn’t a professional. He wasn’t a doctor. He was simply a brother.

Yusuf looked away. Evren moved a little closer.

— Professor… — Yusuf’s voice cracked, but he pulled himself together almost instantly. — The patient shows no signs of consciousness, — he paused, clinical and dry, but in that dryness lay everything he was trying to hide. — No response. No reaction to pain. Pupils… — he blinked, — fixed, no reaction to light.

Evren didn’t move. Only his fingers twitched slightly, and Bahar felt it — she moved closer, almost touching his shoulder with her own.

— A neurosurgeon was called, — Yusuf continued, speaking in that automatic tone. — Conclusion: absence of brainstem reflexes. Diagnosis confirmed: brain death. Vital functions are supported… — he exhaled, — only by the ventilator.

Silence fell between them like a slab of concrete. Evren closed his eyes. Not completely — just the way people did when a blow landed straight in the heart and they needed to hide the pain for a second, just enough not to fall apart. Bahar felt the air around them grow colder. Yusuf stood motionless. Only one muscle on his cheek twitched — the telltale sign of someone holding a scream inside.

— Why are you here? — Evren asked.

— I need to… be here, — Yusuf replied. — Here… I can’t harm him anymore.

His words were so quiet it was impossible to tell whether they were a confession, guilt, or a plea for forgiveness. The room seemed to shrink. The walls moved closer. Even the ventilator sounded quieter. Evren didn’t look away from Cem. He looked at his unmoving face, and in that moment he wasn’t a doctor. He was someone who had come too late.

Yusuf shuffled his weight from foot to foot, as if he despised himself. Bahar whispered softly:

— Evren… look at him, — she murmured, touching his shoulder.

Evren shuddered. He slowly turned toward Yusuf, as if afraid to see in his eyes the reflection of his own pain.

— Why are you here, Yusuf? — he repeated.

Yusuf met his gaze. Too honestly — even for someone used to hiding.

— Because… — he swallowed. — Because I can’t hurt him anymore, — he repeated. — But others… — his voice trembled, — I can.

Bahar approached him, touched his shoulder — gently, like a mother touching a child who had grown up far too early.

— Yusuf… — she said softly.

He exhaled sharply — almost a sob, but soundless.

— I don’t want… this to happen again, — he whispered, unable to look Evren in the eyes.

— What? — Evren asked, just as hoarsely.

— My mistake, — Yusuf said.

— The case was complicated, — Bahar said gently.

— No. I was… resentful, — Yusuf shook his head. — At him. At everyone. And… I didn’t examine the patient, — he spoke quietly, but every word struck like a blow. — And the man… lost his leg.

Evren closed his eyes. His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms.

— Yusuf, — Evren said through his teeth. — You should have just come to me.

— I didn’t think, — Yusuf answered honestly. — And you chose Uraz.

Bahar sighed quietly. Evren stepped closer. Resting his hands on Yusuf’s shoulders, he turned him to face him.

— Listen to me, — he looked directly into his eyes. — If you made a mistake, then it’s my mistake too. I’m your mentor. I should have seen… that something was wrong with you. And stopped you before you made an error, — Evren spoke calmly, though everything inside him churned. — I didn’t see it. I didn’t want to see it.

— No, Professor, I— — Yusuf began.

— Yusuf, — Evren interrupted. — I will not let you lose yourself. You will become a doctor.

Yusuf went pale. Bahar swayed on her feet.

— I want to do everything right, — Yusuf whispered. — He’s my uncle… right? — tears flickered in his eyes.

— We’ll do it together, — Evren said with a nod.

The door opened quietly, and Uraz and Siren entered the room. They looked at the monitor, then at Bahar. She shook her head, and they stepped back toward the wall.

Evren looked at all of them.

— I need to… — he swallowed, and his voice broke. — I need to make a decision.

The room was too small to contain so much pain. Too bright to hide what could no longer be denied. Evren stood at the head of the bed. He didn’t touch Cem. Bahar stood beside him, her elbow barely touching his. Evren’s inhale was too sharp, as though that one breath became the decision itself.

— That’s it, — he whispered.

— Evren… — Bahar touched his hand.

— Brain death is confirmed, — he didn’t look at her. — No reflexes. We’ll turn off the ventilator.

— Evren… — Bahar squeezed his hand. — Wait…

He looked at her with red, burning eyes.

— He’s gone, Bahar, — he whispered. — Do you understand?

Bahar nodded, tears frozen on her lashes.

— But the girls… — she reminded him. — They need to say goodbye.

— No, — he said sharply. — I don’t want them to see this.

— Evren… — she gripped his wrist harder, — they have the right. This… this isn’t just a patient.

Evren ran a hand over his face as if trying to wipe the reality away.

— No, — he said again, quieter. — Enough pain, — he touched Cem’s cold hand. — He… — his voice cracked, — he never did anything good, Bahar. Only mistakes. Only destruction…

The door opened, and Serhat pushed in the wheelchair with Rengin sitting in it, the IV still attached to her arm. She looked exhausted, but her eyes were clear.

— The girls need to say goodbye, — she supported Bahar.

— Rengin, — Evren murmured, — don’t.

— Cem was Parla’s friend, — Rengin reminded, then looked at Bahar. — And the one Umay chose. It didn’t work out, but they have the right, Evren.

Uraz and Siren lifted their heads sharply. Bahar pressed herself closer to Evren, as if giving him strength to remain standing. Evren turned away, as if someone were cutting him open.

— Professor…, — Yusuf spoke quietly, — I ran the tests, — and everyone turned to him. — Cem can be a donor.

They stared at him — too intently, too painfully.

— Cem… is compatible as a donor, — Yusuf confirmed.

At first no one understood. The words hung in the air. Bahar covered her mouth with her hand.

Evren seemed to turn to stone.

Yusuf continued, more steadily now, speaking like a doctor who had suddenly realized he might not be destruction — but salvation.

— His heart… is compatible with the patient in Room 333, — he looked up awkwardly at Evren. — With Esra Ozer.

Serhat, standing by the door, turned so pale even the walls seemed to tremble. He took a step. Then another. As if he couldn’t believe his own ears.

— What… did you just say? — he whispered.

Yusuf held his gaze.

— I’ll repeat, — he said quietly. — Cem’s heart matches Esra. Her only chance at life is in this room.

Bahar squeezed Evren’s hand so hard her knuckles whitened, and Evren seemed to forget how to breathe. He looked at Cem, unable to believe that this heart could save someone.

— He can leave something good behind, — Yusuf continued softly. — He can save more than one life. Kidneys, liver, tissues — they can help others. He can…, — Yusuf exhaled, his voice cracking, — he can give a chance to those who’ve already lost hope.

Everyone looked at Evren. Only at him. And in that silence, before death, before love, before a choice that would divide his soul forever — Evren looked, for the first time in his life, like a small boy forced to choose between heart and duty. Between a painful past and his real family. Between his brother and his friend’s daughter. His lips trembled.

The monitor line moved evenly, coldly, indifferently. The ventilator kept pumping air. And they all watched Evren — as if he were the center of their world, and his one word could tilt fate in either direction. He stood frozen, like a man robbed of the right to breathe.

Bahar held Evren’s hand. Her fingers were cold. His — burning hot. She was the only one who didn’t look away, because she knew: if she looked away, he would fall. He would be alone with his guilt.

Serhat stood at the door. He had no right to ask. No right to beg.

And yet his eyes screamed: Save my girl… please… save her.

— Evren… — Yusuf said quietly. — This could be… his chance. His last good deed, — he cleared his throat. — You always said doctors are the ones who save even when it hurts.

Evren closed his eyes. Those were his own words — now turned against him. He inhaled sharply. His chest felt crushed, as if someone were squeezing his heart. Bahar touched his cheek and looked into his eyes.

— Evren… — she whispered, — you’re not alone.

Evren closed his eyes again and turned toward Cem. He ran a hand through his brother’s hair.

— You’ll save someone else, — he whispered. — Prepare the paperwork. Cem will be a donor.

Serhat leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks. Bahar wrapped her arms tightly around Evren, knowing he wouldn’t allow himself to collapse only because she was holding both of them up. The death of one became the chance for others.