The space in the living room seemed to shrink; the air turned sharp, stretched tight like before a storm. Umai flinched and immediately rushed to Bahar.

— Mom, — she clutched her hand, — I’m not going anywhere, — panic slipped into her voice. — Nowhere. I don’t want to become a doctor, Mom! — she blurted out in a single breath, staring at Bahar with wide-open eyes. — I’m not going, Mom!

— Umai? — Bahar squeezed her daughter’s hands, shaking her head, not understanding anything.

— Mom, — Uraz stepped in front of Bahar and shook his head, — I’m not going either, — he shot out. — I’m not going! — he declared with stark finality. — Not now! I’m not going to that internship! Mom?

Both of her grown children looked at her with such desperation, instinctively seeking protection in her, while Bahar helplessly held their hands. Evren stepped slightly forward, as if pushing all of them behind his back, and stared straight into Sert and Meryem’s eyes. Into the eyes of those who had entered their home and shattered their peace. Yusuf walked out of the kitchen and froze, not crossing into the living room.

Bahar embraced Umai, then Uraz, and looked at those standing behind her children. Sert Kaya slightly lifted his chin, shoved his hands into his pockets; only a thin sheen of sweat betrayed his weakness, nothing else. Meryem sat on the couch with her fingers intertwined, but even that couldn’t hide the trembling of her hands.

— Abroad? — Bahar repeated. — Where did this decision even come from?

— I made it! — Sert Kaya announced, looking her straight in the eyes, taking a step toward them.

Evren instantly lifted a hand, forcing him to stop and not come any closer. Umai flinched and darted behind Bahar. Uraz swallowed hard and followed his sister’s lead. Evren looked at Sert from under his brow. Bahar placed a hand on Evren’s shoulder, holding on to him.

— On what grounds did you decide this? — Bahar asked. — If you… — she faltered, steadied her breathing, and continued, — you protected me at the hospital — thank you, — she placed a hand to her chest in gratitude. — But what right do you have to interfere in my children’s lives?

— By the right that they are my grandchildren, — he declared.

Bahar paled. Evren blinked, as if he misheard. Umai tightened her grip on Bahar’s hand. Uraz exhaled heavily. They all stared at Sert Kaya as though he were Timur’s ghost brought to life.

— What… did you say? — Bahar stepped forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with Evren. — Grandchildren?

— I’m Timur’s father, — Sert stated sharply. — Which means these children are mine.

— They are not yours! — Evren glared at him as if ready to tear him apart with a single look. — You have no right to interfere in their lives!

Umai stepped closer, and this time her hand settled on Evren’s shoulder, as though she sought protection specifically in him. Uraz and Umai stood behind Evren and Bahar, and together they became a wall shielding them from everything — as if only they could provide the support Sert Kaya had ripped away with just his presence.

— You… — Bahar raised her hand, trying to steady her breathing, and at the same time as if wanting to erase his words altogether. — You have no right to say such things. You had no right to burst into my home!

— This house, — Sert cut her off, — brings nothing but death. I don’t want my grandchildren living in this house!

Evren jolted as if struck. Bahar lost her breath.

— Evren’s mother died here, — Sert continued, staring only at her. — His sister and her child died here! My son’s life ended here! — Sert took another step forward, and Evren moved ahead, forcing him to stop and come no closer. — Who has to die next? Uraz? Umai? Or the one you’re carrying right now?

Bahar flinched; her hand fell to her stomach. Evren stepped even further forward and shielded her with his body.

— Enough, — Evren cut him off. — Not another word!

— This is not for you to decide! — Sert didn’t so much as raise his voice. — You’ve never protected your family, — he looked at Meryem. — Unlike some!

Evren paled. The words hit their mark.

— Don’t you dare, — he whispered. — Don’t you dare mention her! She abandoned us! Me and my sister!

Meryem jerked — whether from pain or guilt — covering her mouth with her hand. She swayed where she sat, and Bahar wanted to go to her, but Evren raised a hand to stop her.

— Careful, — Bahar whispered, staying where she was.

— She has no place in this house, — Evren ground out through his teeth. — Leave! Both of you! — he stared straight into Sert’s eyes. — I resign as chief physician, — Evren said calmly, as if signing paperwork. — Right now, — he glanced at Bahar, at Uraz, Siren, Umai, and they seemed to support him silently. — If necessary — we’ll all leave the hospital. We’ll find another workplace! Family is not your project!

Umai clutched his shoulder even tighter. Uraz stepped closer, lifting his chin. Siren stood behind Evren at the foot of the stairs, as though guarding the way upstairs, not letting anyone reach the children. All of them — behind his back. All of them — under his protection.

Sert stared at him for a long moment. A clash of two men, two worlds, two truths.

— You’re making a mistake, — he finally said quietly.

— My family is not a mistake, — Evren replied. — And not your diagnosis.

— We will leave, — Sert said, taking a step toward him, — but first — one thing, — as if reminding Evren of something he had forgotten, Sert took out his phone, opened something, and showed it to them. — Look.

Evren’s face changed — Bahar’s name flashed in the trends, hashtags everywhere: Killer of Aliye, The Bahar Experiment, Remove From Medicine, Covered Up by the Chief Physician. Bahar swayed. Her vision darkened. Evren caught her by the elbow, holding her steady. Uraz sucked in a sharp breath. Umai stared as though unable to believe what she saw.

— Starting tomorrow, — Sert said, putting the phone away, — Dr. Bahar Özden is suspended from all surgeries, — he turned to Evren. — You may resign, give up your position, but Bahar Özden will not find work anywhere! — he almost smirked. — So tomorrow — you’ll announce it publicly!

Bahar seemed to stop hearing anything. Evren clenched his fists, his harsh breathing tearing at his chest.

— No, — he said quietly. — That won’t happen.

— That’s an order, — Sert replied, meeting his gaze. — Is this how you protect your family? By resigning?

Without looking at Meryem, he headed for the exit, but stopped near the set table. Meryem slowly rose and approached him.

— On this table, — Sert touched the surface, — your mother died, Evren, — he spoke without looking at him. — This table took your sister’s life and her child’s, and left you an orphan, — Sert turned and looked at Evren. — Your home?! — he let out a short laugh.

Meryem swayed, and Sert steadied her, taking her by the elbow. Umai went pale; Uraz’s expression changed. Siren pressed her hand to her mouth. They all stared at the table they had so carefully prepared for dinner. Yusuf froze in the kitchen doorway. They had been waiting for Bahar and Evren to sit together at that table. All as he wanted… only now no one was sure they should sit at that table at all.

Bahar pressed a hand to her chest, as if trying to hold her heart together so it wouldn’t tear apart from the pain — and from the realization of everything that had happened… the table, the house, Timur’s father, her career… everything had crumbled to dust at once. She looked at Evren, understanding that this moment had made them a family — strange, scattered, frightened, but united… and ahead of them waited a new storm… and none of them knew who would emerge from it alive and unharmed.

***

The neonatology corridor greeted them with silence — the kind that sounded louder than any bustle, the kind where every breath measured a life. The light here felt softer than in other departments, muted, almost warm. Rengin sat in the wheelchair, her hands resting on the armrests, her fingers trembling slightly, betraying her nerves.

Serhat pushed her wheelchair slowly. He had seen too much pain in this corridor, too many fates, but today — for the first time in a long while — there was something bright, quiet, transparent in his gaze.

— Here she is, — he said when they stopped at the incubator. — My granddaughter, — he whispered, stepping closer to the glass.

— So tiny, — Parla stood beside him. — Such a tiny nose, tiny fingers, — she said with a smile, watching the girl in the incubator. — Mom, look, — Parla turned, — she’s curled her little fingers into a fist.

— She’s strong, — Rengin whispered, rolling closer. — Very strong, Serhat.

Parla looked at Serhat, then at Rengin.

— I’m going to have a brother or a sister, you know, — she timidly touched Serhat’s large hand with one of hers and squeezed Rengin’s cold fingers with the other. — It’s the most wonderful thing that could have happened.

Serhat didn’t answer; he simply placed his hand on her shoulder. Rengin looked up at him. For the first time since she had known him, his gaze was filled with warmth, love, tenderness. As if some weight had finally fallen from his shoulders. As if he had allowed himself, for the first time, to show the tenderness he always considered a forbidden luxury.

— Breathe, — she whispered, smiling at him.

And he did, drawing a calm breath for the first time. He kept breathing just as calmly when they all walked into Esra’s room together. She still looked pale, but this time the monitors were no longer sounding alarms.

Doruk sat beside her bed… and was talking to her. Softly, quickly — he chirped almost — telling her how incredible she was, how brave she had been. Doruk told her about her daughter, that she was a true little heroine, and how lucky she was to have such a strong mother — and such a strong daughter.

— She’s even stronger than me, — Doruk didn’t notice them entering; he spoke to Esra as if she could already hear him. — I wouldn’t last as long, — he admitted, — I couldn’t have survived what you did, — and he squeezed her fingers.

The moment Serhat saw it, his brows instantly knit. Doruk was acting far too sweet, too gentle… too tender. Serhat recognized that look immediately. He remembered all too well the moment he’d seen that very expression in the mirror — the moment he first fell in love. Doruk didn’t even understand what was happening to him, but Serhat already saw it… knew it too well. He was ready to say something, something sharp, but Rengin’s hand touched his wrist.

— Don’t, — she whispered. — Let him, — she pleaded softly, nodding.

Her whole being said: It’s our Doruk. The sweetest, kindest boy. Serhat clenched his jaw and looked away. Parla, taking advantage of the adults’ hesitation, stepped closer.

— I’m Parla, — she said, leaning toward Esra. — When you open your eyes, we’ll get to know each other properly, — she whispered. — And I’ll ask you what you like. What juices? Or maybe you’ll want something tasty? — she smiled and gently adjusted her hair. — Or maybe I’ll just sit with you, if you won’t mind.

Doruk didn’t notice how his eyes grew red. He watched Parla and Esra with such tenderness he nearly burst into tears.

— I don’t mind, — Esra whispered faintly.

Serhat nearly collapsed; his knees buckled, but he stayed upright… and tears rolled down his cheeks. He cried, pressing a hand to his mouth to stifle a silent scream. Esra, his daughter, was alive. Evren had kept his word — a new heart was beating in Esra’s chest.

— Dad, — she slowly turned her head and met his gaze, — my daughter?

— She’s beautiful, sweetheart, — Serhat whispered, brushing away his tears. — And very strong, just like you.

Rengin lowered her head, hiding her tears; a tight ache spread through her chest — the kind that comes from realizing what a large, complete family she had never had… and she silently thanked fate for it.

When they left the room, the corridor suddenly felt wider, the light brighter.

— Today, — Serhat stopped the wheelchair and leaned toward Rengin, — you acted like a chief physician. — What about tomorrow?

Rengin exhaled, lifting her shoulders in a small shrug. She looked into his eyes, and in her gaze he saw no fear, no regret — only resilience, the kind forged over decades.

Parla walked ahead, and Serhat took out his phone, turned on the screen, opened something, and handed it to Rengin. She took it — and all color drained from her face. A wave of hate, and everywhere the name Bahar Özden. Her eyes darkened; she straightened in the chair, fingers tightening.

— This is only the beginning, — she whispered through clenched teeth.

Fear for Bahar gripped both her and him… because now they were all connected. Fate had bound them — their families, their children… and everything could collapse at any moment, because the central link in all of it had always been Bahar…

***

Bahar was afraid to move — just like everyone in the house. Everything went quiet, as if after an explosion; no one moved. It felt as though even the clock ticked cautiously, afraid to disturb them.

Sert and Meryem had left, but their shadows still seemed to linger in the corridor, in the living room — as if they had left their mark everywhere… and the first to move was Evren. He walked up to the table and stopped in front of it. Heavy, large, immovable — the table stood on its platform. The table that hadn’t changed over the years… except it had grown smaller, because Evren had changed completely.

Evren stared at the table as though it were a living enemy that had once defeated him. This table took his mother. Took his sister… and now it wanted to take away his faith in himself. This table could steal his peace, his future in this house. His woman, his life. His fingers touched the surface, and he drew in a breath, clenching his teeth.

— Evren, — Bahar barely whispered his name as she approached.

Evren didn’t turn, didn’t step away, didn’t flinch… he simply stood there, staring at the set table. The table he had asked Bahar’s children to prepare, asking them to take care of her, of themselves… and they had done it — they set the table for dinner and waited… but no one sat down. Evren straightened his shoulders as if lifting the entire house on them.

— Let’s have dinner in the kitchen, — Bahar suggested.

— It’s heavy in here, — Umai added softly, stepping closer.

— Yeah, Evren, — Uraz stood at his other side, — the kitchen’s better, warmer.

Evren seemed not to hear them. He slowly pulled out a chair and sat down. He stared straight ahead, as if challenging his past. A barely visible tremor ran through him, but he tightened his fingers, forcing himself not to run… and running was what he did best. He could run now, and everyone would understand… everyone but himself. Evren planted both feet firmly on the floor.

Bahar bent toward him, her hands settling on his shoulders; she pressed her cheek to his temple.

— Come on, Evren, — she whispered, — let’s go to the kitchen. We’ll replace this table. Tomorrow we’ll buy a new one.

His hand covered hers; he squeezed her fingers.

— No, — he whispered hoarsely.

Bahar, Umai, Uraz, Siren, and Yusuf froze, hardly daring to breathe.

— No, — he repeated more steadily. — This table… is part of me. And part of all of us, — he turned and looked at those standing behind him. — This house is ours! My son lives here, — his gaze paused on Yusuf. — And I want my daughter to be born in this house, — he looked into Bahar’s eyes… and everyone instantly turned toward her.

— A sister? — Umai, Uraz, and Yusuf asked at the same time.

— That’s what Evren decided, — Bahar whispered, and all eyes shifted to him.

— That’s what Bahar said, — he insisted stubbornly, and they all looked at her again.

— Four weeks, — Bahar exhaled, — and we’ll know the baby’s gender.

— I want, — Evren repeated, — my daughter to be born in this house, — and they all looked at him again. — I want her to take her first step here, — he said quietly, slowly, as if making a vow. — I want her to call me Dad in this house, I want us to hear her laughter here! — He ran his hand across the tabletop. — A house is just walls, but the people living inside it make it happy, — he looked at Bahar, — I want every inch of this home to be soaked in our happiness, — he exhaled loudly, heavily. — We’ll heal this place together.

And the tension of the day and evening

slowly began to dissolve… awkwardly, unevenly slipping into shadow. Uraz was the first to sit down, as if accepting reality. Yusuf sat across from him. Umai took a seat near Yusuf. Siren settled beside Uraz. Bahar sat at the head of the table.

These strange, broken, frightened people all sat together at a table that, only five minutes earlier, had seemed like it would never gather anyone again — and now it offered them food once more. This table that had brought death suddenly became a new beginning… and the dinner turned out quiet, fragile, like everything that was just beginning. No laughter, no loud voices… they ate together… and that truly mattered more than any words.

***

The kind of silence that existed only late at night greeted her in the courtyard of her home. Moonlight lay gently over the stone tiles, as if afraid to show itself too boldly… and within that calm, she saw him. Reha, in his hospital pajamas with a white coat thrown over them, stood in the middle of her yard. He lifted his head the moment he heard her footsteps.

— You came back, — he said quietly.

Gülçiçek stopped three steps away from him… the very distance they had lost, the one now so difficult to cross.

— I came home, — she replied.

Her calm voice slipped into his mind — for the first time it felt as though she spoke without pain — and he took a step toward her, just one, no more, as if afraid to come too close.

— I need to know, — his voice had grown hoarse. — Do you like that doctor? — the words came to him with great effort. — Do you love him?

Gülçiçek blinked, as if she didn’t understand the question. All the teasing, all the provocation meant to spark his jealousy had now turned against her… and the realization that she might belong to someone else knocked the ground out from under him.

— Is that so important? — she asked anyway.

— Yes, — he nodded, utterly serious, — because I need to know who your heart belongs to, — his fingers trembled slightly, but he didn’t allow himself to touch her, despite how desperately he wanted to… he simply didn’t dare.

— Then may I ask, — she extended her hand and opened her fingers, — why you left me the hands of your watch? — tiny clock hands lay on her palm, almost invisible, weightless.

His gaze flickered, as though she had touched an open wound inside him.

— Because my time… stopped, — he stepped toward her again, and she didn’t move away. — The moment you began to doubt me.

— And Meryem? — Gülçiçek asked calmly now. — How will you explain that?

Reha closed his eyes for a second.

— Meryem… — he exhaled. — She’s my past, — he opened his eyes and met her gaze. — Her kiss meant nothing to me, — he shook his head tiredly. — I didn’t provoke it. I didn’t want it, — he fell silent, watching her eyes. — It happened, and now what? Are we going to break up over a mistake that had no feelings in it?

Gülçiçek looked into his eyes, silently asking — tell the truth, be honest to the end… but Reha remained quiet, standing a single step from her, simply holding her gaze. And then she asked her question.

— And what if… — she faltered, but continued, — a man had kissed me?

A flash — fire lit in his eyes instantly, jealousy blazing through him like a spark racing across dry grass, but he forced his emotions back under control.

— Kissed you or you kissed him? — he clarified.

— Does that matter? — Gülçiçek flared.

— It’s essential, — he stepped closer, standing right in front of her. — If someone kisses you, it isn’t your desire, — he lifted his hand, almost touching her cheek, — but if you kiss… then you have feelings. And that’s completely different, Gülçiçek.

Her breath caught.

— Meryem is a mistake of youth, — he admitted quietly. — I owe her, but I don’t love her.

— You don’t? — Gülçiçek searched his eyes.

— What do you think? That I do? — a weary half-smile touched his lips but didn’t fully form.

— I… don’t know, — she murmured.

— If I loved her the way I love you, — Reha said softly, — if I wanted a life with her… — he looked away, guilt washing over him again. — I would have gone to America years ago, — he sighed; his shoulders fell. — Maybe not immediately, but after a year or two. Yes, I loved her once, — he looked at Gülçiçek again, — but that love ended long ago. What remains is only the bitterness of a mistake.

Gülçiçek touched his wrist herself.

— Do you regret it? — she asked quietly.

— I do, — he admitted at once, — but not because of her, — he closed his hand around her fingers. — I regret learning about my son so late, — he breathed out. — Regret meeting you so late.

— Me? — Gülçiçek flinched.

— If I had met you earlier…, — he released her hand slowly. — Maybe we would’ve had a son of our own, — his hands rested on her shoulders. — That’s something I’m allowed to regret.

She breathed out softly, as if her heart had surrendered. His fingers tightened on her shoulders. Her hands touched his chest — light, almost shy. Reha leaned down slowly… and she did not pull away. They kissed without urgency, without hunger, with such warmth that it felt like — finally — something had fallen into place.

— Come, — she whispered after pulling back, squeezing his hand, but then paused, remembering, — are you sure we don’t need to go to the hospital? Your wound?

A tired smile brushed his lips.

— No, — he shook his head, — I don’t want another hospital bed. I want a normal honeymoon in Bodrum.

Gülçiçek touched his lips with her fingertips, cupped his face, and kissed him herself.

— Thank you for protecting me, — she whispered.

Reha gently stroked her face.

— Thank you for coming back to me, — he replied, serious as ever, as though afraid to joke after such a storm.

They walked slowly toward her house, quiet, calm, holding each other’s hands — two grown souls who had finally found a small, peaceful corner in the chaos and rush of the day…

***

Night wrapped the house in a soft half-darkness. The light from the window fell onto the floor in a silver rectangle. Bahar stood by the window. She tried to breathe, but her heart still stumbled, like a child who hadn’t yet learned to walk.

She understood all too well that tomorrow their world would collapse. She knew her name was already on the front pages. She knew Evren would be forced to stand on the other side, and her chest burned so fiercely she could barely remain standing.

The door behind her opened quietly and closed with the same gentle click. Evren came closer; his hands settled on her shoulders, and Bahar closed her eyes.

— Don’t think, — he whispered softly, — just for five seconds.

— I can’t, — she said with a joyless smile.

Evren turned her toward him and looked into her eyes.

— Let’s postpone the wedding, — she asked. — Right now… it’s not the time, Evren.

He didn’t pull away, as though he had already expected this. His hands rested at her waist.

— No, — he said quietly. — We’re doing what we planned.

She opened her mouth to object, but he pulled her into an embrace.

— We will manage, — he whispered. — You and I, — he leaned in; his breath touched her forehead. — I won’t let anyone take away what we’ve built. I won’t let them, do you hear me?

— I’m afraid you’ll lose everything because of me, — Bahar breathed.

— Everything? — he looked at her with astonishment, then caught her wrist and placed her hand onto his chest. — I’ve already found everything.

— Evren… — she couldn’t hold back anymore and buried her face in his shoulder.

— You asked me what kind of wedding I imagined for us, — he continued, guiding her toward the armchair. — I want it here, in this house, at our table. We will rewrite this house’s history — we’ll write our own.

Evren sat down in the chair and pulled her onto his lap.

— Sit, — he said, and she did, without resistance, with tired surrender, curling her legs up as he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

Bahar pressed her face into his neck, breathing him in. And he stroked her legs, her shoulders, her back, giving her no chance to feel fear.

— I’ll get you back into the operating room, — his breath touched her hair. — I promise.

— Evren… — she pressed even closer.

— You will return there. I’ll do whatever it takes. You’ll operate again, — he went on.

— Tomorrow will be terrible, — she whispered, unable to believe otherwise.

— Tomorrow I will still choose you, — he said stubbornly, holding her even tighter. — Bahar, — he kissed the top of her head, — we’ll stay afloat. I won’t let go of us for a single moment.

— And if it gets even worse? — she pulled back and looked into his eyes, not hiding her tears.

— Then we’ll sink to the very bottom together, — he answered, brushing her hair, tracing her cheek with his fingertips, — and then rise again, like we always do.

She touched his lips with trembling fingers. He caught her hand and pressed her palm to his lips.

— We’ll get through this, — Evren repeated. — And we’ll have the wedding in this house. From now on — everything happens in this house! — he spoke like casting a spell. — Because I’m marrying you not when it’s quiet, but when everything is loud, when everyone is against us, when the world is falling apart, — his lips brushed hers. — And you’ll be standing beside me.

Bahar let out a sob and buried herself in his shoulder again, simply breathing, as if that alone eased the fear, the nausea, the weight inside her. Evren held her even tighter… and they sat together in the armchair under the timid light of the night — two grown people who tomorrow would stand on opposite shores, yet now held on to each other as the one thing left to save.

***

Morning slipped into the room in a soft beam through a gap in the curtain, gliding along the edge of the sheet, the curve of her shoulder. The light was so fragile, as if afraid to disturb her sleep — and yet Gülçiçek awoke, not realizing at first that she was alone in the bed.

Reaching out, she felt a faint trace of warmth. Reha had slept beside her, but he was gone now. She remembered his hand on her waist, his breath at her neck. She remembered how close he’d lain, how carefully he’d touched her, as if afraid to hurt her — or himself… but for the first time in a long while, they had slept peacefully.

Gülçiçek turned — and saw him. Reha stood in the bedroom doorway with a tray in his hands. His hair was slightly tousled from sleep, hospital pajamas still on him.

— Good morning, — he muttered, hesitant to step inside.

He was convinced he had woken her and silently scolded himself for not letting her sleep longer.

Gülçiçek smiled, and he swayed a little, leaning on the doorframe as if he’d momentarily lost his balance. She pushed herself up, sat on the bed, adjusted the blanket, and looked at him. Only then did Reha approach, placing the tray on the nightstand — tea, toast, cheese. Everything prepared with meticulous care, cut neatly and evenly; even here, one could see the hands of a surgeon.

— You’re fresh after surgery, — she watched him. — You shouldn’t be lifting anything heavy.

Reha poured the tea into a glass.

— This isn’t heavy, — he said, studying her eyes, as though waiting for her to start blaming him again. — It’s just breakfast.

— You didn’t have to, — she touched his hand.

— I did, — he sat on the edge of the bed, his face serious, — because I haven’t done something for you simply… because. Without fear, without obligation, — he brushed a lock of hair from her face, his fingers grazing her cheek, — just because I want to, — Reha didn’t look away from her eyes, — because I simply wanted to wake up beside you, — he traced her cheekbone slowly, gently.

Gülçiçek closed her eyes, allowing the touch, and Reha, encouraged by the fact she didn’t withdraw, leaned closer. She melted into him, letting her head rest on his shoulder — slowly, shyly. Reha wrapped his arms around her, his eyes drifting shut; he shivered from the closeness, from her warmth.

— I have a request, — she whispered, her fingers sliding along his back, and he froze, as if turned to stone.

— Don’t go philosophical on me, — he tried to joke, — my heart hasn’t recovered fully yet.

For a brief moment, his old playful habit returned, but he immediately grew serious again, frightened by his own levity.

— Reha…, — Gülçiçek nudged his shoulder gently, placing her palm over his chest and looking into his eyes. — You need to go to Meryem, — she said.

Reha straightened at once; his gaze hardened, panic flickered through it, his breath faltered. He shook his head before she even finished — refusing to speak of Meryem, especially here, in the bedroom.

— Why? — he exhaled, swallowing sharply.

— Because only you can solve what concerns your son… and your grandson, — she held his gaze. — They are part of your life, Reha. Which means they’re part of mine now as well, — Gülçiçek touched his cheek. — I don’t want you to run from your past. I want you to finish it.

Reha stared into her eyes and said nothing. He looked so long she had to glance away.

— You… won’t be jealous? — he finally asked.

Gülçiçek gave a weary, almost bitter smile.

— Should I be? — she brushed her palm along his cheek. — You gave me…, — her fingers trembled, — you gave me faith. In you. In us, — she exhaled. — Jealousy exists where trust doesn’t. And I have trust now. You gave it to me yesterday, — her lips brushed his temple. — Your time isn’t stopped anymore.

His breath broke; his heart pounded, loud and full. He cupped her face with both hands, so carefully, as if she were fragile porcelain.

— I… — he couldn’t finish. Instead, he leaned in and kissed her, pouring into the kiss gratitude, devotion, and a quiet vow.

Reha pulled her closer — as close as his healing wound allowed — and even in that embrace edged with pain, she felt only warmth.

— I’ll meet with Meryem, — he said, looking into her eyes, — but I will come back to you.

— I know, — Gülçiçek whispered. — I’ll be waiting.

He stroked her hair gently, as if every strand were a thread binding their lives together.

— Gülçiçek…, — Reha whispered.

— M? — she lifted her head.

— Thank you for believing in me, — he smiled the smile she loved most.

— We believed in each other, — she touched his lips with a soft kiss. — We both stayed, and now we’re together, Reha.

That morning — quiet and gentle — became their first true morning, the one where they finally found each other after a long storm…

***

The hum of voices, the clatter of cameras, the swarm of journalists who had been besieging the main entrance since early morning.

Each step down the corridor echoed in Evren’s chest like a hammer blow. Today he had to betray his woman — formally, publicly — for the sake of saving her, and the very thought tore him apart. He caught the gazes of his colleagues: sympathy in some, doubt in others, curiosity in many… but Evren hated all of them equally.

Sert stood in his office like a prosecutor. Cold stare, steady posture. He held his phone in his hand as if ready to display another wave of hate at any moment.

Ismail had stepped toward the window, looking at Bahar. She stood there in her white coat over surgical scrubs. A calm gaze — one that betrayed nothing: not the sleepless night, not the sorrow, not the fear squeezing her from inside. Bahar stood slightly apart, seeking no protection from any man. Just stood like a doctor accustomed to enduring everything… and that killed Evren even more.

— Due to the ongoing investigation…, — Evren began, his voice low, as if torn from within, and Sert watched him closely, as if testing whether the voice would tremble. Evren continued, — I am obliged to announce that Dr. Bahar Özden is temporarily suspended from all scheduled operations.

A murmur rippled through the journalists. Someone nodded slowly, as though they had expected this. Bahar didn’t lower her head — she looked straight ahead without seeing anything at all. She simply breathed, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat.

— I trust Dr. Bahar Özden’s professionalism, — Evren said clearly, — and I am certain she acted correctly.

Behind him, Sert exhaled loudly — far too loudly for it to be accidental.

— However, — Evren lifted his chin, — the hospital is obliged to follow procedure. And until the investigation is concluded, Dr. Bahar Özden will be assigned to emergency duty only… under supervision.

Ismail approached Sert.

— Under whose supervision? — he asked in a low, icy tone.

— Under the board’s oversight, — Sert replied just as quietly. — As required in an investigation of this level.

— Meaning under ours, — Ismail said through clenched teeth.

— I’m doing what must be done, — Sert answered calmly, standing behind Evren. — Unlike some.

— You’re doing what benefits you, — Ismail shot back without raising his voice.

— Enough, — Evren said quietly, and both men fell silent. — This is not the place for personal conflicts.

Sert almost smirked, as though he’d won. Ismail was forced to step back.

— Dr. Bahar Özden, — Sert addressed her, — you may begin work in the emergency department, — he glanced over the crowd as if savoring the performance. — And yes, the press has already been informed that you are cooperating with the investigation.

Bahar bit her lip, holding the tremor inside… Evren saw it, and his heart tightened painfully. When everyone began to disperse, he went toward her but stopped at a distance — too close would give the cameras what they wanted.

— I hate all of this, — he breathed so quietly it sounded like a confession. — I hate every second.

— It’s not your fault, — she looked at him, though he felt as if she were looking through him.

— It looks like I’m handing you over, — his voice grew rough; he turned away. — I’m supposed to protect you. And instead…

— You are protecting me, — she stepped half a pace closer but stopped, making sure no one noticed. — Differently. In the way you can, — her fingers nearly brushed his hand, but she pulled back the instant she noticed a camera aimed at them. — That’s also protection, Evren, — she took a step back.

— Bahar… if they had given me a choice…, — he closed his eyes, as if feeling a strike to the chest.

— They wouldn’t have, — she said softly. — And you know that.

The door swung open — reporters surged forward, sensing fresh drama on a day already overflowing with it. Evren turned toward the window; Bahar’s gaze drifted through unfamiliar faces.

— You’ll be in their sight all day, — he said quietly. — And I can’t hide you. They’re coming.

— They are, — she agreed silently, not looking at him. — But I’m a doctor, — she reminded him. — I can withstand anything, Evren.

— That’s what scares me, — he said. — You’re too strong.

— And you love too much, — she replied, and slowly walked toward the exit.

— Professor Evren, — Sert approached him, — we need to discuss the press briefing.

Evren exhaled heavily, unable to stop himself from following her with his eyes.

He headed in the direction where he had to fight off attacks, while she descended to the emergency department, falling under the ever-growing attention of cameras… the crowd of journalists only increased, new faces arriving constantly, pushing them onto opposite shores… and both understood this was only the beginning of the storm…

***

The office door was firmly closed, yet it felt as if the entire world could peer inside — the silence rang so sharply it seemed to vibrate in the air.

Sert approached the desk and braced himself against it with one hand, steadying his weight on his legs, while with the other he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Ismail stopped near the window, standing with his back to them, both hands tucked into his trouser pockets. He lowered his head slightly, still replaying the scene he had just witnessed.

Evren stood frozen in the middle of the office, fists clenched. He looked from Sert to Ismail, fully aware he was trapped between two forces. On one side — the woman he loved. On the other — duty. And the child no one had yet dared to mention aloud.

Evren glanced at the desk, where scattered printouts lay in chaotic disorder, screaming headlines across them: “Bahar Özden — an experimenter?”, “Chief physician covers up violations?”, “Healing or playing god?”

— You crossed the line, Sert, — Ismail spoke first. — A live broadcast? Pressure tactics? Do you want them to tear her apart? — he turned to him slowly. — Or do you want us to lose our best surgeon?

— I want this hospital to survive, — Sert answered in an even tone, — and I want every one of our doctors to remain untainted. Even the one who became a miracle far too fast.

— A miracle?! — Ismail flared. — She saved people! She saved those no one else believed had a chance!

— Oh? — Sert rotated one of the printouts toward him. — And social media screams she was playing god. — He picked up another. — And this one says the chief physician is covering for his mistress! — Evren went pale. — And here, — Sert continued, — “Dangerous precedent — an investigation is needed.”

His fingers trembled slightly, though neither Ismail nor Evren seemed to notice. To them he looked like a monster, and Sert, in turn, seemed determined to prove he was simply doing what was right.

— I’m doing what I must, — Sert said coldly. — Not because I want to. Because someone has to hold the vertical!

— And you decided to break her for it? — Ismail stepped closer. — What kind of “vertical” requires destroying the woman who saves lives?

— The very vertical you helped me build! — Sert snapped, raising his voice for the first time. — The system doesn’t run on emotions, Ismail. It runs on rules. And on those who follow them.

— We both uphold this hospital, — Ismail muttered through clenched teeth.

— I’m the one doing it like an adult, — Sert retorted.

— No. You’re doing it your way, — Ismail tightened his fist.

They fell silent, burning each other with their stares. Evren stood between them, ready to intervene, knowing he should — yet he didn’t know what to say. His fists tightened until his knuckles whitened.

— Evren, — Ismail looked at him, — this is your woman. The mother of your child.

Sert straightened and stepped away from the desk.

— A child?! — his voice turned icy. — Since when do you count as part of their family, Ismail? Did you think that ring on Nevra’s finger earned you the right to meddle in their affairs?

Ismail paled. He hadn’t expected that blow, but he held Sert’s gaze.

— Nevra is my woman, — he said quietly. — And anything that affects Bahar affects me. Bahar is part of my family now, whether you like it or not. Being Timur’s father doesn’t give you more rights.

Sert narrowed his eyes.

— DNA doesn’t lie, Ismail! — he nearly smirked but restrained himself. — Nevra isn’t blood to Bahar. And you are no one in her family.

Ismail stared at him without blinking. Sert’s words hit where it hurt, and Sert knew it perfectly. Ismail’s fingers twitched slightly, but he didn’t allow himself a single harsh word.

— Maybe so, — he said quietly, — but right now, I’m the only person besides Evren standing on her side. — He stepped toward Sert. — And you chose to stand against her. Against the mother of your grandchildren. And against your own moral duty.

Sert flinched and turned away.

— Enough! — Evren stepped in. — You’re talking as if arguing about hospital budgets! And this is about a woman! — his voice rose, hardened. — You both handed her over to be torn apart! A woman I love! — he stepped forward, forcing them to look at him. — I was forced to announce her suspension! Forced to stand there like a traitor! — his breath caught, as if all the air had been ripped from his chest and he couldn’t inhale. — But I won’t betray her. Not here. Not in front of the press.

— Then act like a chief physician! — Sert snapped sharply, stepping toward him. — Not like a man who forgot the hospital is responsible for hundreds of lives. Think with your head, not your heart!

— I am thinking with my heart, — Evren shot back, — because my heart is what makes me a doctor, not a machine.

— And that heart will destroy you, — Sert shook his head slightly, — and her.

— It’s not for you to decide who destroys whom, — Ismail stepped between them. — Not you, Sert! And if you intend to take away his authority, let me remind you that I also have a vote, and I also own part of the shares!

— Don’t confuse ownership and power, — Sert countered immediately. — They’re not the same. And as long as I’m responsible for the financial and legal side of this hospital, the final word is mine.

— And the lives of the doctors — that’s my responsibility! — Evren couldn’t hold back.

Again silence fell… sharp, dangerous. Sert turned away first — the first to break it.

— This conversation is over, — he said without facing them.

He knew perfectly well that his and Ismail’s authority were equal, but at that moment he reveled in his right to decide, to control, because neither Ismail nor Evren could stop the wave of journalists who smelled blood. Sert picked up another printout from the desk.

— And tell Dr. Özden, — he wiped his forehead again, — to brace herself; the wave is just beginning.

— You will regret this! — Ismail snapped.

— I already do, — Sert said with a short laugh, still not turning around.

Evren and Ismail left the office. Ismail immediately took out his phone. Evren headed to his own office, breath unsteady, chest tight. He understood only one thing — he would stand to the very end, because this wasn’t just about a woman. It was about his family, his child, his right to love… and he was nowhere near surrendering.

***

Ismail had no intention of giving up.

The corridor outside Sert’s office felt too bright, too empty.

Ismail walked quickly, his movements sharp with barely restrained anger — the mature kind, the kind that had been building in his chest and now burned from within. His phone vibrated in his hand: a second call from the news channel he had just refused to comment for. He stopped at the window, exhaled, turning the phone in his fingers in confusion, and then he heard her voice.

— Fighting with everyone again? — she stood in the doorway of her room, leaning against the wall, holding on to the doorframe.

A pale face, clear eyes watching him closely. Ismail lowered his hand with the phone.

— You should be in bed, — he said more sternly than he intended.

— And you should be a little calmer, — she replied with a soft smile. — We’re both breaking rules, — Nevra noted.

He stepped closer but didn’t touch her. Nevra lifted her hand and placed it lightly against his chest, right where his heart was beating too fast.

— I can hear your breathing, — she said. — You’re angry.

He held his breath, as if that could hide anything.

— Sert… — he began, then stopped.

Ismail didn’t want to unload his problems onto her. Didn’t want her to see how much his own helplessness was tearing him apart.

— He said something cruel, didn’t he? — Nevra asked quietly. — Something that cut so deep you started doubting yourself?

Ismail looked away. His fingers tightened around the phone. Nevra stepped closer — a small, careful step so she wouldn’t startle him — and took his hand.

— You don’t have to defend yourself with me, — she whispered. — I know who you are. And I know you stand on the right side.

Ismail closed his eyes for a brief moment, too brief, yet enough to reveal how exhausted he truly was.

— They’re tearing Bahar apart, — he whispered. — And I… I don’t know where the line is between interference and protection. And Sert…

— Sert is wrong, — she cut in gently. — And you’re not.

Her voice was so calm that he finally allowed himself to breathe out.

Nevra brushed her fingers across his palm, as if she knew it was the only place where he could accept warmth right now.

— You’re part of our family, — she said softly, almost intimately. — Mine, Bahar’s, Uraz’s, Umai’s, Evren’s, — her gaze grew steadier. — To us — you’re one of us.

He looked at her as if seeing solid ground for the first time that day.

— It hurts for you to stand, — he said, gently taking her by the arm.

— And for you to be angry, — she smiled. — Which means we’re both alive.

— Let’s go back to your room. I need…, — he didn’t finish.

Ismail fell silent, but she heard everything between the words.

— You need to be with me, — she finished softly for him.

Ismail guided her into the room, holding her by the elbow as though returning to the one thing that mattered most. Slowly, his thoughts settled into place — he hadn’t given up before, and he had no intention of giving up now.

***

She refused to let herself break. Bahar was in the emergency department, where even the air felt hot, mixed with the sting of antiseptics. Yusuf stayed beside her. He supported her when she swayed, brought her lemon water he’d somehow managed to find. Bahar said nothing, only nodded, knowing full well Evren was the one who’d told Yusuf not to leave her alone. Then Siren appeared, followed by Uraz. Bahar wasn’t alone for a single minute.

For two hours she worked through the stream of patients without lifting her eyes from the tablet, and every time she closed them even for a second, she could hear the thunder of social media — crackling like a broken electrical line.

Bahar stood near the reception desk when the ER doors burst open and the paramedics pushed in a new wave of chaos on a stretcher.

— Pregnant! Thirty-four weeks! Severe pain, unstable condition! — the paramedic spoke too fast.

Yusuf grabbed the edge of the stretcher and helped wheel the patient into the exam room.

Bahar looked up. The woman was pale — no, not pale — grayish, as though all the pink had drained from her skin. She was clutching her right side so tightly it looked like she was trying to hold her life in place.

— What’s happening? — Bahar’s voice cracked; she didn’t even realize when she’d lost it.

— Pain… strong… — the woman could barely speak. — Pulling… for a while… getting worse…

Bahar stepped closer, moving almost mechanically: blood pressure, pulse, respiration — textbook steps, but the picture refused to form.

— Pulse 122, pressure dropping, — Yusuf reported, his voice quiet and worried.

Siren was already turning on the ultrasound. A faint gray image appeared on the screen — fetal profile, the shadow of a placenta, the dark pool of amniotic fluid.

— Fluid is normal… — Siren murmured. — Placenta… normal… scar… yes, there’s a scar. But it looks calm.

— Fetal movement? — Bahar asked.

— Present, — Siren answered. — Borderline, but present. No acute changes on the monitor.

No acute changes. That was the worst part. Bahar didn’t understand — the woman’s pain was excruciating, but the ultrasound was calm, smooth, deceitfully normal, as if the uterus itself was trying to fool them.

— Have you had a C-section before? — Bahar knelt beside her.

— Four years ago…, — the woman nodded.

— Bahar, — Siren intervened carefully. — Maybe it’s just tone? Or a hidden infection? We can give fluids, rest, CTG?

— Have you ever seen a face like that with simple tone? — Bahar’s voice trembled; doubt was growing inside her.

Doubt — her worst enemy now. Doubt and the storm hanging over the hospital like a thundercloud.

Yusuf looked at her as if urging her to decide, yet terrified to speak. Uraz typed data into the tablet silently.

— Ultrasound is calm, — Siren repeated staring at the monitor. — Really. There’s nothing there.

Bahar placed her hand on the patient’s abdomen again. It was firm, tight — but not hard as stone, not like a rupture… and yet something felt wrong. Deep, internal, almost vibrating.

— Do you feel dizziness? Nausea? — Bahar leaned closer. — Is it getting harder to breathe?

The woman nodded, nearly crying.

— Somewhere the blood is leaving, — Bahar whispered. — Somewhere it’s escaping.

— I don’t see blood, — Siren whispered. — No free fluid. No signs of anything.

— But she’s losing color, — Yusuf frowned. — And her pressure dropped. Ninety-five over sixty.

Bahar looked at the lifelessly gray hand, at the woman’s clouded, frightened eyes. Then at the monitor again — all calm. And for the first time in many months, she felt fear. Fear of being wrong.

— It could be anything, — she whispered. — Infection, stretching of the old scar, or… — she didn’t finish.

The word rupture hung in the air like a verdict.

— Without evidence you’re not allowed to even consider a C-section, — Siren whispered. — And you’re suspended.

— I know, — Bahar said quietly. — I know I have no right. I know there’s no confirmation.

Siren stared at her in horror.

— I also know, — Bahar continued, — that if I’m wrong, we lose them both.

— What’s going on? — Rengin rolled into the room in her wheelchair.

It took her just minutes to understand the situation. Still holding her tablet, she looked at Bahar.

— Bahar… — she said in a voice none of them recognized, — let’s wait. Just a bit. Two or three CTGs… a stress test…

— She doesn’t have two hours, — Bahar whispered.

— Problem? — Serhat appeared in the doorway, his gaze immediately falling on the patient.

Rengin handed him the tablet.

— I’m not sure, — Bahar admitted with a faint frown. — I don’t see evidence, but… something’s wrong.

She felt like she’d just graduated from medical school yesterday. Like this woman was her very first patient.

Serhat palpated the abdomen, checked the monitor. Again palpated. Again looked at the monitor. He didn’t see it either — but he heard Bahar.

— You feel it? — he whispered.

Bahar nodded, and somewhere inside her a tear slid silently.

— I don’t want to be wrong, — she exhaled. — I don’t know what to do.

— Then we act like being wrong is not an option, — he said.

Bahar held his gaze. Exhaled. Inhaled. Exhaled again.

— To the OR. Right now, — she decided.

— You’re insane! — Siren gasped.

— They’ll destroy you! — Rengin grabbed her wrist. — You’re going in without evidence, Bahar. You’re suspended! — she reminded her.

— I have no evidence, — Bahar agreed, — but I have a patient who is bleeding somewhere, and the machines don’t show it — but I feel it, Rengin.

Rengin took a pen and signed the consent herself. Fast. Firm. As if placing a cross over someone’s career.

— Who’s with me? — Bahar asked quietly.

— I’m with you, — Serhat gave the tablet back to Rengin.

They pushed the stretcher toward the OR — not a heroic march, but the walk of two people who didn’t know if they were right, only that they couldn’t not act.

And only when the scalpel opened the skin and a burst of blood confirmed a micro-rupture of the scar, only then did Bahar understand: she had chosen life correctly again. But that didn’t make her any less afraid. And it certainly didn’t protect her from those waiting for her fall. When they stepped out of the operating room — the corridor erupted.

— Reckless behavior!

— She broke protocol!

— She’s experimenting!

— She saved them — it was right!

— No, it was a risk!

Siren covered her mouth with her hand. Uraz stared at Bahar with wide eyes. Yusuf trembled.

Rengin shook her head weakly. And in that moment, Siren’s phone lit up. She glanced at the screen — and went pale.

— Bahar… social media… they’re saying you staged this. That you did it to justify yourself…

Bahar blinked — once. Then twice. Only then did she see it: Remove Bahar. Killer. Fake Operation.

— Let them talk, — Serhat said calmly.

And somewhere beyond the wall, in a room filled with press, was Evren — unable to step out, unable to protect her, unable to stand beside her. And that cut deeper than any scalpel.

— Bahar, — Ahu ran up to her, — Sert Kaya is calling you. Come.

Ahu motioned her forward, and Bahar straightened her shoulders and followed.

***

Bahar stepped into Sert’s office feeling as though she had walked straight into a trap.

The silence pressed so heavily on her that even her own breathing seemed too loud. She approached the desk and looked Sert directly in the eyes.

He sat with his back straight, his gaze cold, though the sheen of sweat on his forehead betrayed the inhuman effort it took him to remain composed. He didn’t offer her a seat. He simply stared — a long, assessing, disdainfully steady stare that chilled the blood in her veins. But Bahar didn’t flinch; she only swallowed the knot rising in her throat.

— Congratulations, — his icy voice sliced through the silence. — Your first protocol violation.

— I saved two people, — Bahar didn’t look away, didn’t waver.

— You violated a direct prohibition, — he snapped. — And only a miracle spared you from an immediate scandal. Although… — he unlocked his tablet and rotated it toward her, — judging by what’s happening online… — he scrolled down with his finger.

Hashtags, accusations, mockery, collages, memes: Remove Bahar, Hospital Experiment, Staged Operation.

— You gave them extra ammunition, — Sert said, rising to his feet. He swayed slightly but remained upright. — You, — he suddenly slipped into addressing her personally. — You yourself, with your actions.

— The woman would have died, — Bahar’s breath came shallow. — The baby too. I chose life.

— Life? — he lifted an eyebrow. — Or glory? — He stepped out from behind the desk. — Perhaps you wanted to earn back your “savior” status? To wash away the accusations? — his voice dropped lower, more dangerous. — Or maybe you wanted to prove to Evren that you’re irreplaceable?

A tremor passed through her internally, but outwardly Bahar didn’t show it.

— I am a doctor, — her hoarse voice grew quiet. — And I acted as a doctor.

— A doctor? — Sert gave a cold laugh. — Or someone too used to Evren covering for her? Or someone else covering for her? — he stepped close enough that she could smell his cologne — as cold as he was himself. — But I am not Evren or anyone else. I do. Not. Cover. Mistakes.

A sharp pain stabbed her chest. Her throat tightened.

— I made no mistake, — she answered evenly, standing her ground, lowering her hands into her coat pockets.

— In your situation, any initiative is a mistake, — Sert threw the tablet onto the couch and walked back to the desk. — I suspended you from operations. I should suspend you from everything. — He spoke without looking at her. — Do you know what held me back? — he paused, and she watched his back, his graying hair. — Only the thought that you don’t understand how far you’ve gone. — He turned and met her eyes, bracing himself on the desk. — You are under investigation.

— I know, — Bahar said.

— You are under supervision, — he shot his words like darts, each one hitting its mark.

— I know, — she nodded.

— Your reputation will be reduced to nothing, — he slammed his palm onto the desk; papers fluttered into the air and scattered to the floor.

Bahar followed their fall with her eyes but said nothing.

— If there is one more protocol violation, — he lifted his hand as if showing her the edge of a cliff, — I will personally file for complete revocation of your medical license.

For a moment, Bahar forgot how to breathe. No patient, no operating room, no medical decision had ever terrified her as much as those words — because he spoke them as though the decision were already made. As though her career were already erased.

— You are doing everything possible to get yourself destroyed, — he said. — And I am doing everything to…, — Sert stopped mid-sentence as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, frowning slightly.

— To what? — she raised her head, almost challenging him.

Sert looked at her as though two men inside him were at war — the one everyone saw, and the one no one was ever supposed to. He said nothing. His hand gripped the edge of the desk, and a tremor ran through his body.

***

There was a knock on the door, and without waiting for a reply, Evren walked into the office. He immediately stepped in front of Bahar, shielding her with his body. He looked at Sert from under his brows. Shadows lay beneath his eyes, yet his gaze remained razor-clear, focused, full of resolve.

Bahar, using the brief pause, closed her eyes for a moment. She didn’t want him to see her like this, standing as if she were a schoolgirl summoned to the principal’s office.

— I have the right to know what’s going on here, — Evren said instead of a greeting.

— We’re discussing a breach of protocol and the limits of improvisation, — Sert replied evenly, not taking his eyes off Bahar; he kept looking at her even though Evren was blocking his view. — And how one surgeon, already suspended from operating, allowed herself to enter an OR and perform surgery without indication.

— Without indication? — Evren took several steps forward. — A woman with low blood pressure, grey skin, burning pain in her side near a scar, suspected internal bleeding. That counts as “no indication”? — he clarified.

— The ultrasound showed nothing, — Sert reminded him. — No clear signs of rupture. The standard is to observe. Didn’t you yourself sign these protocols, Professor Evren?

— And I’m quoting them right now, — Evren’s voice had a coldness that cut to the bone. — When there is clinical suspicion of uterine rupture along a scar at a gestation beyond thirty-two weeks — emergency delivery, even without visual confirmation, — he paused before continuing. — That clause was left unchanged by you personally! — Sert gave no reaction, and Evren went on. — Dr. Bahar Özden was the only specialist available at that moment who could perform that surgery, while you were busy putting on a show for the press! — With that, he turned to Bahar. — And she made the only correct decision, despite the risk to herself, — he faced Sert again. — You talk about a miracle; I’m talking about simple math! If she had “observed” for ten or fifteen minutes, as you suggest, we’d now be discussing not a threat to her license, but the protocol for a post-mortem examination. Two bodies. The woman and the child, — a heavy silence settled over the office. Exhaling, Evren continued. — The surgery was complex, — he spoke quieter now, though no less firm. — High risk of blood loss, risk of hysterectomy, DIC, cardiac arrest. She entered that OR understanding she could lose both of them and… herself as well, — Evren tilted his head slightly and added, — lose herself as a doctor, — pressing his lips together, gritting his teeth, he went on. — The mother is alive. The child is alive. The uterus is preserved. This is not improvisation, Mr. Kaya. This is medicine!

— Medicine? — Sert narrowed his eyes. — Or an attempt to glorify one particular individual? — he shifted his gaze from Evren to Bahar and back again. — Don’t get carried away, Professor Evren. You are not her lawyer. You’re the chief physician, and you are obligated to think not only about her but about everyone else!

— And that’s exactly what I’m doing, — Evren cut him off, — because if we throw a doctor who acted according to clinical judgment to the wolves today, tomorrow no one will risk taking responsibility. And then you’ll be scrubbing blood off your hands without your hashtags! — Evren stepped closer to Sert’s desk, braced one hand on its edge, unconsciously mirroring Sert’s own posture, and faced him directly. — In the report I will state that the decision for an emergency C-section, given that she couldn’t wait for me, was coordinated with the head of the department, — he said, looking him straight in the eye. — And that I, as the chief physician, share that responsibility. You may forget the word “unauthorized”!

Sert looked at him intently.

— You’re so enamored of playing the knight that you forget you have an office of a chief physician, — he remarked pointedly.

A tired, almost harsh smile flickered across Evren’s lips.

— I’m perfectly comfortable in my own office, — Evren replied, straightening. — I’m taking Dr. Bahar Özden with me, — he said in an official tone now. — We have other patients and new challenges. And you… — he took a step and stepped onto the printed documents scattered on the floor at their feet, — keep holding the vertical line. Just be careful not to break the backs of those who still live for this hospital.

He turned to Bahar, met her eyes, and gave a barely noticeable nod toward the door. It was an invitation to leave the trap of this office.

Bahar nodded silently, cast one last look at Sert — a look without defiance, without hatred, only exhaustion and a strange, quiet understanding of the price of everything that had happened — and she followed Evren toward the exit.

The door closed softly behind them, but to Sert the sound was as loud as a slam.

***

The words spoken in Sert’s office were still echoing in her ears, and she turned to Evren.

— They’re saying on social media that I entered the operating room on my own, Evren! — Bahar whispered. — That it was all staged!

His face grew pale with barely restrained anger; pain and determination flickered in his eyes.

— Do you see what’s happening? — Bahar looked straight into his eyes. — They’re attacking from every side…, — her hoarse voice trembled. — You shouldn’t be dragged into all of this, — she added a little quieter. — Your career has only just begun to recover. We can’t take risks like that.

— You talk as if I’m incapable of making my own decisions, — Evren’s breathing was heavy. — You save lives while risking everything. Why shouldn’t I stand by you?

— Because they’ll put even more pressure on you, — she stepped even closer to him. — You’re the chief physician. Your position makes you a target.

— I won’t let anyone dictate whom I can or cannot support, — Evren took her hands in his, his gaze full of tenderness and resolve. — You’re not alone in this fight. And you will never be alone!

Their eyes met — and in that moment, the speaker above them crackled to life.

— Dr. Bahar Özden! Urgently to the emergency department!

— Mom, — Uraz ran toward them, — the ambulance is bringing a patient. Severe preeclampsia! Thirty weeks! Blood pressure one-ninety over one hundred!

He looked stricken. Evren was still holding her hand. Uraz was trembling slightly. Bahar, pale, glanced at Evren.

— Bahar, — he didn’t want to let her go, — that’s practically a stroke, — for a moment, a hint of panic broke through in his voice.

And she pulled herself together before his eyes, as if her body suddenly remembered she was a doctor.

— I’m going, — Bahar nodded, squeezing Evren’s fingers a little tighter for a brief second before letting go and hurrying forward without looking back.

Evren watched her go, slipped his hand into his pocket, and pulled out his phone. He opened his contacts, scrolled, and stopped… he hesitated… closed his eyes and put the phone back in his pocket without making the call, still believing they could handle everything that was happening.

— Hurry, Bahar, — Evren whispered, — just hurry…

***

They managed to have breakfast, managed to make it back to their home. Gülçiçek picked up his light scarf — the thinnest one, grey-blue, the one she always wanted to drape over his shoulders, as if that could protect him from every misfortune.

Under her attentive gaze, Reha buttoned his shirt slowly, carefully, unhurriedly; his side still ached after the surgery. He adjusted the collar, and the phone on the table vibrated. Quiet, brief… too ominous. Gülçiçek instinctively reached for it, intending only to hand it to him, but Reha was quicker. Almost imperceptibly, but far too fast. Gülçiçek froze. Her gaze slid across his face, and she didn’t miss the shadow of worry flickering in the corners of his eyes when he opened the message.

“Stay home. Don’t come to the hospital. Better stay under Gülçiçek’s mother’s supervision.”

Reha read Evren’s message, and his hand visibly trembled when he opened the link Evren had sent.

Gülçiçek saw only how he suddenly paled, how he leaned back slightly, as though the air had grown heavier — but Reha smiled. Forcing it. Softly. And that softness felt far too artificial.

— Did something happen? — she asked calmly, and in her voice there was that unmistakable woman’s intuition, the kind that could never be fooled.

Reha slowly turned off the screen and set the phone down face-first. His fingers lingered on it, as if trying to quiet the trembling inside him.

— No, — he answered evenly. — Everything’s fine.

— The message… — she tilted her head a little, crumpling the thin fabric of the scarf. — You went pale.

He breathed in slowly, as if gathering his thoughts.

— They wrote that I can stay home, — Reha said. — Under your supervision, — the corner of his mouth twitched. — Apparently someone values my life a bit too much after the recent surgery.

— Who wrote? — Gülçiçek narrowed her eyes slightly, studying him closely, pushing away the creeping suspicion.

— Evren, — Reha said calmly. — Don’t worry. Just concern, — he fastened the last button on his shirt and immediately undid it again, rolling up the sleeves with slightly trembling fingers.

Gülçiçek felt he wasn’t telling her everything, but seeing the sheen of sweat on his forehead, she chose not to argue. She tossed the scarf onto a chair and stepped closer. Taking a tissue, she dabbed his forehead, and he caught her hand, kissed it. Reha brushed his lips over her skin without lifting his head, kissing her hand again and again.

— You don’t have to hide things from me if something’s happening, — she whispered, lifting his chin ever so slightly with her fingertips.

Reha clasped her hand in both of his.

— I know, — he smiled, no longer hiding the sadness and faint worry in his eyes, — but today… I want us to just stay home.

Gülçiçek searched his eyes, torn between pressing him to tell her the truth or stepping back and letting him keep his dignity… and her gaze softened.

— Then… what shall we do? — she asked, her voice colored with hope and a faint hint of anxiety.

He pulled her closer, wrapped his arms around her, rested his chin on her shoulder so she wouldn’t see his eyes, wouldn’t recognize the fear for Bahar — so strong it nearly stopped his breath.

— Let’s… make some coffee, — he suggested without releasing her. — Yours. From that little cezve I was afraid to touch without you. The one you brought from home, — his lips brushed her temple. — And then… if you don’t mind, I’ll play you that old melody. On the piano. I haven’t played in a long time, — he admitted, feeling an overwhelming urge to sit down at the keys.

— You’ve never played for me, — Gülçiçek smiled, running her hands through his hair.

— Then it’s about time I started, — he said, embracing her again, hiding the tremor in his fingers.

Gülçiçek sighed, slipped out of his arms, and walked toward the kitchen. Reha heard her light the stove. He pressed his hand to his side, where a sudden sharp pain made him inhale through his teeth.

— Hold on, girl, — he whispered barely audibly, only moving his lips, pressing a hand to his chest. — You’re not alone, Bahar.

He ran a hand over his face, forced a smile, and headed to the kitchen — carrying with him the very lie that today had become a necessary truth…

***

Bahar no longer understood what was true and what was false. She entered the emergency department just as a young woman, about thirty, was wheeled in on a gurney. Bahar, pulling on gloves, studied the patient attentively. The face was swollen, as if inflated from within. Her eyes — clouded. Her hands trembling. The monitor showed 190/120.

— Disorientation, — the paramedic reported. — Fetus alive but premature. Thirty weeks.

Yusuf cast a quick glance at Bahar and understood she had already assessed everything. Bahar stepped closer, touched the patient’s hand. A frantic pulse, hot skin, the swelling intensifying. This wasn’t just preeclampsia. This was a straight road to a stroke.

— Standard is emergency delivery, — Siren said. — We need to do a C-section right now.

— The baby won’t survive, — Bahar shook her head.

— If we don’t do a C-section, she’ll die, — Uraz exhaled, eyes on the monitors.

— And if we do it now, the baby will die, — Bahar stared at a single point. — Her brain is hanging by a thread. The swelling is increasing. If I take her into the OR now, she’ll have a stroke right on the table.

— You can’t… risk her… not now, — Siren whispered.

Rengin rolled closer.

— What is it this time? — she asked softly.

Yusuf handed her a tablet and, bending toward her, read off the numbers quickly.

— We’ve only used stabilization protocols starting at 32 weeks, — Rengin said. — At thirty weeks… Bahar, that’s too… — she didn’t finish.

— I know, — Bahar replied. She frowned slightly and, after exhaling, continued. — We’re going with the six-hour protocol.

— Which one? — Siren asked, paling.

— Magnesium, — Bahar squeezed the patient’s hand. — Antihypertensives. Plasmapheresis. Neurological checks every hour. The goal is to bring the pressure down and give the baby a little time for the lungs to open.

— That’s an experiment, — Siren whispered.

— There’s no clinical confirmation, — Uraz shook his head.

— It could kill her, — Rengin added.

— And a C-section could kill her, — Bahar answered, — but if we do a C-section now, I will definitely lose the baby. This way — there is a chance.

Everyone fell silent. Siren, Uraz, Rengin — they were all beside her, but the decision belonged only to her. This was her zone of responsibility. And it was in that moment of clarity that Sert Kaya appeared in the emergency department. He arrived as if he knew he would find chaos.

— An experiment at thirty weeks?! — his voice was cold as steel. — Unacceptable! This protocol is not to be used! And certainly not under your supervision! — He stepped closer, leaned slightly toward Bahar. — Do you want another reason for them to destroy you? — he asked quietly.

— I want to save two lives, — Bahar replied, breathing through her mouth.

— You are not doing this experiment, — he said sharply. — I forbid it!

— Maybe we should let her explain? — Serhat intervened, stepping forward, his gaze fixed on the monitors. — The pressure is unstable, stroke risk is enormous. C-section means high risk of fetal death, — he summarized and looked at Bahar. — Are you sure, Dr. Bahar? — he asked.

Bahar looked at the patient. She tried to ignore the numbers that terrified her. She looked at the woman with that particular gaze she had only in the rarest moments — when her intuition roared louder than reason.

— Yes, — she said quietly. — I’m sure.

— No! — Sert almost exploded, clenching his fists. — Absolutely not…

— We are doing the six-hour protocol, — Evren’s voice cut him off.

He entered the emergency department quietly, but his presence cast a shadow over everyone. Evren approached Bahar and stood beside her. He didn’t touch her, yet he became the support she hadn’t counted on — the one without which she might have collapsed.

— With the family’s consent, — Evren added, meeting Sert’s eyes. — And under my responsibility.

Sert opened his mouth to object — but the woman on the gurney rolled her eyes. Her body arched, seizures beginning… the time was up… and Evren nodded.

— Start, — he exhaled, signing.

Everyone moved without words. Only the ticking of time. Magnesium — bolus. The seizures stopped. Labetalol — slow. Pressure — 185… 178… 170. Plasmapheresis initiated. The blood cleared of toxins, giving the brain a chance.

Every hour Bahar checked reflexes, breathing, pupils. Every hour she feared seeing asymmetry. Every hour her hands trembled — but she stayed steady.

Yusuf stood beside her, recording all the readings. Uraz monitored the numbers on the screens. Siren tracked the labs. Serhat documented the protocol. Rengin brought water. Sert came and went, but no one paid attention to him — not even when he fell still in the corner… and five hours later, when the pressure dropped to 159/96, the patient stabilized slightly. After six hours — 149/90, and the woman opened her eyes.

— I hear you, — she whispered, her first words.

— We bought time, — Bahar squeezed her hand. — You’ll make it, I promise.

And an hour later, the baby was born — weak, but alive. The delivery was difficult, but without a stroke. The baby struggled to breathe, but he breathed.

And in the hallway the journalists were already waiting… Hashtags updated every thirty seconds: She Plays God, High-Risk Pregnancy, Where Was the Medical Board, Chief Physician Covers It Up.

Bahar stepped out of the operating room — the same one she entered only because Evren signed. She was very pale.

— You did the impossible, — Rengin greeted her.

Bahar wanted to smile but couldn’t, because she knew they hadn’t descended into hell yet…

They had only approached its gates…

***

And then hell opened. The media exploded before the patient was even transferred to the ICU.

The first posts were almost admiring: “A doctor’s bravery saved two lives!”, “A rare protocol gives a premature baby a chance!” But ten minutes later — everything flipped.

Hashtags flew like stones: Experiments on Pregnant Women, Remove Bahar Özden, Who Allowed This. Screenshots, speculation, phrases ripped out of context. A video of Bahar walking out of the operating room was edited to make it look as if she had slipped in secretly. And each new post hit like a punch to the gut.

Bahar pushed open Evren’s office door. He was standing by the window, speaking to someone on the phone, but the moment he saw her, he ended the call and came toward her. She searched his tired eyes, saw the tension in them, as if the whole world had settled on his shoulders. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her into his embrace.

— Don’t look at social media, — he pleaded. — Don’t look, don’t open anything, don’t read it.

She stayed silent. Evren understood she had read everything. Every word. Every piece of filth.

— Evren… — she exhaled slowly, as if all the air had been drained from her. — You shouldn’t have to bear this.

He froze for a moment, shuddered, and said:

— I choose to bear it with you, — he whispered, holding her tightly. — Or not bear it at all.

— Let’s… postpone the wedding, — she whispered. — Now… is not the time. This isn’t your scandal. Not your shame, — she leaned back slightly and looked into his eyes.

Evren cupped her face with his hands.

— Bahar, — he traced her cheekbone with his finger, leaning in until his forehead touched hers. — We either get through this together… or we lose.

She let out a small sob and buried her face in his shoulder.

— Choose, — Evren whispered. — I already have.

Her breath faltered. Her fingers clutched his shirt — the shirt she had ironed for him that morning… and now it felt like that had been in another lifetime. She gripped the thin fabric so tightly, as if afraid she would fall if she let go.

— I… too, — Bahar whispered. — I choose to walk with you.

He exhaled — as if breathing had finally become possible again. Evren held her with his whole body, his whole soul, and outside his office door the corridor roared once more, like a street in a storm.

Haters were posting. Journalists were pounding. The system was pressing. Sert was watching.

And Evren held her. And she held him. They leaned back slightly and looked into each other’s eyes, both understanding one thing: if they stayed together, no one would break them. If they parted — they would shatter completely…

***

Bahar was holding herself together on sheer will and magnesium. Almost a full day without sleep. Almost a full day under cameras. Almost a full day beneath hashtags that burned worse than fire. Shadows appeared under her eyes, her steps grew unsteady, her hands trembled — but she no longer touched a scalpel.

Only when she stood beside her patients did the trembling disappear; her body instantly remembered who she was. Yusuf brought her coffee, but she didn’t drink it. Rengin begged her to lie down, but she didn’t listen. Siren held her hand for barely a minute. Uraz set a chair behind her — she didn’t even notice.

— You’ll burn yourself out like this, — Serhat whispered, forcing her down onto the chair.

— Later. Everything later, — she tried to stand, but he pressed her shoulders down.

At that exact moment the emergency room doors burst open, and a gurney was rolled in so fast Yusuf barely managed to jump aside.

Bahar sat against the wall, closing her eyes for just a second — only a second — but the world was still spinning. Her lips were dry. Her hands ice-cold. Her head throbbing.

A woman’s moan brought her to her feet faster than adrenaline.

— What happened? — her voice broke; even she was surprised by how hoarse it sounded.

— Twins. Twenty-two weeks, — the paramedic reported. — BP unstable. Twin A barely moves. Twin B overly active. Suspected… I don’t know… fluid in the uterus? — he seemed lost, unsure what he was even saying.

Bahar didn’t understand either. She stepped closer, placed her hand on the woman’s abdomen. Hot — too hot. The belly was large, far too large for 22 weeks. Something didn’t add up.

— Where’s the ultrasound? — Bahar asked.

Siren had already wheeled the portable machine over and turned it on. The image lit up.

Dark cavities. White sparks. Uneven borders… but Bahar still couldn’t piece it together.

— Is that… — she began.

— A full sac? — Siren suggested, peering into the screen.

— Or… the opposite? — Rengin rolled closer. — Could it be oligohydramnios?

Bahar slowly moved the probe. Everyone stared at the screen, everyone silent.

Twin A looked compressed, as if something was crushing it. Twin B floated in an overly large amniotic sac — but Bahar’s exhausted mind refused to name the diagnosis. She was too tired; she simply couldn’t see the whole picture anymore.

— I’m… missing something, — she whispered to herself.

— Maybe membrane rupture? — Uraz offered.

— No… — Bahar frowned. — Then the position would be different…

Yusuf leaned in, just observing. Bahar passed the probe again… and then she saw a detail.

Twin A was too small. Far too small. The head — below normal. Twin B, on the other hand, was large. Almost swollen. But she still didn’t grasp it. Rengin rubbed her eyes tiredly, equally lost.

— Try again, — Serhat said softly. — Deep breath. Look once more.

Bahar inhaled deeply. Opened her eyes wider. Held the probe steadier… and she saw what she’d been missing. One fetus had almost no amniotic fluid. The other had too much. And something clicked inside her.

— It’s not just size discrepancy… — she murmured. — It’s… — she looked at Serhat. — It’s a transfusion…? Am I right? — she looked to Rengin.

Siren gasped, covering her mouth. Uraz went pale. Serhat nodded sharply.

— TTTS. Twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome, — Rengin said aloud what Bahar had already realized.

Bahar nodded, exhaling sharply, as if hit by a blast of cold air.

— TTTS… — she repeated softly. — But… why didn’t I see it immediately?

— Because you haven’t slept in almost 24 hours, — Uraz muttered. — And because it’s an extremely early gestation.

And only then did the full weight of the diagnosis crash down on her: One fetus was the donor.

The other — the recipient. And both could die within two days. She stepped back. Her hand fell limply; for a moment she felt herself falling.

— I… — she closed her eyes, felt Yusuf’s solid shoulder — he stood like a wall, not letting her sway. — I’m afraid to make a mistake, — she admitted.

— Everyone is, — she heard Yusuf say quietly.

— At this gestation, laser coagulation… — Siren shook her head. — The risk of losing both is almost one hundred percent.

— And if we don’t do it? — Rengin spread her hands.

Bahar looked at her. In her eyes there was no heroism, no brilliance — only exhaustion… fear… and a vast, overwhelming compassion.

— Not doing it means…, — Bahar looked at the abdomen. — They’ll both die.

Silence again — for the hundredth time in these 24 hours.

A silence so heavy it hurt to breathe.

— You won’t survive another scandal, — Rengin whispered.

— They’ll tear you apart, — Siren said, eyes closed.

— They already hate you, — Uraz said bitterly.

— You’re burnt out. You’re shaking, — Serhat gripped her shoulders. — You don’t have to do this.

Bahar stood with her eyes closed, swaying slightly. In her mind she reviewed the operation, the risks, her doubts, her fear battling her duty.

— I have to try, — she said, opening her eyes.

They were simple words — not I know, not I’m certain — only the ordinary phrase of a doctor: I have to try. A doctor’s words, not a hero’s. She sensed him even before his hands touched her shoulders — then he embraced her, pulled her against him.

— I’ll go with you, — she heard his voice.

Bahar didn’t need to look at Evren. She knew: a new wave of hate had begun, this time with his name in it. Evren looked at the monitors, then at Bahar…

They were both standing at an edge. They could either jump — or step back.

And they chose to jump.

— I’m with you, — he repeated. — Together, — he said quietly, without theatrics — like a fact.

— Under a live broadcast with the family’s permission, — Sert announced, stepping toward them. — Since you’re going together, we’re showing this procedure live! — and it sounded like a sentence. — Chief Physician Evren Yalkın and his Dr. Bahar Özden, live! Donor and recipient — a paradox?

— This is suicide! — Rengin gasped.

— Do you still think she has a chance to survive without proof? — Sert asked.

Bahar looked at Sert as if he had broken her life with the slightest flick of his hand.

Sert looked at her — through her — and nothing could be read in his gaze…

No one understood the source of the hatred that consumed him from within, spreading to everything around him.

***

Fear and uncertainty were consuming her from the inside. The lights were blinding. Too cold. Bahar felt the tremor in her hands. Sweat gathered on her temples, her forehead. She was unsure. She knew she was afraid. She had been confused from the very first seconds after the patient arrived in the ER… and the cameras trained on them only made it worse.

The fetoscope’s position — awkward. Too much fluid. Visibility — poor.

— I… I can’t see… — Bahar whispered.

— Breathe, — Evren answered just as quietly.

Bahar inhaled, exhaled… slowly the haze dissolved, and the image began to sharpen.

She saw the anastomoses — thin as threads. Three, barely visible, but once she found them, steadiness returned to her hand.

— Entering the recipient’s amniotic sac, — Bahar narrated her actions. — I see overload. Looking for anastomoses. One… second… third…

Bahar lifted her head and met Evren’s eyes… and he nodded.

— Coagulator, — she said, extending her hand. — Coagulating the first, — her hand didn’t tremble. — Second, third.

Bahar and Evren looked at the monitor… the readings were changing before their eyes.

— Heart rate normalizing… — Evren said, eyes flashing. — Donor is increasing flow… — he added, looking at her. — They’re… holding on, — his eyes shone triumphantly above the mask. — Both are stabilized.

Bahar didn’t speak. Her heart pounded so loudly it echoed in her ears. She still couldn’t believe she had done it… that she had managed… they had managed… under the gaze of the cameras.

When they stepped outside, the hallway erupted.

— Experiment!

— Murderer!

— It was staged!

— A show for the cameras!

The shouts slammed into their ears. Flashes blinded them. The crowd of journalists pressed forward. They stood shoulder to shoulder, the roar of voices so deafening it felt like the ceiling was about to collapse. They stood in the eye of the storm — pale, exhausted — and their hands brushed. They clasped each other’s fingers…