— Bahar, where are we running to? — Evren caught up with her near the elevator.

— Çağla’s in the ER, — she was breathing heavily, hand pressed to her chest as she kept hitting the button.

— What happened? — he moved her hand from the button and held it in his.

— No, — her gaze darted around, and he couldn’t calm her down, couldn’t reach her like before — not anymore.

She suddenly took off again, rushing toward the escalator. Bahar was skipping two steps at a time, desperate to get to where her friend was. Evren was right behind her, her anxiety infecting him too.

— Bahar, you’re scaring me! — he was almost shouting at her back as he ran down, also skipping steps.

But she didn’t seem to hear. Her pulse thundered in her ears — she couldn’t even think.

— What? — she gasped, snatching a file from Ferdi’s hands.

Doruk was already connecting the monitors. He gave Evren a sidelong glance. Ferdi handed Evren a gown, which he threw over his shoulders. Ferdi offered gloves to Bahar, but she shoved the file into his hands and turned to Çağla.

— Female patient, 44 years old, — Doruk began.

— Stop, — Bahar cut him off; she’d already given her friend a quick once-over. — What happened, Çağla? — her hands settled on her shoulders.

Çağla’s lips trembled. Her hands were clasped protectively over her lower belly, as if shielding the most precious thing in her life.

— I don’t know... — she whispered. — It burns, down low on the left. Dull pain. Weakness. And blood. It’s not my period. I lost track... — she looked at Bahar — how many days since the disaster? — she asked.

Bahar paled. Evren flinched.

— When was ovulation? You were tracking it, right? — Bahar asked, watching Evren check her pulse and glance at the monitors.

— I was, — she nodded, afraid to even shift on the table. — How many days? — she asked again.

Bahar looked at Evren — as if asking — when you brought Timur’s watch.

— Five, maybe six, — he shook his head, unable to count. — I lost track of days — he admitted — when I was preparing Aliye’s surgery.

— Five, — Bahar nodded and turned to Çağla.

— We were together, — Çağla’s eyes filled with tears — right before... I remember... I ovulated.

— Hush, — Bahar leaned close, feeling her tremble. — We’re going for an ultrasound now, you hear me? Right now. Doruk, get an hCG. — she straightened up, issuing orders.

— Doruk’s a doctor too, — Evren reminded her, only to meet Doruk’s indignant glare. — You’re a doctor, Doruk. You’re no longer just an assistant!

— This is really the time and place for this? — Bahar snapped.

— He’s not your assistant, — Evren insisted. He was sick of Doruk always being nearby. He knew it wasn’t the moment, but he couldn’t hold it in any longer. — He’s got his own patients!

— I’ll draw the blood, — Doruk reached out, and Ferdi immediately handed him the tools.

— It’s radiating into my lower back, — Çağla kept talking while Doruk drew blood and Evren glared. — Like the ground’s slipping from under me. I felt it yesterday already.

Bahar pressed her cheek to hers, stroking her hair.

— It’s not psychosomatic, I know it, Bahar, — she sobbed — there’s something alive in there, do you understand?

— It could be, — Bahar whispered almost into her ear.

— This is my last chance, Bahar. No more eggs, and I’m not young — Çağla gripped her shoulders, hands now off her belly — only you, no one else can do anything. It’s not ectopic, is it, Bahar? — her voice grew louder.

And then silence fell. Evren jerked back like he’d been struck. Bahar froze, unmoving, bent over Çağla. Ferdi’s eyes bulged. Doruk went pale.

Beyond the thin curtain separating Çağla and the doctors from the rest of the ER, life went on — but here, it was like a vacuum had formed.

— Let’s keep it drama-free, — Bahar slowly straightened. Her eyes were calm, her movements steady. One word, and she gathered all her strength, pushing away every emotion. She gave a hand signal.

Ferdi immediately wheeled over the ultrasound machine. Evren stepped aside. His breathing grew heavy, his gaze intense, sweat beading on his forehead… he was reliving it, only this time, it was Çağla instead of Bahar.

And Bahar — she tied her hair up with a pencil, smiled at her friend… but her gaze stayed level — not empty, not distant — alive, and just a little enigmatic.

He had never seen that look in her eyes before. In that moment, it was as if Bahar had disconnected from everything except her patient. Çağla wasn’t even her friend anymore. She was a case that needed to be solved.

— So… six days, — Çağla whispered, turning toward the monitor, but Bahar looked at Evren, and he stepped forward to block her view.

— During ovulation. I’m sure, — Çağla was looking at Evren.

Bahar kept scanning. Doruk and Ferdi stood behind her. Evren was in front. Çağla glanced nervously between them, but no one said a word.

— Everyone out, — Bahar said suddenly, pulling back slightly from the bed.

— What? — Çağla tried to sit up, but Evren gently laid her back down.

— I’m doing another ultrasound. Stay calm, — Bahar told her. — I need a different angle.

— What did you see? — Çağla demanded, clutching the sheet with both hands. — What?

— Too early, — Bahar muttered, just one word. — Evren?! — she looked at him, questioning.

He seemed rooted to the floor, unable to move. He tried to meet her gaze, to read her face — but there was nothing. She was truly a doctor now, unreadable unless she allowed it. He finally forced himself to move, and he, Doruk, and Ferdi stepped out behind the curtain.

— Bahar… — Çağla looked at her with fear.

— The uterus is empty, — Bahar whispered. — I need to examine the endometrium. Wait.

Çağla sank back against the pillow. She bit her lip as tears streamed down her face. The words echoed in her head — the uterus is empty.

Evren clenched his fists when he heard it. He was ready to destroy the whole ER, but instead stood by the curtain, feet apart, staring straight ahead, as if he could see through it… as if he could read Bahar somehow.

— The endometrium is thickened, — he heard Bahar’s quiet voice — like before implantation.

Her tone was calm and steady. It should have been reassuring — but instead, it ignited a storm inside him. They had lost their own child. They had never spoken about it, about the loss… it all happened too fast… and now Çağla — she was a living reminder of what was gone.

— There’s fluid in the left tube, — he barely made out the words, and the next ones made him grip the rail — a small mass, around 0.7 cm.

Evren closed his eyes. It was all happening again. The pain was unbearable. His whole body tightened, breath caught in his chest… he stared at the curtain. How was she still standing? How was Bahar living through this? He wanted to burst in, pull her close, hold her tight, run his fingers through her hair. He wanted to be near her — but he just stood there, forcing himself to breathe, while she kept going. She couldn’t stop. She had no right to stop. Bahar kept working.

— What? — Çağla’s voice was hollow, like her soul had drained out with that one question.

Evren leaned his forehead against the rail. He was straining to hear Bahar’s verdict… but she wouldn’t say it. Even Çağla had understood — yet Bahar stayed silent. Why? He shut his eyes and swallowed hard.

— It could be… an early blastocyst, — Bahar finally said, but it wasn’t what Evren expected. It wasn’t what Çağla expected. — Maybe it hasn’t implanted yet. But it’s there. I know it sounds crazy, but if we act now — we might have a window. Just a few hours. — She fell silent.

Evren held his breath. His heart was pounding, echoing in his ears. He leaned forward, hanging on her every word.

— I can try, — Bahar’s voice made him open his eyes.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Tears welled up, and he smiled. That was Bahar — finding hope in the hopeless. She never gave up. She tried. Even if it wasn’t standard. Just like he did. And he was glad he was here, to live this with her.

— Doruk, — her voice was firm now. — Prep the OR. Get me a reproductive specialist and an embryologist. Now!

— Even if it’s an experiment, I’m in, — Çağla latched onto the sliver of hope. Bahar hadn’t said no.

— It’ll be laparoscopy. I’ll flush the tube. If we see it, I’ll follow the incubation protocol, try to culture it, — Bahar stood up.

Evren could tell by the sound of the wheels on the floor.

— It’s unofficial. Not from any textbook. It’s your only chance, Çağla. Yours and his.

— I trust you, — Çağla said.

Evren smiled. He’d trust himself to Bahar too. And he would — he reminded himself — step by step.

— Do it.

With that one word from Çağla — do it — everything went into motion. Doruk rushed one way, Ferdi the other. They wheeled Çağla toward the elevator, and Evren followed Bahar like her shadow. She was fighting for life where others would have given up. She believed. She said yes to life. That was Bahar.

— Evren, — she finally acknowledged him, laying a hand on his elbow.

— Bahar, — she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Anywhere but there.

— I’ll go on alone from here, — she said, her hand sliding off his arm. — Reha, Cem, — she reminded him.

— Don’t worry about Reha, — he answered quickly. — I’ll handle it. Serhat is a good doctor.

— Cem, — she flinched. Her eyes roamed the corridor walls.

— I’ll talk to Rengin, — he said, squeezing her cold hand.

— His laptop’s in my office. On top of the cabinet. Yusuf left it there, — she almost turned away. — Yes, Yusuf is at your place with Cem. Evren, just don’t screw things up, — and finally, she met his eyes. — He’s your brother. Your responsibility, — she whispered. — They’re our family. Just as they are.

— Bahar, — his brow furrowed — the video, Naz — it was starting to sink in.

— Evren, — she leaned her forehead to his shoulder for a second, then stood tall. — Naz? That’s nothing compared to what he did, — she tapped him lightly on the shoulder. — Naz, — her voice shifted. She looked directly into his eyes, searching, trying to understand.

— Bahar, there’s nothing. There never was, — Evren was drowning in that blue gaze, but the magic of her eyes changed the moment she thought of Naz… and him with her.

— Not now, — she cut him off, turning into Doctor Bahar in an instant. The one he still had to get used to. The one he longed to know, to become part of. — Çağla, — she turned and entered the operating room.

Evren stood there, still feeling the scent of her perfume, the warmth of her hand, the press of her forehead on his shoulder. She was near, but not his — not yet. Still, that warmth kept growing in his chest. Involuntarily, with those small gestures, she was giving him hope. As if saying — maybe things didn’t need to change… maybe they just needed to start again, differently.

Çağla. The child. He exhaled and started down the hallway… They hadn’t spoken. It was like it never happened at all… Evren turned around. Behind that door, Bahar was fighting for life, alone. Not now, her words echoed. If not now… then when?

***

…That could wait. Right now, he had to talk to Rengin — and then hurry to Bahar’s family. He would stay with them during Reha’s surgery. He’d given his word.

He wanted to stay, to watch with his own eyes, but the promise pulled him away from the OR doors.

Evren didn’t make it far. Rengin was heading straight toward him, Ahu at her side, Ferdi trailing behind. Rengin wasn’t just walking — she was marching with purpose, tension in her every step, and her face promised nothing good.

— What the hell are you doing, Evren?! — she came at him instantly. — Adem Yurdakul just left the hospital! We’re still under board review and you’re breaking protocol again?! — she tried to get past him, but Evren blocked her path to Bahar’s OR with outstretched arms.

— Çağla’s in there, Rengin. Bahar knows what she’s doing. Trust her, — he stood firm. — No, Rengin. No! There’s no time. Don’t stop the surgery. — he pleaded — They deserve a chance!

Rengin turned to glance at Ahu and Ferdi, then back at Evren. She leaned in:

— How do you plan to log this in the report? — she whispered. — How will you justify the procedure? There’s a reproductive specialist and an embryologist inside that OR, — she reminded him.

— IVF prep, — Evren whispered back. — You know the procedure. Bahar is performing an oocyte retrieval.

Rengin raised her hands in a mute question.

— Oocytes? — she asked in a hushed voice. — Or…?

— Listen… — Evren struggled to stay calm. — She’s fighting.

Rengin closed her eyes for a moment.

— As always, — she muttered, shaking her head. — You act first, and I clean up after you.

She moved to go around him again, but he gently caught her by the elbow.

Ahu and Ferdi stood just behind them, craning their necks to hear, but Evren and Rengin were whispering too softly. Then, they turned together and walked.

— Let’s just look, — Evren suggested, and they stepped into the observation room.

The lights were dim. Through the glass, Bahar had already begun the surgery. Evren moved up to the window, his heart pounding in uneven beats. She was in there — so focused — unaware anyone was watching.

— Çağla… Tolga… we have to try, — he whispered.

Rengin sat down, refusing to look. Her mind was spinning, trying to find a way to justify what was happening behind that glass wall.

— What now, Evren? What are you going to do? Bahar went in there without a plan, — she stared at his tense shoulders.

— She has her own plan, — Evren answered quickly, eyes fixed on Bahar.

— This is madness, — Rengin whispered, burying her face in her hands and leaning forward.

She understood she couldn’t stop the surgery — not with Çağla involved — but she couldn’t imagine how to explain this to the board if they asked for documentation.

— Laparoscopic access to the left tube, — Evren said, — that’ll go in the OR log. Aspiration of clear fluid — he added after a pause — from the ampullary section.

Rengin nearly groaned aloud.

— This has never been done before, — she whispered. — It’s all theory.

— Doesn’t mean it’s impossible, — Evren countered, resting his forehead against the glass. A shiver ran down his body. His fingers whitened from tension.

Rengin wanted to stand, but she was afraid to even look. It was enough to see Evren, the way his whole being was drawn tight with anticipation, awe, and absolute faith in Bahar.

— Just listen, — he whispered and turned on the audio feed.

— You haven’t chosen where to settle yet, — Bahar’s calm voice filled the room. — Let me give you a chance to find your home.

Rengin stared at Evren’s back. She hadn’t seen him like this in so long — entirely absorbed in what was happening behind the glass. These two were doing something unbelievable. Truly beyond the possible. She closed her eyes.

— Microscopic droplet-shaped formation identified — possible early blastocyst, — the embryologist's voice came through.

— Incredible, — said the reproductive specialist, clearly a man. — It hasn’t implanted yet, but if it survives the environment until tomorrow, we might attempt transfer.

— This is not an embryo, — Bahar’s voice was steady — no emotion, no excitement, no anxiety — just clinical precision. — It’s a chance. For Çağla and Tolga.

— Transferred to culture medium, — the embryologist said, and Rengin opened her eyes.

Evren smiled through his tears. She had done it. He turned off the audio and looked at Rengin.

— This doesn’t mean anything yet, Evren, — her voice trembled. She pointed toward the OR.

— Ultrasound showed a tubal anomaly. Laparoscopy — fluid retrieval, — his eyes were red but shining with awe at what Bahar had just done — extracting a blastocyst at the edge of possibility. — Next step is incubation and transfer, just like standard IVF. This isn’t magic, Rengin — it’s an innovative approach for complex patients.

— And if it stops developing? Have you thought of that? If cell division doesn’t even start? — Rengin asked.

Evren stepped away from the glass and sat down beside her.

— We’ll know tomorrow, — he said, still breathing hard. — Let’s not speculate. You know… at least we tried.

They sat before the glass, watching as the instruments were being cleared away. Çağla had already been wheeled out. Bahar was no longer in sight.

Evren understood why she had asked him to stay close to her family — because she had gone with the embryologist and the reproductive specialist to monitor the culture. She would keep fighting for that tiny spark of life that had been given a fragile chance.

Rengin had to switch gears. Her head was throbbing, and her legs barely held her up anymore.

— Did Bahar talk to you? — Rengin exhaled, sitting upright.

She hadn’t stopped the surgery — even though she’d fully intended to. She just couldn’t. Not to Çağla. Not to Bahar.

— About what? — Evren didn’t immediately understand.

His thoughts were still five months back, to the day Rengin herself had delivered their verdict — “ectopic” — and offered them only one way out. Had there been a chance? A way like this? Had they been ready to go through everything Çağla had faced without a second thought?

Rengin’s hand rested briefly on his shoulder.

— That was never an option for you two, — she said calmly. — The implantation had already occurred. You know that. It wouldn’t have worked.

Evren’s gaze hardened. He didn’t want to talk about it. Not with anyone. He and Bahar hadn’t even spoken about it themselves. And everything Tolga had said… wasn’t what he’d needed to hear at all.

— What did Cem do? — he asked suddenly, changing the subject, wiping sweat from his brow.

Yes, his heart was still pounding. His chest still ached. His breathing wasn’t steady — but he wasn’t ready to talk about their child. Their loss. Not with anyone but Bahar.

Rengin just stared at him.

— Bahar said I needed to talk to you about Cem, — Evren reminded her. — What did he do besides the video with Naz?

Rengin covered her mouth for a second. The kiss video… Cem had made it too. He’d uploaded it to the hospital’s doctor group chat. She furrowed her brows, searching his eyes.

— Cem gained access to the security system, — she said flatly. — He downloaded footage from Bahar’s operating room. The moment you came in. When Serhat barged in after you, — she exhaled, trying not to react to that name — the one she’d recently kissed… and more. — He leaked it all online. He thought it would discredit Bahar, — she paused, then added, — but instead it hit you. Your department launch. That’s why they sent Adem Yurdakul.

Evren didn’t register it all at once. He stared at her. And then the words hit.

— What? — his voice cracked as the meaning sank in.

— He broke protocol. Hacked into the internal system. Downloaded the footage from our servers and leaked it, — Rengin looked away. — That’s a criminal offense, Evren. Not just a violation.

Evren clenched his fists.

— Why? — was all he could manage, through gritted teeth.

— Maybe he wanted to break your bond with Bahar, — she shrugged. — Who knows what goes on in his head?

Evren stood. He walked to the glass and stared at the now-empty operating room, being cleaned and prepped for the next patient. His body trembled slightly — it was hard to stay still, as if every muscle wanted to run to Cem. To shake him. To hit him. To scream at him. But he couldn’t. Not now. Bahar. Naz. The video. Criminal charges.

— Maybe he got scared, — Rengin offered.

— I brought him into my home. He found me himself. He asked me to take care of him, — Evren couldn’t even look at her. — He’s my brother… but I don’t even know what to do.

For the first time, he was truly stunned by Cem’s betrayal. So stunned that even yelling felt pointless.

— You need to talk to him. The board is expecting a report, — she continued. — There will be consequences, Evren, even though he’s your brother. You both need to be ready.

Evren slowly turned toward her — Bahar’s words echoing in his mind. They’re our family. Just as they are.

He’d never denied that. But now… now he simply didn’t know what to do.

— And then what? — he asked, his voice uncertain.

Rengin stood. Now she could walk to the glass. Çağla was gone. Bahar too.

— Have you ever felt like someone close to you suddenly became a stranger? — she asked.

Evren looked at her, confused.

— But Cem isn’t a stranger. He’s… weak. He didn’t understand that you were his anchor, — she shook her head. — And you… didn’t realize he’s afraid. In some ways, he’s still a child, Evren. That’s how kids act when they’re desperate for a parent’s attention.

— He’s not a monster, Rengin, — was all Evren could say.

But then… who was he? Who sent those photos of Bahar, knowing they’d hurt her? Who downloaded the videos, trying to get her fired? Who was Cem really? Maybe Evren didn’t know him at all. Not the one who filmed that kiss with Naz. How had he even managed it?

— Parla wanted to tell Bahar about me and Timur, — Rengin confessed. — She made a collage of our pictures. She planned to give it to Bahar through Umay. Timur stopped it at the last minute. Kids do what they think is right. What they think is fair. I won’t promise anything — but I’ll try to protect him, if you tell me… he’s salvageable. I understand — she nodded — that he’s lost. — She didn’t meet his eyes. — And you know… in that way, he’s like you. You just learned to stay silent. He screams. — She frowned slightly. — But neither of you knows how to ask. You both run at the first storm. But being an adult, Evren… means not protecting — but taking responsibility. For yourself. For your brother, — she paused, — and for Bahar. Like today. Here.

Evren almost smiled. She was right. Painfully right.

— She said, not now, — he admitted. — But what if I’m already too late?

For the first time, she heard fear in his voice — and he didn’t try to hide it.

— Talk to Cem first, — Rengin sighed. — Then talk to Bahar. Clearly. Without anger. Without blame.

Evren closed his eyes. Then they turned back toward the glass, leaning against the wall shoulder to shoulder, watching the sanitizers wipe every surface, leaving the operating room sterile. Erasing all trace of what had just taken place. But the surgical log — that couldn’t be scrubbed clean. It held everything that had just happened.

They stood in silence.