— Doctor Aziz Uraz Yavuzoglu, are you on duty today? — He didn’t let Bahar leave. Sert Kaya made her go back into the doctors’ room, walked in himself, and shut the door behind him.

— Yes, but I’m not in a leading role, — mumbled Uraz, glancing anxiously between Bahar and him. — I can be replaced and…

— Are you a surgeon? — Sert cut him off sharply. — Or just your mother’s errand boy?

Bahar’s face changed. Uraz looked at Sert, unsure how to respond.

— Don’t talk to him like that, — Bahar intervened.

— Why not? — Sert kept pressing, but she didn’t back away anymore. She stood her ground, looking him straight in the eyes. — Because you’re his mother? Or because you can’t separate family from work? As of today, you’re responsible for the documentation! — he ordered. — You have, — he checked his watch, — forty-eight hours to reconcile all the protocols from the transplantation cycle. Submit them to me directly!

— I’m going to see the child, — Bahar said calmly, holding his gaze. — He’s my grandson. That’s not a weakness or a whim. I’ll be back and finish your protocols.

— They’re not my protocols! — he raised his voice slightly. — They’re your duty starting today! And you’re choosing family over work! — he noted, then turned to Uraz. — Doctor Aziz Uraz, your first refusal to take a shift and you’re out of the lead reserve! We no longer have, — he glanced between them, — a “working family.” This is an institution. There are no more familial ties here!

— Yes, there are, — Bahar replied with quiet stubbornness. — We have no choice — we save lives and support one another. That is teamwork!

The door to the doctors’ room opened, and Evren appeared in the doorway. He was holding some charts. Seeing Uraz’s stunned expression and Bahar’s slightly worried face, he stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him.

Sert didn’t even turn to look at him.

— Too warm-hearted for my taste! — he remarked bitingly, staring at Uraz. — You’re far too dependent on your family, Doctor Aziz Uraz Yavuzoglu. I’m not convinced of your independence, — he paused, — especially after last night’s incident. Things could have ended by morning!

Bahar immediately turned to Uraz. She studied his pale face, and then suddenly he flushed — as if with shame or guilt… She knew her son too well… and Evren said nothing… but should he have? She looked at Evren, but he only frowned as he came closer.

— I thought the doctors’ room was a place to analyze mistakes! — Sert continued. — Not to admire someone’s bravery! — Now he turned to Evren. — Did you go over the on-call doctor’s mistake, professor?! Where’s the explanation for what happened?

Bahar stayed silent, not fully understanding what had happened that night. Evren frowned, still not responding.

— Are you just happy the transplant was successful? — Sert scoffed. — You almost ruined everything, Professor Evren Yalkın!

Evren stepped up beside Bahar and folded his arms across his chest. Sert had no intention of stopping.

— Do you think everything’s allowed now? — He locked eyes with Bahar. — You walked into the OR and erased all traces of a crime! — His voice was rising. — You know the difference between a team and a pack?

Bahar, Evren, and Uraz remained silent.

— In a pack, the strongest survives! In a team, the one who knows acts — not the one who feels, not the one who just wants to help! And definitely not the one who clings to family! There are no mothers here, no wives, no sons! Only surgeons! Forget who is who to you. It doesn’t matter. Otherwise — you’re not doctors! There’s far too much familiarity in the OR, — now he looked directly at Evren and Bahar. — Don’t you think, Professor, that you’re becoming the center — not the method? With you, — his hand twitched, but he didn’t raise it to point at Evren, — we’ll present high-level cases to the world and subject them to a strict system. You’re exceptional, — he almost complimented, — but that doesn’t exempt you from discipline! You went beyond protocol!

— The patient is alive, — Evren remarked calmly.

— For now! Who are you: a hero or a violator, professor? — Sert demanded.

— I did everything I could to keep the patient alive! — Evren nearly reached for Bahar’s hand, but didn’t.

— There should be no centers of power in a hospital, — Sert shot back, his compliment turning into a weapon that tore through everything. — Only structure. Are you okay with that?

— No, — Evren’s shoulder brushed against hers. — I’m not here to be convenient. I’m always focused on results, — he held Sert’s gaze. — If that works for you, then we’ll work just fine together.

— Heart and liver — are you expecting applause? — his stare was scorching.

— Protocols weren’t broken, — said Evren. — Recommendations were exceeded, not ethics.

— Sounds nice, — he paused before continuing, — for an interview? You do realize the observer's report could’ve been different?

— But it wasn’t, — Evren replied calmly.

— Coincidence, or did you just get lucky? — Sert’s tone was too sharp.

— I’m a doctor, — Evren felt Bahar press a little closer against his shoulder, — if it's obedience you want, you’ll get it. But not loyalty… that can’t be forced.

— You’ll be handed the most difficult cases, — Sert suddenly said, switching the subject, — you’ll be filmed and showcased. Your job is to be the face of this hospital while I purge it of relatives, emotions, and attachments!

Uraz exhaled. Bahar tensed. Evren’s frown deepened.

— I’ll always choose the patient, — he met Sert’s eyes head-on. — With or without protocol. If you want to get rid of me, start with the stats! — he threw the words at him like a challenge.

— Emotions are a bad advisor in a sterile zone! — Sert concluded, as if placing a final full stop.

He turned and walked out, leaving them in a moment of confusion. No one had lost — but no one had won either.

— What was that? — Bahar was the first to come to her senses.

— He wants to use me, — Evren said thoughtfully, looking at her.

— He’s definitely going to fire me, — Uraz clutched his head. — Mom?! — he demanded an answer from her.

— I’ll let him, — Evren suddenly said. — If it’s not me, he’ll crush someone else.

— Evren, — Bahar rested her head on his shoulder. — Are you trying to save everyone?

— Not everyone, not always, — he wrapped one arm around her.

Uraz looked at them, arms spread out.

— Mom?! — there was panic in his voice.

Bahar flinched. She tried to pull away from Evren, but he gripped her shoulder tighter, not noticing the slight wince. Evren stared directly into Uraz’s eyes.

— Ugh, — Bahar sighed, her eyes darting. — Alright, I’m calling Siren, — she pulled out her phone.

— What’s going on? — Evren grew alert.

— Mert has a fever, Siren can’t bring it down, and mom and I can’t go home, — Uraz blurted out, clutching his head again. — He’ll fire us if we leave.

— Bahar, — Evren took the phone gently from her hands, — then I’ll go.

She flinched and looked up at him, eyes wide, not blinking.

— What? — Uraz froze, hands still raised, staring at them.

— You don’t mind, do you? — Evren asked quietly, then leaned in, his lips brushing her cheek. — I need to start learning how to handle kids anyway, — he whispered gently in her ear. — I’m not pressuring you, — he quickly added, as if catching himself. — But if not me, then who?

She closed her eyes, clutching his hand. With the other, she seemed to mentally run through a checklist:

— Teeth, tummy, — she breathed. — Throat? Medicine— — he cut her off gently.

— I’ll figure it out, — he squeezed her hand. — I will. Calm down, — he looked into her eyes. — Trust me.

Uraz, arms dropped, looked completely lost.

— Alright, — Bahar exhaled.

— I’ll be waiting for you at home, — and that’s when she flushed. Her cheeks burned, and she didn’t know where to look. She wanted to disappear.

Bahar kept her eyes closed, still holding his hand, but then she straightened up, realizing she had to try — try to trust him, just like Evren had asked. To let him help her… help them.

— We don’t just save patients, — she whispered. — We save each other too, — she looked at her son. — Uraz, go to your patients, — then she turned to Evren. — I’ll stay here and finish the protocols, — her voice trembled, but she had already gathered her strength. — Sert Kaya wants to erase the word “family” from this hospital. We won’t let that happen.

Bahar loosened her fingers and let go of Evren’s hand — too slowly, as if she didn’t want to break the contact, but couldn’t avoid it either… Their eyes met, and in that silence there was more defiance than in any argument — as if they didn’t want to part even for a moment…

***

Siren paced the room, clutching her phone, not letting it out of her hand for a second. Mert lay in his crib, his forehead slick with feverish sweat, his breathing shallow and labored, his little chest heaving with each cough. She kept grabbing a damp towel only to throw it aside again, terrified by every wheeze in her son’s breath that sounded like a whistle to her.

— He’s suffocating! — she shouted, bending over the crib, her voice cracking. — He’s suffocating!

Umay picked up Leyla and stepped back.

— It’s just a fever, — she whispered. — He’s breathing, Siren.

— Here, water, — Parla rushed into the room, followed closely by Nevra.

— He doesn’t need water! — Siren snatched the bottle from her hands and slammed it down on the table. — He needs a doctor! — as if forgetting she was a doctor herself. Siren turned on her phone and tried dialing with trembling fingers. — Where’s Bahar? Where’s Uraz?! — she couldn’t comprehend.

— You’re a doctor yourself… — Umay murmured, turning Leyla’s head gently away.

Nevra hesitated near the doorway, then gathered her courage and stepped closer to the crib. She placed her palm on Mert’s forehead.

— He’s burning up, — she said, then looked at Siren. — But he’s breathing. Do you hear me? — her voice was steady. — Don’t panic. Someone get a thermometer.

Parla and Umay stared at her in surprise. Yes, they remembered she’d taken the same medical course with Gulçicek — but Nevra had never taken charge like this before, never shown such presence. She was always the quiet one, tucked away in some corner, scrolling on her phone.

Siren, still not pressing the call button, looked at her in confusion, as if she couldn’t understand what was being asked of her. Umay held Leyla tighter. Parla walked over to the nightstand and handed the thermometer to Nevra.

— Siren, look at me, — Nevra said gently. — We’ll take off some layers, measure his temperature, and wait for Bahar. She’s already on her way.

— On her way? — Siren whimpered, twisting her hands, tears running down her cheeks. — Really?

— She’s already coming, — Nevra nodded firmly. — You called Uraz, didn’t you?

Siren leaned over Mert again. She looked at his pale little face, and her body began to tremble once more. Panic was clouding her every thought, robbing her of reason.

Umay tried to distract Leyla, Parla stood with her arms wrapped around herself, pressed against the wall. Nevra took the thermometer and checked the reading… she shook her head slightly behind Siren’s back, making sure she didn’t see. Umay closed her eyes, murmuring a silent prayer: let Bahar get here soon. And in the stifling silence, Mert’s rasping cough tore through the room…

***

Silence fell over the doctors’ room the moment the door shut behind Evren. Bahar closed her eyes, but opened them again instantly when she sensed movement beside her.

— Why did he go? — Uraz pointed at the door, looming over her. — Who is he to decide for all of us? He’s not even part of this family, mom! — he shouted.

Bahar faltered for a moment. She didn’t know what to say. She was asking herself the same thing — why Evren? Why not her?

— It should’ve been me by my son’s side. Or you. But not him! — Uraz clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white.

Bahar pressed her hand to her chest. She stood frozen in the middle of the room, not expecting such an outburst from her son. She saw his hands trembling, the way he paced like a caged animal.

— Uraz, — she began gently.

— No! — he shouted. — I’m his father! Why is this man always pushing into our lives?!

— Uraz, — Bahar reached out, meaning to touch his hand, but he pulled away sharply.

— I won’t let him, — his lips trembled. He slammed his fist on the table. — Who does he think he is? Who?!

— Uraz, — she stepped closer. Before he could retreat again, she cupped his face in her hands. — Mert, — she said calmly, meeting his eyes. — Mert is sick. He needs a doctor, — she didn’t let him move, didn’t let him step away. — A doctor is on the way. Trust me.

With that, she pulled him into an embrace, held him tightly against her chest. — This isn’t about me right now, — she held him close, forgetting her own pain, forgetting everything. — Mert, — her voice was soft, but it didn’t soothe.

Uraz, breathing heavily, froze in her arms. He wanted to argue more — he even opened his mouth.

— Doctor Bahar Özden. Doctor Aziz Uraz Yavuzoglu, please report immediately to the emergency department. — the announcement rang out over the intercom.

— You heard that? — Bahar leaned back slightly, looking him in the eye. — A patient is waiting, — her fingers touched his elbow.

— I won’t let this go, — he said through clenched teeth.

Bahar pressed her lips together for a second and nodded.

— I know, — she whispered. — But right now, you’re not a father. Not a son. You’re a doctor. Pull yourself together — we have work to do.

She was the first to turn and walk out of the doctors’ room. Uraz followed her with a heavy sigh…

***

Serhat followed her at a slight distance. Rengin held the files in her hands, issuing instructions as they walked, while he simply followed. He watched her profile, breathed in the scent of her perfume. He liked the way she moved — as if everything was under her control, as if she held the world in her hands.

Rengin ignored him completely, as if the conversation from the day before hadn’t happened. She stuck to the decision she had already made, as if he hadn’t said a word.

— The transplant should be postponed until the numbers stabilize, — Rengin said with a frown, handing the documents to a young assistant. She watched him walk away. — We can’t afford to take risks. Not right now, — she added more quietly, and only Serhat heard her.

— Maybe sometimes it's worth the risk, — he murmured behind her.

Rengin turned immediately, and their eyes met — but she didn’t have time to answer.

— Emotions are the worst tools for a surgeon, — came a cold voice from behind.

Rengin’s expression shifted — just for a second — but she quickly composed herself and turned around. Sert Kaya was walking toward them, his hands clasped behind his back.

— Professor Rengin, — his tone sliced like a razor blade, — you’re not thinking like a doctor, and that makes you dangerous, — he made no effort to lower his voice, not even caring that colleagues might overhear.

— The patient is not a protocol or a schedule, — her voice betrayed no emotion, — she has a name. A family.

— Your emotions could kill her, — he cut her off harshly. — Your “family values” don’t save lives! — his voice rang with contempt. — They take them.

Rengin tried to respond, but her breath caught, the words stuck in her throat. Serhat stepped forward.

— Sometimes family does save lives, — he said in a low voice. — If it weren’t for Professor Rengin, my daughter— — his voice broke.

— Professor Özer, — Sert Kaya turned to him, — would you like to be added to the list of sentimental amateurs?

— What I’d like, — Serhat interrupted, stepping closer, — is for you to look — just once — into the eyes of the people you reduce to “cases.”

Silence fell in the corridor. Rengin looked at Serhat. For the first time, gratitude flickered in her eyes, and the hint of a smile touched her lips. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had stood up for her. Her whole life she’d done everything on her own. Made decisions, taken responsibility — never leaning on anyone, never asking for help.

Sert Kaya let the pause hang. He didn’t even try to hide the contempt gleaming in his eyes.

— You can’t hide mistakes behind the word “family,” — he said coldly. — There’s no such term in the protocol! — Sert’s eyes locked on Rengin like a hawk. — Your surgeons act however they please. One leaves because his child is sick. Another decides a patient’s fate based on emotion, ignores all medical guidelines — and, let’s not forget, criminal responsibility — and casually destroys evidence. — He took a step closer. — And you call this management, Professor?

Rengin went pale, but held his gaze.

— It’s chaos! — Sert Kaya declared.

— It’s the human factor, — she shot back. — We treat people, not just organs!

— And that’s why, — he leaned in slightly, his voice like a knife, — your doctors almost lose patients. This isn’t a family council, Professor Rengin. This is a hospital.

Rengin said nothing, holding his gaze without flinching.

— If it weren’t for Professor Rengin, — Serhat was ready to shield her with his body — this so-called chaos would’ve collapsed long ago. She’s the one holding together everything you so coldly dismiss as “family”!

The corners of Sert’s mouth twitched. He almost smirked.

— Ah, so that’s what this is, — he said, watching them with a spark of curiosity. — Now it makes sense why Professor Özer is so eager to defend the chief of medicine. — His eyes narrowed. — Personal motives over professional ones?

Rengin blushed and looked down. The words struck deep — not because he was right, but because she realized: it did matter to her that Serhat stood by her side. That realization burned more than any insult.

— Sometimes the personal stops us from making mistakes, — Serhat didn’t back down.

Sert nearly laughed — as if the whole deck had just fallen into his hands.

— And just as often, it causes them, — he said in a frigid tone. Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away.

His footsteps echoed through the corridor long after he disappeared, as if the hospital itself was repeating his cold, cruel words.

Rengin didn’t respond. She was burning with humiliation. Sert Kaya’s words had cut to the core. Only Serhat, still standing beside her, kept her from crumbling entirely. She lifted her eyes. He looked at her like he’d take the blow in her place if he could — and for the first time in a long time, she wanted to let someone in.

— Thank you, — she whispered.

— Sometimes protocols are just too narrow for real life, — his eyes were dark with barely contained fury.

They turned and walked down the corridor side by side. With each step, the space between them grew smaller, until their hands brushed — just briefly — and in that fleeting touch there was more than words could ever say. Then they parted, each going in a different direction…

***

Bahar and Uraz rushed in from one side, while from the other, a stretcher was being wheeled toward them, carrying a young woman. Bahar took one look — pale face, blue lips. Her husband was holding her hands, barely able to stand on his own. As they moved, Ferdi handed Bahar gloves, which she slipped on without breaking stride.

— Patient, 29 years old, — the paramedic began rapidly, — liver transplant a year and a half ago, — he spoke like a tongue-twister, — twenty-four weeks pregnant.

Everything around them froze for a moment. Bahar and Uraz didn’t respond — they just looked at each other for a fraction of a second. And then, everything snapped into motion.

— Pain, vomiting, dropping blood pressure, — the paramedic continued.

— The baby… save the baby, — the woman groaned, clutching her belly.

— Labs, now, — Bahar’s voice was slightly shaky. — Ultrasound, — she ordered. — Hook up the monitor!

— They told us it was okay, — the woman’s husband grabbed Bahar’s coat sleeve. — It’s been over a year! — his voice rose — they said we could! We wanted this baby so much! Why are they saying now it’s a risk?!

— Pressure's dropping, — Uraz’s voice was edged with panic. — Liver values— — he just shook his head.

Bahar leaned over the patient, eyes flicking to the monitor… she froze for a beat, visibly unsettled.

— Page Professor Evren Yalkın, now, — the name slipped from her lips before she even had time to think.

Uraz whipped around, straightening up.

— What? — he didn’t understand. — He left, mom, — he reminded her.

His voice was louder than the beeping machines. Bahar closed her eyes for a second, as if startled by her own reaction — calling for Evren.

— I’m not “mom”, — she said, opening her eyes again. — I’m Doctor Bahar Özden. Let’s continue.

Uraz trembled. He heard her words but didn’t move.

— Save the baby, — the woman whispered again.

— No! — her husband shouted. — Save my wife! Let her live!

— If her liver fails, there’ll be no wife, no baby, — Bahar’s voice was dry, detached now.

Uraz flinched, glancing at Bahar.

— But they promised us, — the husband’s voice cracked. — They told us after a year it was safe — his voice rasped. He leaned over his wife, cupped her face in his hands. — You’re my life… I can’t do this without you.

— My baby… please, — the woman begged through shallow breaths.

— Mother first, — Bahar said suddenly, then added, — but we’re fighting for both. — Her eyes never left the monitor.

Uraz stood beside her, fingers trembling. His gaze darted between the screen and Bahar’s face. The words — if the liver fails — pounded in his head. He looked at the patient, but it was as if he were seeing Bahar lying there instead. Instinctively, he touched the collar of his shirt, trying to loosen a button.

On the screen, the fetal heartbeat stuttered — uneven, as if suffocating alongside the mother.

— What do we do? — the husband whimpered nearby.

— We haven’t lost her yet, — Bahar said softly.

The man collapsed to his knees beside the stretcher, gripping it tightly. The woman’s tears flowed freely now, her lips silently mouthing the word — baby… baby…

The monitor beeped sharply. The baby’s heartbeat was slowing.

— OR. Now. — Bahar’s voice cut through everything, silencing the husband instantly.

He looked up at her from the floor. Uraz didn’t take his eyes off his mother — silently screaming inside: what if it’s you lying here next time?…

***

Evren left his helmet on the motorcycle seat and ran toward the house. He burst through the door and rushed into the living room. A quick glance was enough — no one was downstairs. Taking the stairs two at a time, he climbed upward, the sound of Mert’s coughing growing louder with every step.

He rushed into the child’s room — and all heads turned to him.

— Bahar, I… — Siren started to say, then fell silent.

She looked pale, lost, and at the sight of Evren, her arms dropped to her sides. Umay stood near the wardrobe, holding Leyla. Parla and Nevra were bent over Mert’s crib.

— Temperature? — Evren scanned the room, lifting his hands instinctively.

Parla reacted first, grabbed the antiseptic, and stepped toward him. Evren held out his hands and she sprayed them several times. He rubbed them clean and took a paper towel from Nevra without a word. After drying his hands, he tossed it in the bin and leaned over the crib.

— Temperature? — he repeated, looking closely at Mert’s flushed little face.

Suddenly, his own heartbeat stuttered. His hands gripped the edge of the crib. Their baby. This could’ve been their child. He could be the one caring for their child while she was at work — just like he’d promised her. That he’d help with everything.

— Bahar, — he whispered involuntarily, as if lost for a moment, unsure what to do.

He didn’t even dare touch the baby.

— Why didn’t mom come? — Umay rocked Leyla in her arms.

Her voice snapped him back to reality. This is Mert. Bahar’s grandson. Siren and Uraz’s son. Not their child. Their baby hadn’t been born.

— Temperature? — he asked again, glancing around, confused as to why no one was answering — it was like they were waiting for him to know.

— Thirty-eight this morning, — Siren said uncertainly. — It was almost forty overnight. — She stepped closer to the crib. — I wanted to tell Bahar but… — she trailed off, then added, — and this morning… Bahar… — she stopped again. — You were already gone.

Evren didn’t respond. He understood perfectly why Siren hadn’t come. Everything had changed. Bahar wasn’t alone anymore. Now he lived in her house. Slept in her bedroom. And for her children, that was unfamiliar ground. They didn’t know how to act. None of them did. Not even him, now that he was beginning to realize it.

— What did you give him? — Evren pushed the thoughts away.

— I always used a different syrup, — Siren reached for the bottle with shaking fingers. — The pharmacist said it was the same…

— First time using this one? — he asked, looking at her.

— Maybe it didn’t suit him, — Nevra offered.

Evren leaned down. Carefully, he picked up the baby. Held him against his chest. Mert was burning up, his breath wheezy. Evren sat on the bed and laid him down, then bent over and pressed his ear to Mert’s chest. The child’s heartbeat almost sent him into a panic. He couldn’t stop thinking — this could’ve been their child. Their son. Something inside him clenched tight, and for a moment he almost hugged Mert too hard — barely managing to control himself.

— Looks like an allergic reaction, — he straightened up. — A response, — he exhaled. — We’ve got this, — his voice grew steadier.

— Allergy? — Siren sounded doubtful.

— It’s not life-threatening, — he looked at the girls, then at Nevra. — Do you have antihistamines?

— Drops, in the med kit, — Nevra waved her hands and nearly ran from the room.

— Umay, take Leyla downstairs to the living room, — Evren asked. — You’re scaring her.

— Is he better? — Parla stood slightly aside but was ready to act at any moment.

Umay glanced once more at Evren holding Mert, then nodded and left. With every passing minute, Evren regained control. He gave Mert the drops, then picked him up again, this time calmly pressing him to his chest, trying not to think, not to imagine this being their baby. Just holding the small miracle in his arms and smiling.

— Breathe, little one, — he whispered. — Easy now.

The cough started to fade. Breathing steadied. Siren covered her face with her hands, barely holding back tears.

— I thought I was losing him, — she whispered. — It’s my fault.

— It’s alright, Siren. No one’s to blame. We’ll throw this syrup out, — Evren smiled, gently rocking Mert in his arms.

He looked at the baby, unable to shake the thought — if it had been their child, would he have handled it the same way? Or would he have panicked, like Siren? It was all new to him — being in Bahar’s home, caring for her grandson, holding him like this…

***

The man wiped the sweat from his forehead with trembling hands. His eyes never left the doors of the operating room. His wife was in there. His child. And no one had said a word to him for over an hour.

— Blood pressure’s dropping, — the anesthesiologist’s voice briefly drowned out the beeping monitors.

— Magnesium! — Bahar leaned over the table. — Monitor her pressure!

— Platelets at sixty thousand, — announced the young assistant.

— Prep plasma! — Bahar’s voice held no emotion. — Immediately! — She looked up at the monitor, performing the ultrasound right there on the table.

It was the second time today she’d done an ultrasound mid-surgery. The fetal heartbeat was irregular, dipping in and out.

— Deceleration, — Uraz whispered. — Mom, the baby!

— Doctor! — Bahar cut him off and handed the ultrasound probe to the assistant. — Priority is the mother. We hold them both as long as we can. Begin the plasma infusion! — She raised her eyes. — Steroids?

But no one had time to respond. The monitor let out a warning tone — the fetal heartbeat was slowing.

— Seventy, — the anesthesiologist called out. — Fifty.

Bahar’s eyelashes fluttered slightly above her mask.

— Hold steady, — her voice was calm, steady. — Keep infusing plasma.

The sound from the monitor struck her chest like a boxer’s punch. A flat line appeared on the screen. She didn’t move, didn’t look away from the monitors.

— Fetal asystole. No heartbeat, — Uraz said quietly, staring at Bahar.

— Blood pressure one twenty over eighty, — the anesthesiologist announced.

— Mother stabilized, — Bahar bent over the table again. — We’ve lost the baby…

Uraz couldn’t take his eyes off her. He didn’t see the patient on the table — all he could see was Bahar herself lying there… as if she were the one they were infusing with plasma. A dull roar filled his ears, drowning out everything. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear — it felt like he was losing his mother right there on the table… as if he had been forced to make the choice: child or mother…

He waited for her to give a command — scalpel — but Bahar said nothing.

Uraz kept watching her. He saw her lashes tremble. The tension in her gloved fingers.

— Fetus is deceased, — she repeated. — We continue stabilizing: blood pressure, plasma, clotting factors. We’ll induce labor in a few hours. It’s too dangerous now — cesarean’s not an option.