The lantern crackled as if it couldn’t bear the tension between them. Bahar took a small step closer.

— You… came earlier, — she said carefully, steadying her breath. — The council meeting is only on Monday, — Bahar added. — There’s still no final decision.

Meryem’s gaze slid over the courtyard, then toward the house, as if she were searching for someone.

— I arrived a week ago, — she said, surprising Bahar; it meant she had already been in the city while replying to her letters. — I’m not here because of the council, — Meryem continued, turning her eyes to her. — I have another matter in Istanbul, — she coughed softly, pressing a napkin to her lips. — And today I was just passing by, — she looked away.

Bahar pulled the collar of her robe tighter, shrinking into herself in an effort to stay warm.

— Your research is very interesting, — Meryem went on. — It reminded me of my youth, that’s why I agreed.

— All the documents will only be approved on Monday, — Bahar whispered, glancing around. She couldn’t help but worry — what if Evren had seen them, and that’s why he left?

— You’re doing everything right, Dr. Özden, — Meryem sighed, smiling faintly.

The words sounded like a test, and they both fell silent.

— Have you… seen Evren? — Bahar asked in a whisper.

Meryem’s face changed slightly, the corners of her lips trembled.

— He left, — she said after a long pause. — In a taxi, — she looked away. — I… didn’t manage to reach him, — Meryem slid her hands into her pockets. — I couldn’t, — she added quietly.

The air between them seemed to grow heavier. Bahar instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a wave of panic rise in her chest. He was gone. Without his phone. Without an explanation. She didn’t know where or why, and she couldn’t even call him.

— I understand, — Bahar said, glancing around again. — It’s just… it’s late, — she looked at her. — You shouldn’t have come at night.

— I didn’t mean to disturb you, — Meryem replied calmly. — I’ll stay in Istanbul until I settle my affairs, — she said, then paused. — And I’ll help you with the project, — Meryem added.

— That’s… your right, if my proposal is approved, — Bahar nodded, feeling her fingers trembling under the folds of her robe.

She truly didn’t know how to behave with this older woman — a woman she wanted to ask so many questions, about both work and Evren himself — but she couldn’t allow herself to do that at such an hour.

Meryem frowned slightly, as if sensing the unease in her voice.

— You shouldn’t be afraid of me, Bahar. I’m not your enemy, — she said softly, with a kind smile, though determination flickered in her eyes. — Sometimes the past comes back not to destroy, but to remind us it exists.

Bahar’s mouth went dry. Something inside her tightened. She wasn’t sure Evren was ready to meet his aunt.

— Please, go home, — Bahar asked quietly. — It’s late. And… tomorrow, — she hesitated, — Monday will be a hard day.

Meryem tilted her head slightly, as if agreeing.

— All right, — she said. — We’ll see each other again, Dr. Özden, — she added almost tenderly, as if she knew her well.

Bahar stood still until the headlights swept across her face, making her flinch and turn. A car had stopped by the gate, and Yusuf stepped out, holding several bags.

— I bought kebabs, — he announced, walking toward them. — Evren asked me to. Said you hadn’t eaten, that no one had.

Bahar grabbed his hand, momentarily forgetting that Evren’s aunt was standing beside her.

— What? — her voice cracked. — Where is he?

— He left? I don’t know. He asked me before I took Parla home, — Yusuf shrugged. — I thought he was still here.

Bahar pressed her hand to her chest. Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced herself to stand straight.

— Thank you, Yusuf. Go inside, set the food on the table. I’ll be right there… — she took a few steps toward the gate, then froze.

Bahar turned back. She couldn’t just leave this older woman standing by her gate.

— Yusuf, — she called to him and stepped closer, — I’ll handle it. You, — she turned toward Meryem, — please drive her wherever she needs to go, — Bahar asked.

— Who is she? — Yusuf asked quietly.

Bahar sighed heavily, hesitating only a moment.

— This is Meryem Özkan, — she whispered. — Evren’s aunt.

Yusuf almost dropped the bags, staring past Bahar’s shoulder.

— So… possibly my grandmother? — he asked.

Bahar swayed and grabbed his hand. She almost nodded but held herself back. Yusuf himself didn’t seem to know how to react to this woman.

— I’ll take her, — he finally agreed. — I’ll just drop the bags first, then go, — there was a familiar stubbornness in his tone, and Bahar shook her head, pushing all thoughts aside.

She was already almost prepared to face the fact that Evren might have an adult son — if the test confirmed her suspicions.

Bahar waited patiently by the car, refusing to let Meryem call a taxi. The silence between them was taut, like a drawn string. A dog barked in the distance, a kitten meowed on the other side. The lantern flickered. Bahar wanted to say something, but the words stuck in her throat. Meryem looked at the house, then back at her.

— Good night, Bahar, — she said almost tenderly.

Bahar smiled softly at Yusuf when he returned.

— It’s not an easy night for anyone, — she whispered approvingly.

— Will this day ever end? — Yusuf asked quietly.

Bahar nodded.

— I really hope so, — she said, watching them leave.

The headlights illuminated the gate as Yusuf’s car merged into the stream of traffic. Bahar turned back and was almost inside when bright lights hit her from behind. She flinched, turning instinctively — not understanding why they had come back… but a large black jeep pulled up to the gate, its headlights blinding her…

***

The headlights swept across the house façade. Bahar froze on the threshold, her hand instinctively dropping to her stomach. The car stopped by the gate, the engine fell silent. She heard a soft metallic click. The headlights flickered, then went out… and Evren stepped out from behind the wheel.

— Evren, — Bahar whispered.

He walked up to her quickly.

— What are you doing out here? — he asked, wrapping his arms around her. Pulling her close, he felt her trembling. — You’re freezing, — he said, rubbing her back with his palms.

— I thought… — she murmured, pressing her face into his shoulder instead of finishing the sentence. — Why do you always scare me like this? — she asked without raising her head.

— I’m not letting you go anywhere without me anymore, — he whispered into her hair.

— You bought us a car? — she still couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

Bahar was still trembling, not yet recovered from her encounter with Meryem — and now this sudden gesture from Evren after his disappearance.

— Not just a car, — Evren said, leading her toward it.

There was something uncontainable in his voice. He walked around the car and opened the passenger door. Bahar stepped closer. In the lamplight she saw a child’s car seat fixed in the back — brand new, still wrapped in plastic.

— Evren, — she said quietly, not looking at him as she found his hand and leaned on it, — it’s too soon.

— It’s not. Let it be, — Evren smiled. — It should be there anyway!

He looked at her as if the word soon had stung him. Something inside her tightened. Bahar moved closer and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing herself against him.

— What’s in the trunk? — curiosity stirred in her voice.

She could hardly believe he would stop at just the car and the seat. She searched his eyes, reading the cascade of emotions flickering across his face.

— Nothing, — he looked away, squeezed her hand, grabbed the bags from the car, and gently tugged her toward the house. — Come on, it’s cold. I don’t want you to catch a chill.

Bahar’s brows lifted slightly — she caught that familiar note in his voice, the one that meant he was hiding something, keeping her from opening the trunk. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, debating whether to insist or to trust him.

— Bahar, — Evren said as he opened the door.

She looked into his eyes, then nodded and followed obediently, deciding to trust him. A satisfied smile touched his lips, as if he had just pulled off a small prank.

— You bought kebabs, — she said, lingering at the doorway, trying to push away thoughts of Meryem.

Now that everything had quieted down, she didn’t want to spoil the moment — the rare, quiet moment when the two of them were finally alone in her crowded house.

— Yusuf bought them, — Evren sighed. — Come, let’s eat? — he suggested, his hand resting on her stomach. — You’re starving my child, — his brows lifted, and he gave her a pointed look.

— But you’re the one who asked him, — she said, filled with gratitude she could hardly put into words.

Evren turned to her, something alive and vulnerable flashing in his eyes — but he noticed her quickly brush away a tear from her cheek.

— So you’d eat, — he said simply, and they went into the kitchen.

Evren guided her toward the small couch, but she stubbornly refused to sit. As soon as he set the bags on the table, Bahar peeked inside — the smell of warm, fresh bread drew her in.

— You need to eat now, — Evren’s lips brushed her temple.

— So do you, — she replied, already pulling a hot flatbread from its paper bag.

Bahar took a bite without restraint, closing her eyes and savoring the simple taste. While she stood eating, Evren moved the bags to the counter, arranging them neatly as if the balance of the world depended on it.

Bahar watched him move around the kitchen — his gestures sure, almost automatic, as though he already knew every corner of the space. Evren turned on the stove, set the kettle, unwrapped the kebabs and laid them on a plate. He pulled out two bottles of ayran, twisted the caps off, and placed them next to the kebabs.

Bahar finally sat on the couch, holding her flatbread in its paper wrap, taking a sip of ayran. The silence in the house no longer frightened or unsettled her — it felt as if everything, at last, had found a moment of peace after the storm of the day.

***

The house greeted her with silence and darkness. Only the soft glow of the streetlamp outside the kitchen window sliced through the night in a thin beam. Rengin stood by the window in her robe, barefoot. She hadn’t turned on the light — once again convincing herself that the darkness understood her better than people did.

— Mom, — Parla called softly as she stepped into the room.

— Parla? — Rengin flinched, turning around. — What are you doing here?

— I came to see you, — Parla walked closer. — And you’re standing here again, all alone, in the dark and quiet.

— Déjà vu, — Rengin smiled wearily. — Remember when you were little, you’d come to my office and just sit there quietly, so I wouldn’t feel lonely?

— It worked back then, — Parla said, coming closer still. — It’ll work now too.

Rengin kissed her daughter on the temple, and together they went to the living room and sat on the couch.

— You shouldn’t have come this late, — Rengin said, wrapping her arms around herself.

— I wanted to see you, — Parla’s voice was gentle. — And to ask how you’re… doing.

— Don’t start, — Rengin leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes.

— I’m not starting, — Parla moved a little closer. — It’s just… maybe you should go back, not only to surgeries, — she asked cautiously, — but to teaching too?

— Don’t, — Rengin cut her off. — I don’t want to talk about the hospital. Not a word. Please.

— All right, — Parla agreed with a sigh, then continued, — Then tell me about Serhat.

Rengin froze. Her hands clenched, her breath turned shallow.

— About Serhat? — she repeated.

— I saw the way he looks at you, — Parla smiled. — And the way you pretend not to notice.

— Parla, — Rengin said quietly, but her voice trembled. — Don’t. Not tonight.

— I’m sorry, — Parla sighed. — It’s just… you weren’t like this before.

— It’s calmer for me in the quiet, — Rengin whispered, silently grateful that they hadn’t turned on the light — otherwise Parla would have seen her reddened eyes. — It feels like I can only breathe in the dark.

Parla stood and went to the kitchen. Rengin closed her eyes and just listened. Parla hadn’t been home for a month and a half, and now the sounds from the kitchen felt a little unfamiliar — yet at the same time, comforting and dear. Parla returned with two cups of tea and set one beside her.

— Then let’s just stay in the dark, — she said, sitting down again. — The two of us.

— You haven’t changed, — Rengin smiled faintly. — Still healing with silence.

— Thinking comes easier in the quiet, — Parla took a sip of tea. — And you still haven’t learned how to ask for help. Tonight, I’ll just stay here with you.

Rengin’s eyes filled with tears. They sat together in the dim light. Steam rose from the cups, the scent of mint and lemon drifting through the room. Rengin reached for her cup, and their hands brushed.

— You’re cold, — Parla said, getting up to grab a blanket.

She wrapped it around her mother and sat back beside her.

— Thank you, — Rengin’s voice quivered.

— We’ll go to Bahar’s house tomorrow too, — Parla whispered, pulling her legs up onto the couch. She sat in the opposite corner, watching her mother closely.

— No, we shouldn’t, — Rengin held her cup tightly in both hands. — Let them have some time to themselves.

— They’re our family, Mom, — Parla said, gently but firmly. — We don’t have to spend the weekend alone.

Rengin set her cup on the table and rested her head in her hands. Her lips trembled, and tears rolled down her cheeks. Parla immediately moved closer and hugged her.

— It’s going to be all right, — she whispered. — We’ll get through this. You’re just tired.

Rengin leaned into the shoulder of her nearly grown daughter. She couldn’t yet bring herself to tell the truth — that there was life growing inside her. She was afraid to confess that she might not be able to handle everything that had come crashing down. She didn’t yet know whether she would keep the baby or not.

Rengin listened to her daughter’s voice, knowing the words were meant to comfort her — yet they only stirred another wave of doubt within. She lay down on the couch, resting her head on Parla’s lap. Parla stroked her hair. She saw the tears still running down her mother’s cheeks, but didn’t know what else she could do. Silently, she thanked Bahar for sending her home.

— Try to sleep, Mom, — Parla whispered, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

Rengin closed her eyes, allowing herself to finally cry in earnest. Parla stroked her hair, thinking it was just nerves — never suspecting what was really happening to her mother.

Rengin silently prayed that Parla wouldn’t find out she was pregnant. She prayed that morning wouldn’t bring new questions… and only when her breathing steadied did she whisper softly,

— Allah, give me strength, — so quietly that Parla didn’t even hear her.

***

How she loved listening to his voice — soft, with a faint huskiness, threaded with unmistakable notes of happiness. Bahar felt the warmth of his hands, strong, familiar, steady. Evren traced his fingers along her cheek, down her neck, pausing at the knot of her robe’s belt.

— You’re trembling all over, — he whispered.

Bahar didn’t answer. She exhaled deeply, as if trying to breathe out all her anxiety and fatigue — and breathe in only the tenderness and quiet of this moment. Evren leaned down and kissed her lips, her cheeks. His mouth brushed her temple, as if giving her back the breath she sometimes lost.

Bahar buried her face in his chest. The scent of his cologne, his skin, the warmth of his arms — all of it melted into peace and stillness. Evren placed a gentle hand on her belly, his touch slow and reverent.

— Here? — he whispered.

— Here, — she smiled.

He sank to his knees before her, eyes never leaving hers, untied the belt — and she let him, even though they were still in the kitchen, where anyone could walk in at any moment. Evren parted the robe, and his breath caught when he saw that underneath she was wearing his black T-shirt.

— Bahar, — he murmured, leaning forward to kiss her stomach. — Now you carry everything that’s mine — my breath, my life.

She slid her fingers into his hair, tightening them slightly, as if she couldn’t help it. Evren lifted his gaze to her, smiling when he noticed the pendant resting against the neckline of his shirt.

— You’re wearing my shirt, — he whispered.

— Yes, — she murmured, running her fingers through his hair.

— You’re wearing my pendant, — his eyes shimmered.

— Yes, — Bahar bent and kissed the top of his head.

— And you have my child, — his hands tightened gently around her waist.

— Inside me, — Bahar whispered, tears stinging her eyes.

— Maybe you’ll share something with me? — he asked quietly.

Bahar smiled, smoothing his hair, tracing his eyebrows with her fingertips. Evren pressed his lips to her belly, just breathing. Bahar took the chain from her neck and placed it around his. The metal, still warm from her skin, touched his.

— Now everything’s where it should be, — she whispered, her lips brushing his temple.

Evren looked into her eyes. His fingertip traced the outline of her mouth; then he rose and kissed her — deep, slow, almost motionless, just a shared breath. The world narrowed to their bodies, to the warmth between them. The robe fell open wider, and for the first time she didn’t want to hide. In the kitchen’s dimness he held her, pulling her closer. Only the soft light from the aquarium touched their faces. The fish drifted lazily, as if they too didn’t wish to disturb the peace.

Bahar folded her legs beneath her. He sat down beside her, sliding a plate toward her.

— Careful, it’s hot, — Evren said, bringing a bite to her lips without breaking eye contact.

Bahar obediently opened her mouth, then laughed softly.

— Are you planning to feed me through the whole pregnancy? — she asked, pressing a napkin to her lips.

— If you keep starving yourself, I’ll have to — even after, — he said seriously.

She took his hand, guided it toward her face, and he brushed her cheek, her lips, her jawline — every movement slow, deliberate, as though he was allowing himself to simply exist with her.

— Your hands smell sweet, — she said, sniffing lightly. — Evren? — she pressed her palms against his chest, meeting his eyes. — I want whatever your hands smell like — right now, — she said with mock seriousness. — Immediately!

Evren laughed and stood up. From one of the bags he pulled a small box.

— Kazandibi, — he declared proudly. — Dessert for the brand-new mom.

— But I’m already…, — Bahar faltered. How could she explain — she was already the mother of two grown children, already a grandmother, while Evren was living all this for the first time.

— Already, — he finished for her. — For the best mom.

The kazandibi was still warm, fresh, with a caramelized crust slightly sticky with sugar. When Evren cut into it with a spoon, the thin toasted skin cracked, revealing a soft, velvety cream beneath. The kitchen filled with the scent of milk, sugar, and a faint smokiness of vanilla and flame.

— Try it, — he said, bringing the spoon to her lips, and Bahar smiled.

The dessert melted on her tongue like snow under the sun, leaving behind the taste of caramel, milk, and something warm and homely — like childhood. She closed her eyes, breathing it in.

He scooped another spoonful and offered it again. The white cream gleamed in the soft aquarium light. She took it between her lips, and he leaned closer, catching her breath.

— Good? — Evren asked.

— Perfect — like cream and sunshine at once, — Bahar whispered. — Everything tastes better when you’re here.

He kissed her temple, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and they sat breathing in unison. The house now seemed to breathe with them — with their warmth, their rhythm.

— See? — Evren smiled. — I chose right, then.

He watched as her lips touched the spoon, as a drop of caramel rolled down her chin. He wiped it with his finger, and she laughed, catching his wrist and drawing his finger into her mouth, licking it clean.

— You eat beautifully, — his breath faltered.

— Is that a compliment or a diagnosis? — Bahar teased.

— Both, — he said, touching her cheek with a trembling finger.

Bahar scooped another bite and leaned back in her chair.

— I want lemon, — she said after licking the spoon.

— What? — Evren blinked, squinting at her.

— Lemon, — she repeated calmly. — With dessert.

— After creamy pudding? — he stared at her. — You can’t be serious.

— My body demands lemon, — she said with gentle stubbornness.

— Your body’s a masochist, — Evren muttered, but got up anyway.

He returned with a lemon and a knife, casting her a look of doomed resignation.

— One slice should be enough, — he said, setting the plate down and stepping back.

Bahar carefully cut the lemon. Juice splashed onto her fingers, and the sharp, fresh scent filled the kitchen. Evren swallowed hard and stepped aside. He wanted to grab a napkin and press it to his nose — anything to block the smell. Bahar, oblivious to his suffering, took a slice and bit it together with the dessert.

— Mmm… — she closed her eyes in delight. — Now it’s perfect.

Evren instinctively recoiled further.

— Do you even realize how that sounds to a normal person? — he grimaced, watching her eat.

— Delicious, — Bahar said firmly, licking the spoon. — I’m normal. And I feel great.

— I don’t understand how anyone can torture themselves with lemon, — Evren rubbed his temple. — It’s pure agony.

— So you think I’m torturing you? — Bahar smiled.

— Only by watching, — he admitted, sighing and sitting beside her sideways. — The smell alone kills me.

— Then don’t look, — she said, taking another slice under his gaze.

— I can’t, — he turned away. — It’s my fate. — The sourness made him twitch.

Bahar laughed softly, still holding the lemon, and leaned toward him.

— All right, professor, I’ll remember this, — she whispered, trying to reach him as he dodged her touch. — When my turn comes, you’ll have my kind of torture.

— Torture? — he raised a brow.

— Yes, — she whispered right by his ear. — Creamy, sweet, sticky — with the scent of vanilla and my fingers.

Evren laughed quietly and turned to her.

— Then I’ll survive the lemon, — he whispered, — if at the end there’s your sweet execution, — and leaned in for her lips.

Bahar smiled, holding the lemon slice between her fingers.

— You have strange associations, — she murmured, and gently touched the lemon to his lips.

He flinched, but she still brushed the fruit against his mouth.

— Endure it, — Bahar whispered. — This is my revenge — for America, for all your disappearances, for thinking you can calculate everything, for driving me mad with your silence, for—

He caught her hand, holding it still, and without looking away, bit into the lemon. The juice splashed; she gasped, and he pressed his lips to her fingers, tasting every drop.

— Now we’re even, — he whispered. — No debts.

Her breath caught, and she buried her face against his shoulder. In the quiet, surrounded by the mingling scents of caramel and lemon, by their breathing and the soft glow of the aquarium, everything felt vivid and real — their moment, etched into their story, becoming a new page in the book of their life.

***

This house, one could say, already kept their history. Every step remembered the events of their lives. Grandfather Aziz had come down these stairs, her mother had climbed them, her father had once stood on one of the steps. Umay walked down slowly, holding the rail, aware that every member of the family had touched this banister more than once.

The half-light of the living room wrapped her in its warmth, but she was hungry, so she headed for the kitchen.

— Don’t even think about it, — Yusuf caught her by the elbow.

Umay nearly jumped, but he managed to cover her mouth and motioned for silence.

— You scared me, — Umay whispered. — I just wanted to get something to eat.

— This late at night? — he tugged her farther from the kitchen. — After today, it all looks suspicious.

— I have a healthy appetite, — Umay jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. — I’m not like Mom; I can’t live on coffee alone.

— Agreed, — Yusuf couldn’t hide the growl in his stomach.

— See? — Umay poked his stomach with her finger. — You’re hungry too. Come on, — she beckoned him.

— No, — Yusuf didn’t let her into the kitchen.

— What is it? — Umay tensed, turning to look at the doorway. A faint whisper carried out to her.

Umay crossed her arms at once.

— They’re eating in there, — she observed.

— They have every right to, — Yusuf shrugged.

— And so do we, — Umay wouldn’t let it go.

— Let them have a moment alone, — Yusuf said suddenly. — They only just found out about the baby; everything’s too complicated; there are too many of us, — he took her hand and steered her toward the door.

Umay followed, glancing back against her will, as if hoping her mother would come out and call them to the table.

— And are things easy for the rest of us? — she protested. — You’re too serious for your age, — she added with a sigh.

— When you grow up without a father, you grow up fast, — he replied calmly.

— Was it… hard for you? — Umay frowned, but made no more attempts to head for the kitchen.

— I didn’t know what a father was, — Yusuf leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. — I only had my mother. Now I’ve taken a test to find out who my father is.

— Aren’t you afraid? — she asked softly.

— Not anymore, — he lowered his eyes. — I’m afraid of not finding out the truth.

— And if you do, — she avoided his gaze, — who would you want him to be?

— I don’t know, — he said honestly. — As long as he isn’t ashamed of me, doesn’t see me as a mistake or a problem.

Umay studied a photograph where her father smiled, arm around Bahar, with herself and Uraz sitting beside them… it was so long ago it felt like another life.

— And what if a girl… well… — Umay faltered, — got pregnant by you?

Yusuf lifted his head, and their eyes met. There was no embarrassment, no anger — only calm.

— I’d take responsibility, — he said, as if he’d had the answer ready for a long time. — It’s just that, — he smirked, — I figured out early that contraception — — he didn’t look away, — isn’t just an advertising slogan.

— You’re a bit too wise for your years, — she muttered, flustered.

— I don’t want a child to be an accident, — Yusuf went on. — I want it to be a conscious choice.

— Do you even want children? — she asked, looking aside.

— Do I seem strange to you? — Yusuf lifted a jacket and draped it over her shoulders, and they stepped outside together. — Yes, but only in a whole family, — he continued once they were out. — Where there’s a mother and a father, and no one slips out in the middle of the night just to avoid the morning.

Umay folded her arms around herself. A sharp ache pinched her chest as she remembered Bahar and Evren — their fight, their making up; all of it had happened before her eyes… and now they were expecting a child and were together… but for how long? Why was it so hard to believe in their happiness, despite everything they felt? She couldn’t understand what exactly she herself refused to accept in their relationship.

— And if life tangles everything up anyway? — she asked quietly.

— Then I’ll untangle it, — Yusuf spoke openly, as if he’d long since decided these things for himself — — but not on the run.

Umay nudged a pebble with the toe of her sock and kicked it away.

— Today, — she smiled, — remember how everyone thought the test was mine?

— That was epic, — he snorted. — I’ve never seen adults lose the power of speech so perfectly in sync.

— And you looked at me then like I really could’ve been pregnant, — she admitted.

— I was just calculating how much I’d have to work if it turned out to be true, — he teased. — They took me for the father, too.

— Yusuf! — she tapped his shoulder lightly.

— Kidding, — he smiled. — Though… if it had happened, I wouldn’t have run, — he said it with complete seriousness.

Umay froze, meeting his gaze.

— Now I know, — she whispered.

They fell silent. His steadiness felt so grown and dependable. Umay suddenly found it hard to breathe — not from fear, but from how strongly she was drawn to him, even though she didn’t know what to do with it, especially since not long ago she’d felt almost the same pull toward Cem… or was it the same? Or was it different now? Umay sighed, completely tangled in her thoughts.

— Your mother is strong, — Yusuf broke the silence. — She’ll manage. Yes, she’ll have her own life, but that doesn’t mean she’ll give up on you or Uraz. She just won’t be only your mother anymore. She’ll be a mother to another child. She’ll be a wife to a man. That’s normal, Umay — for lonely people to build families — and Bahar will never abandon you. Things will change, yes, but if you help her, instead of selfishly demanding her attention — especially now that she’s expecting — then all the more so. She’s made her decision. It’s her choice, and you can’t demand that she refuse this baby. You simply don’t have that right, — Yusuf exhaled and fell quiet.

Umay lowered her head, as if ashamed, and at the same time she wanted to object, to ask where she was in all of this — but for some reason she didn’t dare.

— Evren is right: you don’t take care of Bahar, — Yusuf looked at her. — Did you ever think about how much longer your mother can keep tearing herself in pieces for all of you?

— I don’t want her to lose me, — Umay shivered.

— No one loses their own if they learn to live side by side, — he said, stepping closer.

— You talk like you’re forty, — Umay muttered, letting him slip an arm around her shoulders.

— Maybe, — Yusuf smiled. — I just grew up early.

She pressed her face to his shoulder and suddenly realized how quiet and safe she felt with him — and at the same time, something was stirring inside her that set her blood boiling…

***

His blood seemed to tighten in his veins at the mere sight of the lemon lying on her plate. He took another one from the fridge and rinsed it. Bahar sliced it into thin rounds with sure, precise movements, like a surgeon. Juice glistened on the knife’s edge, and the air filled instantly with a sharp, cold scent — tart and fresh, like morning air in the hospital ward after a night shift. Evren winced.

— That’s enough, — he exhaled, leaning back, pulling away from her. — I can already feel everything inside me curling up.

Bahar calmly picked up a slice, bit into it, and ate it with quiet pleasure, as though the lemon were sweet.

— But I like it, — she said softly. — I’ve been craving it all day.

— You? — he still couldn’t believe anyone could eat lemons in such quantities. — Just looking at them makes my jaw ache, — he rubbed his neck, as if trying to chase away the taste of acid.

— Then you earned it, — she said with irony, meeting his gaze. — For walking away without saying anything.

He froze, staring into her eyes. They had already talked about it, but she had brought it up again. Lemon juice gleamed on her fingers — like reproach.

— You’re still angry? — Evren asked.

— No, — Bahar smiled, though her eyes said otherwise. — Just… testing your endurance.

Evren moved closer and slipped an arm around her waist.

— Then I’ve failed the test, — he whispered with a resigned smile, resting his palm on her stomach. — Please, don’t torture yourself and our baby with that lemon anymore.

— Evren, — Bahar laughed, — I’m not torturing myself or the baby — only you.

— You’re acting like Umay, — he remarked. — Just as stubborn.

Bahar immediately set the lemon aside and turned to him.

— They’ll get used to it, — her voice softened. — Everyone will. — She ran a hand through his hair.

— I won’t let them wear you down, — he said firmly.

— Everything will be fine, — she told him, as if soothing a child.

— I can’t see that yet, — he shook his head.

— But I can, — she said quietly. — We just need a little time.

She stood, took his hand, and together they walked past the aquarium, down the hallway, and up the stairs. They moved almost by touch, guided by each other’s breathing. Halfway up, Evren stopped, pulling her toward him. Their lips met — first cautiously, as if still testing the moment, then deeper, warmer, closer. Her robe slipped open, his hand slid to her back, the other to the nape of her neck. He felt her breath, the taste of lemon on her lips, her hair brushing against his cheek.

— Don’t eat anything sour anymore, — he whispered, his forehead resting on hers. — I’m already losing my mind.

She laughed softly, stepping back a little but not letting go of his hand.

— Then don’t disappear without a word, — she said. — And we’ll be even.

Evren lingered, something in her tone making him uneasy, but he didn’t press. He only sighed, drew her closer, and kissed her again — her lips still tasting faintly of lemon. He shivered, she smiled, and together they climbed the rest of the way upstairs.

At the door, Bahar hesitated, suddenly remembering Meryem Özkan — that she was already in the city, that she had even come to their house… and that Bahar hadn’t told him. Her heart beat unevenly — not from his nearness, but from the thought of the night that still stood behind her, with Meryem in it. She felt Evren’s hand on her shoulder and forced a smile.

— Come on, — she said, smiling.

They went into the bedroom.

— I hope tomorrow will be a quiet day, — Evren stretched and yawned, his voice full of almost childlike hope. — Without the entire super-family showing up?

Bahar, already by the bed, turned to him.

— Only if it’s close family, — she replied with a smile.

— They’re all coming again? — Evren froze mid-motion, his shirt halfway off. — Bahar?! — he couldn’t tell if she was joking or serious.

She laughed at his wide-eyed expression.

— I didn’t invite anyone, — she said, turning down the sheets. — We’ll rest. But if they come, what are we going to do — throw them out?

He sighed, pulled off his shirt, and tossed it onto a chair.

— I just wanted one day… just us, — he muttered.

— Just us, — she repeated gently, and to ease him, stepped close and kissed him.

— You’ve fed me so well…, — she whispered, looking at his lips.

— Us, — he corrected, his hand immediately resting on her stomach.

She smiled, pressing his hand tighter, intertwining her fingers with his.

— We need to burn some calories, — she whispered, her eyes on his mouth.

— Physical exercise? — his brows lifted.

— The most beneficial kind, — she murmured, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

— Are we allowed? — he asked carefully, hands on her waist.

— We’re supposed to, — she whispered, kissing his neck.

— Isn’t it risky? — he was still uncertain.

— Evren, — Bahar rolled her eyes. — What, have you switched to abstinence mode for the whole pregnancy?

He chuckled, burying his face in her neck.

— But you fainted, — he reminded her.

— And now you’ve fed me — I’m full of strength, — she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. — How are we going to spend it? I won’t fall asleep.

— Want to go for a walk? — he offered.

— Now? At night? — she pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. — All right, — she agreed with a smile. — If insomnia strikes, we’ll go. — Her fingers traced his chest. — Though maybe there are better options?

— Then let’s spend it well, — Evren couldn’t hold back any longer and pushed her gently toward the bed.

She laughed, and the sound of her laughter melted into his kiss…

***

The sounds of the night city reached them as a soft hum. They stood on the balcony, breathing in the night wind — slightly salty, a little cool. Before them, the Bosphorus shimmered with reflections of ship lights, as if the city wasn’t sleeping at all, merely breathing more evenly.

Nevra stood wrapped in his robe. It was too big for her; the sleeves hung loose. With one hand she held the fabric closed against her chest, as if she could keep safe the fragile thing that had just been born between them; in the other, she held a cup of tea. Ismail stood beside her, leaning slightly over the railing. His profile was calm, yet in that calm there was a distance — as if his thoughts were somewhere far away.

— You’re quiet, — she whispered.

— I’m thinking, — Ismail replied.

— About what? — she studied his profile.

— About silence, — he smiled faintly. — How rarely it feels comfortable.

She didn’t smile back. Her heart was beating unevenly. Doubt grew inside her — had she rushed into this? Was it a mistake, letting herself be so close to him, just like that, with no conditions, no promises?

— Aren’t you cold? — Ismail brushed her elbow.

— No, — she sighed, a little embarrassed. — It gets cold when you’re silent.

— What if I’m just listening? — he smiled.

— Then silence can count as a conversation, — she shrugged lightly.

He turned toward her. Nevra felt his warmth, and her chest tightened with the sudden fear that it could all end as abruptly as it had begun.

— Ismail, — she began quietly, — you know I’m not the kind of woman who likes fleeting stories.

— And I’m not the kind of man who lives by them, — he replied calmly.

She lowered her eyes, ran a finger along the cup’s rim, watching the thin strands of steam dissolve. He took his phone from his pocket; the screen lit up — an unknown number. His hand twitched, but he quickly silenced it and put it away.

— Why didn’t you answer? — Nevra asked.

— It’s night, — Ismail said simply. — If someone calls at night, it’s never urgent.

— Or it’s too important, — she countered.

He smiled slightly and looked at her — a long, steady gaze filled with warmth — and she didn’t notice when her question melted on her lips.

— We have to get up early, — he said, leaning closer, — but I don’t want to sleep alone.

Nevra wanted to protest, but his hand slid along her shoulder, down the robe’s sleeve, in a soft, weightless motion.

— Don’t answer me with silence, Ismail, — she whispered. — It feels too much like an ending.

He pulled her close, his chin brushing her hair.

— Silence isn’t the end. It’s just the space between words, — he murmured. — Between us.

She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of his skin — everything she was only now beginning to learn.

— Come, — he said quietly, — I’ll show you Izmir.

— Izmir? — she looked up in surprise.

— An old video, — Ismail smiled. — Sea, sunlight, seagulls. I like to go back there sometimes.

He led her inside the bedroom, and the balcony door shut softly behind them, cutting off the sound of the waves.

On the table, the laptop screen flickered to life — an image of the bay, olive trees, and sunlight that smelled like summer. Nevra sat down beside him. She could sense his tension. He was there, yet holding himself apart — his body beside her, but his gaze lost somewhere beyond the screen.

The video showed Izmir bathed in sunlight, while in the room lingered the scent of tea and the sound of his breathing near her ear.

She tried not to think about the call, about who might have been on the other end, and simply rested her head on his shoulder, as if she’d found a safe place. Without looking, he covered her hand with his own.

— See, — he said softly, — now silence isn’t scary.

— Not yet, — she whispered with a faint smile, though her eyes stung.

On the screen, the sun was setting over the horizon, and between them, the pause began to grow. Nevra looked down, adjusted the robe, pressing the fabric against her skin, and suddenly felt cold. He was beside her — but somehow behind glass.

Who had called? Why hadn’t he answered? Nevra didn’t ask again. He reached out, shut the laptop, and the screen went dark.

— Ismail, — she whispered. — You feel far away right now.

— Just tired, — he said softly, without meeting her eyes.

They stayed there in the half-light — quiet, alive, almost peaceful, each holding their own truth.

He stepped closer, touched her cheek, kissed her — but it was a kiss of tenderness, not desire. She responded, feeling that he was somewhere else, beyond the borders of that kiss…

***

Evren drifted on the edge between sleep and waking. The sunlight was already filtering through the curtains, and the morning greeted him with the smell of fresh bread that Yusuf had brought — and of wet asphalt after the rain. Bahar was still asleep — for the first time in a long while, she was sleeping peacefully — and he left her in bed, making sure the door was gently closed behind him.

— Uraz. Yusuf, — Evren called their names as he stepped into the kitchen.

Uraz sat on the small couch, phone in hand. Yusuf had just set down the bags and turned to him.

— What happened? — Uraz yawned, still half asleep.

— Morning happened, — Evren replied curtly. — And with it — responsibility.

Yusuf frowned. He had already completed the errand Evren had given him yesterday.

— Did we do something wrong? — Yusuf asked.

— Not yet, — Evren leaned against the table, — but we’re headed that way if you two don’t start using your heads.

— Did you and Mom have a fight? — Uraz asked carefully.

— No, — Evren smirked. — Quite the opposite. But things are going to be different now.

He paced slowly across the kitchen, opened the fridge — empty, except for half a lemon Bahar hadn’t finished, a jar of yogurt, a bunch of greens, and a couple of leftover kebabs.

— See this? — he gestured toward the half-bare shelves. — A perfect symbol of your household management. Who’s cooking breakfast — and more importantly, from what?

— We thought Mom would… — Uraz began.

— Bahar won’t be circling around you anymore, — Evren cut him off. — She has a job, a life. And a baby. You’re all grown men. Uraz, did you make sure your family had breakfast?

His tone was calm, but every word carried weight. Uraz and Yusuf exchanged uneasy glances.

— So now we’re… — Uraz started, confused.

— Now we’re all one family, — Evren interrupted. — Not guests. Everyone’s responsible for themselves — and for each other, — he pointed to the table. — Clean up. Set it again. Split the work.

— And if everyone shows up again? — Uraz tried to lighten the mood with a crooked grin. — You know they always do, without warning.

— Then they’ll feed themselves, — Evren replied dryly.

Yusuf picked up some plates and moved toward the sink.

— You know… — he said without turning around, — I always thought Serhat was my father.

Evren froze, turning to him. Uraz looked up from his phone — he’d been frantically trying to order groceries, clicking things at random without really knowing what.

— And I’d already made peace with it, — Yusuf continued. — That he had his own family, his own life. That I was somewhere nearby — but never part of it. But if… if it’s you, — he exhaled, — then that means you’ve been alone your whole life. — Yusuf turned to face him.

Evren didn’t answer right away. The silence thickened, like the smell of coffee in the air.

— Yes, — he said finally. — Alone. Because I thought it was easier that way. No expectations. No responsibilities. — He moved to stand across from Yusuf, leaning his hands on the table. — But you don’t have to repeat my mistakes.

— I don’t want to, — Yusuf said quietly. — But sometimes… it’s scary. When you realize your whole life could’ve been different if your father had been there.

— It will be different, — Evren said firmly. — Because now you’re not alone. — He paused, glancing at both of them. — You think responsibility means being scolded. It’s not. It’s when you hold someone up so they don’t fall.

Uraz set his phone on the table.

— And what if you fall? — he asked.

— Then your family catches you, — Evren replied. — But they can’t carry you forever. — He met Uraz’s eyes, and the boy looked away, embarrassed, for once unable to argue.

Evren turned on the coffee machine. He rolled up the sleeves of the shirt Bahar had ironed for him last night. She hadn’t fallen asleep afterward — she’d tidied their room, smoothed out their clothes. Evren hadn’t even heard when she lay down beside him. He hadn’t known what she did afterward, because he had already drifted off — and now she slept, and he guarded her rest.

Just yesterday, he couldn’t find his rhythm in the house — waiting for Bahar to guide him. But now, seeing the new car in the driveway, he suddenly understood — he could act on his own, create rhythm himself, like when he’d gone out yesterday and bought that car for them. Evren looked at Uraz and Yusuf, and something quiet and fatherly flickered in his eyes.

— Let’s begin, — he said, taking a sip of coffee. — The table outside needs to be cleared and set for breakfast.

And for the first time in a long while, all three of them truly felt that this morning was something new — not just another day, but their own, a beginning of something different, something whole.

***

Their morning smelled of bread, butter, and peace. Gülçiçek had thrown the windows wide open, and a light breeze played with the curtains. Reha stood by the stove in a house shirt, spatula in hand. He flipped the omelet and looked over at his wife. Gülçiçek was washing greens, glancing at him now and then.

— You’ll overcook it, — she warned.

— I’m a surgeon — my movements are precise, — he replied with a smile.

— A surgeon, not a cook, — Gülçiçek noted, though her tone carried more tenderness than reproach.

— Then you’re the head nurse, — Reha chuckled. — Without you I’d have starved long ago.

— That’s true, — she said, sliding a plate toward him.

He placed the omelet on it, and for a moment they both paused, each holding one side of the plate. Her fingers brushed his hand. Reha turned to her.

— You know, — he said quietly, — it’s strange. Feels like we just got married.

— That’s because we did just get married, — Gülçiçek smiled. — And I already feel like I can’t keep up with your energy.

Reha looked at her — at the soft line of her neck, the loosely gathered hair, the eyes that always carried sunlight.

— And I can’t keep up with your emotions, — he said, wrapping his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.

— Don’t distract me, — Gülçiçek laughed. — I’m holding a knife.

— Exactly, — he whispered in her ear. — Dangerous woman.

She turned slightly, brushing her shoulder against him.

— And still you never listen to me, — she sighed.

— I just don’t want to argue, — Reha said. — No fights today. Just you and breakfast.

They sat down at the table. There was bread, cheese, omelet, greens — everything simple, homely. The warmth between them filled the morning; neither wanted to change a thing… yet she noticed how he checked his phone several times.

— You’re thinking about Bahar, — Gülçiçek said after a short silence, catching his thoughtful gaze.

— I am, — Reha admitted, setting his cup down.

— I knew it, — her voice carried a hint of weariness. — You’ve barely left the hospital, and already you need to go back — to the patients, the operating rooms, the dramas.

— Gülçiçek, — he reached for her hand, — Bahar’s going through a hard time. I have to— — he stopped.

— Have to? — she narrowed her eyes, hearing perfectly the way he hid behind that word. — And did you think about your wife?

— I want to go, — he said with a guilty smile. — Better?

— If you want to — then go, — she stood from the table and walked to the window. — Just don’t drag me into it. I’m not going to watch you lose yourself again in those endless stories.

— And you? — he asked, still sitting. — What will you do?

— I’ll go for a walk, — Gülçiçek said, placing her cup in the sink.

— And look at men in white coats? — Reha teased.

His phone vibrated on the table. An unknown number flashed on the screen. Reha frowned and declined the call. Gülçiçek noticed the tremor in his fingers.

— Better strangers, — she turned, her eyes sharp, — than a husband who lives in the past. — She wiped her hands. — Why didn’t you answer?

— It’s nothing, — he waved it off. — Wrong number.

— Wrong number? — there was irritation in her voice. — Or was it someone who shouldn’t know you’re married?

— Gülçiçek, stop, — he said tiredly. — I just don’t want to talk to anyone right now.

— Of course, — she nodded, tossing the towel onto the table. — You don’t want to talk, but you do want to go — and maybe not even to Bahar, — she looked him straight in the eyes.

Gülçiçek turned and left the kitchen quickly, grabbing her bag, throwing on a scarf and a light coat.

— Gülçiçek! — Reha ran after her. — Wait!

— Don’t worry, — she said, already opening the door. — I’m not going on a date. Just getting some air. But I will make sure to notice the men in white coats!

She stepped into the hallway and slammed the door. Reha, still in slippers, stumbled after her, tripping over shoes and fumbling with the door. When he finally made it outside, he saw her already getting into a taxi.

— Gülçiçek! — he shouted, but the engine drowned his voice.

The phone in his hand buzzed again — the same unknown number glowing on the screen.

— Hello, — he answered too sharply, eyes still on the taxi.

— Reha, — came a voice with an accent… but he knew it instantly, from the past.

— Meryem? — Reha whispered, going pale. He grabbed a tree for balance, steadying himself.

The taxi’s taillights blinked, then disappeared around the corner.

— We need to meet, — he barely caught her words through the ringing in his ears — his heart pounding too loudly.

Reha pressed a hand to his chest and turned back toward the house.

— You’re in Istanbul? — he stumbled, almost losing his balance.

— I am, Reha. It had to happen someday, — she said calmly, as though forty years of silence hadn’t passed between them.

— Where? — he forced out.

— I’ll send you the address, — she replied and hung up.

Reha stepped back inside and sank onto the couch. The color had drained from his face; a sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead.

— We just learned how to be happy, — he whispered, clutching the phone in his hands, staring at the wedding photo of him and Gülçiçek — taken only a few months ago.

Just minutes earlier, the house had smelled of omelet, filled with laughter and the sound of morning — and now it sank into heavy silence, a silence that slowly began to eat away at his heart from within…

***

The house was filling with sounds — it could no longer hold onto its morning quiet. The living room smelled of coffee and fresh bread. On the table, covered with a clean tablecloth, plates appeared one after another, along with fruit, cups, someone opening a jar of honey.

Evren, Yusuf, and Uraz moved in rare harmony — without arguments, but with that stubborn determination men get when they’ve decided to handle everything themselves. Yusuf was drying glasses, Evren slicing bread and making sure no one spilled anything, while Uraz carried out the kettle from the kitchen.

— Careful, it’s boiling! — Evren warned without even looking up.

— I’m not a kid, — Uraz muttered, and still managed to spill a few drops.

On the floor, Leyla and Mert were crawling around, moving in sync like a tiny team of explorers. Siren sat nearby, watching to make sure neither of them put anything in their mouths. Every now and then she straightened a toy that Mert kept tugging toward Leyla. Umay held a large plate piled with pancakes.

— Evren, where should I put these? — she asked.

— In the middle — so everyone can reach, — Evren replied without turning.

The morning bustle — the clatter of spoons, the rustle of napkins, the soft babbling of children — all blended into one warm, living rhythm. The door opened quietly, and Nevrа appeared on the threshold. Pale, silent, she moved as if in a dream. Her eyes swept across the room as though searching for something — but she didn’t seem to see anyone, and said nothing to anyone.

— Mrs. Nevra—, — Siren began, but the woman was already heading toward the stairs.

Barely touching the railing, she climbed upward. For a moment, everyone froze. Evren followed her with his eyes, frowning. Yusuf stood off to the side, tense. For a heartbeat, the whole house went still. Then Leyla clapped her hands — and life resumed again.

— She’s… awfully quiet, — Umay remarked.

— Just tired, — Evren answered. — Don’t worry about it.

Umay’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Yusuf gave her a meaningful look, and she raised her hands in mock surrender — but a faint smile still touched her lips.

— Grandma looked so happy yesterday, — Umay said softly, glancing at Siren.

— Yes, as if she’d gotten ten years younger, — Siren agreed.

— Maybe she’s just in one of those moods, — murmured Uraz.

Umay was about to reply, but a piercing scream suddenly cut through the air.

— AAAAAH! EVREEEEEN!!! — Bahar’s voice was so desperate, it felt like something terrible had happened. — EVREEEEENNN!!!

Leyla burst into tears, Mert cried out and sat up. Evren dropped the knife and looked toward the stairs.

— What happened?! — he shouted, already racing toward the steps.

Yusuf and Uraz bolted after him, skipping two stairs at a time. The house froze, the air humming with tension. Siren rose from the couch, clutching Leyla to her. Umay gripped the railing, staring upward, holding Mert with her other hand — and all that could be heard was the sharp slam of a bedroom door somewhere above…