Yusuf froze in the middle of the hallway, caught between Evren and Serhat. His gaze darted from one to the other, as if demanding the truth right there and then — but at the same time, he couldn’t fully grasp what he had just heard.

— So what?! — His voice trembled, echoing off the walls. — Which one of you is my father? Or do you not even know yourselves? — A bitter smirk flickered on his lips. — What did she tell you? What did my mother tell you?! — he shouted.

Bahar’s hand dropped to her chest. So much pain shimmered in Yusuf’s eyes, in his voice, that her heart clenched.

— Who? — he asked more quietly now, stepping back.

Evren turned pale. Serhat’s expression changed. Both men stared at Yusuf in silence.

— Both of you?! — Yusuf’s eyes were red, but he didn’t cry. — Or neither of you! — His ragged breathing tore through the stillness of the corridor.

— Yusuf, — Bahar was the first to come to her senses, stepping toward him, but he recoiled.

— Don’t come near me! — He raised his hand to stop her. — I… I — He took another step back, eyes fixed on the men. — I don’t want to be your mistake! — he breathed out, then turned and ran.

Evren flinched. Serhat swallowed hard. Yusuf’s words hit harder than any accusation. They stood motionless, watching him disappear down the hall.

Kamil slid down the wall, burying his head in his hands. Only now did it hit him — his Ayşe was gone. She was dead. His shoulders shook, and his sobs echoed through the corridor.

— Ayşe… my Ayşe, — he whispered, covering his face.

Just yesterday he had come to this hospital with his pregnant wife. Yesterday he had a family… and now he had no one left. No one.

Bahar turned toward Kamil. His despair, his loss, tore her soul apart. She was about to kneel beside him, but the sound of Yusuf’s retreating footsteps stopped her. She couldn’t even process it herself yet — couldn’t accept the death of her patient… her first death.

— No one… no one, — she heard Yusuf’s trembling voice and covered her mouth with her hand.

Bahar shook her head, glanced at Evren and Serhat, and a moment later, she ran past them, following Yusuf.

Evren and Serhat exchanged a look. Both were too shaken to speak, to act, to think.

Rengin steadied herself against the wall, afraid her knees might give out. She looked at the weeping Kamil, then at Evren and Serhat — both standing there, lost — and closed her eyes. She just stood there, breathing, trying not to collapse. Sert Kayas’s decision, made in front of everyone, had shaken her to the core.

Evren shook his head, blinked, his fingers clenching until his knuckles turned white. Serhat stepped away, then closer again, then back once more.

— Do you get it?! — Serhat’s voice was barely audible. — He’s real! — His voice cracked. — Not somewhere far away — here, in front of us. He looked us in the eye and asked — who’s my father?!

Evren clenched his jaw, meeting Serhat’s gaze.

— I get it, — his voice was hoarse, strained. — And it doesn’t make it any easier.

— Easier?! — Serhat stepped closer. — What if he’s your son?! Did you think about that?

Evren moved closer too, even raised his fist as if to strike, but stopped himself.

— And what if he’s yours? Are you ready for that? — He looked straight into Serhat’s eyes, the fear raw and open. — Could you walk up to him and say — yes, I’m your father — after everything he just heard from us?!

Evren dragged a trembling hand across his face, as though trying to erase what had just happened.

— I already have a daughter, — Serhat’s face turned pale.

— And what does that change? — asked Evren. — What? — he demanded.

— I’m afraid of losing her, — Serhat stammered, — maybe I already have. And now — He turned toward where Yusuf had run. — And now he… Yusuf… — His voice broke. — I don’t know, — he confessed. — I don’t know.

— Esra’s alive, — Evren almost shouted, as if trying to convince not just Serhat, but himself. — She’ll give birth! She’ll live! She has to! And you have to believe that, Serhat. Trust me… trust Bahar. Your daughter is alive! — He was almost pleading.

— Easy for you to say, — Serhat shook his head. — You always ask for trust, and then you disappear, — he saw Evren’s face go pale. — You left back then, and if he’s your son, Evren? Do you realize you abandoned him? You turned your back on your own child! You didn’t see him grow up, go to school. Are you ready for that? Ready to look him in the eyes?

— I’m only ready to accept that he exists, and he’s here, — Evren stepped closer again. — He’s right here. Doesn’t matter whose blood runs in his veins — we’re both responsible for him.

— We?! — Serhat let out a dry laugh. — How are you going to prove it? — His fists clenched. — You think he’ll agree to a DNA test? He hates us both now, after what we said about his mother! Do you even realize what we made her look like in his eyes?

They both fell silent. Rengin opened her eyes. She looked at them — heard their ragged breathing. Saw anger, fear, despair, and confusion flickering in their eyes. Neither of them seemed to understand that Yusuf was already grown — that it was he who would decide, and that he might not want to accept either of them as his father.

— We can argue all we want, — Evren finally broke the silence. — Yusuf is here, — he ground out the words through clenched teeth. — And he’s ours.

— I don’t know, — Serhat spread his hands.

— Neither do I, — Evren admitted quietly.

— It’s… — Serhat’s voice cracked as he ran a hand through his hair. — It’s one thing to imagine a child out there somewhere, and another to see him here, standing before us. And Esra… — he faltered.

They faced each other again.

— Esra’s alive, — Evren said firmly. — She’ll live. She’ll give birth to her child. And you have to believe that. You have to trust — not only me, — he paused, — but Bahar too.

— You talk to me about trust, — Serhat’s eyes narrowed. — What if you knew all along and hid it? — Bitterness filled his voice. — Whose son is he? Yours? Mine?

— I know no more than you do, — Evren replied coldly. — But I know one thing — he’s already here. Yusuf is a fact.

— A fact? — Serhat’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. — And how do we prove it? — Fear crept back into his voice. — You’ll tell him, “Let’s do a DNA test”? You think he’ll agree? Did you see his eyes?

— I saw them, — Evren stepped closer. — To you, he’s the son of a dead woman. To me, every word he said was like a knife.

— You always know how to cut deep, — Serhat said hoarsely. — You look at him and see a chance at redemption? And what am I supposed to tell Esra?

They both fell silent again, averting their eyes.

— Yusuf already exists, — Evren said quietly, not looking at Serhat. — He’s here. And he’ll stay. With or without a test.

— And then what? — Serhat let out a heavy sigh. — He’s an adult. How will you make him do anything? Are we supposed to keep him here? — He rubbed his temple.

Evren stayed silent. For the first time, confusion flickered in his eyes — and he didn’t try to hide it. Serhat realized that neither of them knew what to do. They were just doctors, men who lived by protocols — but there was no protocol for this.

The hum of the hallway was fading, as if the walls themselves were absorbing the shouts and fear. Kamil still sat by the wall, his face buried in his hands. Evren stared at one spot, unblinking. Serhat shoved his hands into his pockets.

Rengin stepped aside. Her white coat sat perfectly, her posture as straight as ever. No one would have guessed she’d just been dismissed. Only her eyes betrayed her — full of turmoil, bitterness, hurt, and quiet pain.

— That’s it, — she whispered softly, but Evren and Serhat heard her and turned. — From this moment, I’m no longer chief physician.

She turned slowly and began to walk down the corridor.

— Rengin… — Serhat called after her, taking a step forward.

— No. Leave me, — she said firmly, without turning around. — I’m still a doctor. I’ll stay at the hospital, but I need to… — She didn’t finish, just kept walking.

Rengin knew they could still see her, but at least they couldn’t hear her anymore. Her lips trembled; her eyes were red.

— He removed me publicly, in front of everyone, — she whispered to herself. — I’ll fall quietly.

Her steps were slow and heavy, as if Serta Kaya’s words and actions had knocked the ground out from under her. She walked as if each step cost her all the strength she had left.

Serhat frowned, watching her go — torn between following her or giving her space. His hands hung limp at his sides. Evren glanced from Rengin’s retreating back to Kamil crouched against the wall, then froze. He was stunned — too shaken to know what to say or do.

— Bahar, — his lips whispered, and before he even realized it, he was already turning.

His legs carried him instinctively in the direction she had gone. Only one thought echoed in his mind — find Bahar.

***

Only one thought kept Bahar moving — don’t let him go. She caught up to Yusuf at the stairwell. He lunged toward the exit, but she managed to grab his arm.

— Yusuf! — Her voice trembled, but her grip was firm. — Wait!

He tried to pull away, but her eyes stopped him. Not her hand, not her words — her gaze: steady, calm, unyielding. Holding his arm, she led him toward her office and all but pushed him inside.

As soon as she shut the door, she released him and leaned back against it, blocking his way out. She just stood there silently. Yusuf paced the room, restless, bumping into her desk, a chair, the armrest. Something fell from the table, but Bahar didn’t move until he stopped in the middle of the room. He ran his hands over his face, through his hair, damp with sweat.

— How could they?! — His voice broke; his whole body trembled. — How could they drag my mother’s name through the mud like that? She’s dead! — He turned to Bahar. — She can’t defend herself! — Tears glistened in his eyes. — And they… — His voice cracked; he was gasping. — Why did she hide it from me? Why did she say one thing, and it turned out to be something else?

Bahar slowly approached him and placed her hands gently on his shoulders.

— Yusuf… — she said softly.

— So who’s my father? Who?! — His eyes brimmed with tears he refused to shed. — Professor Serhat? Professor Evren? Or someone else entirely? How many were there? Who was my mother then? What am I supposed to do — ask them for a DNA test? Ask every man she ever knew? Is that normal — asking someone to prove he’s your father? — His lips trembled. — How could my mother let this happen? How could she leave me like this? She said my father was Serhat Özer — but to them, it’s something else. To them! And that’s just two of them, what if there were more — He broke off, clutching his head in his hands.

Yusuf dropped into a chair. His shoulders shook, and at last, he cried — truly cried — unable to bear the pain tearing him apart. Bahar wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close without saying a word. Yusuf didn’t push her away. He clung to her, burying his face against her chest, his sobs muffled by her coat. Bahar stroked his hair gently.

— I don’t know, — she whispered. — No one does, except your mother… and she’s gone. But I can tell you one thing — you are not a mistake, — her voice grew firmer. — You’re her son. She raised you alone, without a man. You never knew your father, but you have every right to your life.

He trembled in her arms.

— Who am I? — he whispered through his tears. — If even she didn’t know?

— You’re Yusuf, — Bahar made him meet her gaze. — You’re not someone’s accident, or someone’s secret. You are you. And knowing who your father is won’t make you any more or any less than that.

— I… I don’t know how to live with this now, — Yusuf sobbed, wiping his face.

— You don’t have to decide anything today, — Bahar whispered. — Not tomorrow, not next week. Only when you’re ready. No one will rush you.

He said nothing, just hugged her again, holding on tightly until the trembling in his body subsided.

— Thank you, — he whispered. — I think my mother would’ve wanted someone like you to be here… with me.

Bahar closed her eyes. Her throat tightened, and she held him even closer. She kept stroking his hair, listening to his uneven breathing. Then she froze — footsteps sounded near the door. Yusuf tensed too. The handle moved slightly — then stopped. Whoever was on the other side didn’t come in. They both listened as the footsteps faded away, leaving them alone in the quiet of her office.

***

She so rarely had the house to herself, and she liked it. That was exactly why she’d asked to live in Bahar’s house. Parla sat in the living room, phone in hand. Upstairs a door slammed, and she glanced up immediately before opening Cem’s message.

“The hearing’s today. If they lock me up… no one will even notice. I’ll just disappear, as if I never existed.”

Parla winced as if something had stabbed her heart.

“Don’t say that,” she typed.

The reply came instantly, as if he’d been waiting for her.

“How else should I say it? I’m alone. Even my brother turned his back. You’re the first one who wrote to me. You’re the only one who hasn’t left me.”

Parla sighed, frowned, glancing around to make sure no one was nearby. She felt like she was doing something forbidden again, her eyes flicking back to the screen.

“But it’s true, you made mistakes,” she typed.

She stared at the screen for a long time… long enough to think Cem had taken offense. Just as the display dimmed, another message popped up.

“I know. I ruin everything. Always… but I’m scared. You can’t imagine how scared. Like no one can hear me.”

Her eyes stung; she blinked. Her fingers trembled as she quickly typed a short reply.

“I hear you.”

He answered at once, as though clinging to her like a lifeline.

“You’re the only one. Without you I… I don’t know what’ll happen next.”

Parla exhaled, tucked her legs under her and leaned against the couch. She quickly hid her phone as Nevra entered the living room… but Nevra just muttered something without looking up from her own phone. Without even glancing at Parla, she walked out again. Parla let out the breath she’d been holding, her heart pounding as though she’d been caught doing something wrong… and yet she opened the chat with Cem again.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Cem replied immediately.

“Then stay with me, don’t let go, please. You’re the only one who’s there. You’re kind. You understand me.”

Parla gripped the phone tighter. She wanted to reply but stopped, realizing Cem was drowning and clinging to her like a life preserver. He only remembered her when he needed her… he never wrote when things were going well. Cem always forgot people the moment it suited him.

At that very moment Cem was sitting on the floor of Evren’s apartment, his back against the bed. His phone shook in his hands. His face was pale, his eyes red as if he hadn’t slept in nights. He wasn’t thinking about how his words sounded, wasn’t planning anything. She’s answering, he thought. So I matter to her.

Parla sank into the couch cushion, hiding her phone as Umay walked past.

— Who are you talking to? — she asked in passing, throwing Parla a quick look.

Parla flinched, a guilty blush creeping over her cheeks. She almost dropped the phone.

— No one… just… no one, — she answered too quickly.

Umay narrowed her eyes, hesitated a second, but said nothing else and left the room. Parla pressed the phone to her chest, realizing Cem’s messages were seeping into her heart. She’d always treated him as a friend… even now she felt some responsibility for him, as for a friend. Who else but me will be there for him?

She heard footsteps upstairs. Nevra was making tea in the kitchen. The house moved on with its own life, and Parla looked at the screen again.

“If they lock me up, it’s over.”

Reading his message, Parla felt something tighten inside her. She typed a reply, then deleted it. Looked around again — the living room was empty. She leaned back on the cushions and typed a new message.

“I’m really sorry. This is all so scary.”

Cem replied instantly.

“Only you care, you know?”

Parla sighed, bit her lip, and hid her phone again as Nevra passed by with a cup of tea. Parla forced a smile, but Nevra headed out to the pool without noticing her. Parla immediately typed a new message.

“It’s your own fault.”

She kept glancing between the screen and the room, freezing nervously at every sound. She waited for his answer. It came.

“Yeah, I ruined everything. I always ruin everything. But you understand what it’s like — when everyone hates you?”

Reading his message made her eyes sting again. Her heart was hammering as if she were committing a crime.

“I don’t hate you.”

This time Cem didn’t reply for a long while. The screen went dark, and she just stared at the phone without touching it. Then a new message appeared.

“I always knew you were kind, that you understood.”

Her palms were damp. She stared at the screen, feeling pity and worry mixing with a strange warmth in her chest.

Cem smiled. He suddenly realized Parla would always answer… she’d always be there. He felt as if he’d seen a light at the end of the tunnel.

***

The living room was filled with a soft, golden light. On the coffee table stood a tray: tea, warm bread, a plate of cheese. Gülçiçek adjusted the blanket on Reha’s knees, though it was the third time he tried to stop her, catching her hands mid-motion.

— I told you, there’s no need, — Reha grumbled, smiling.

— And I told you, I’ll do it anyway, — Gülçiçek shot back. — You were discharged early. A full day early! — she reminded him. — I’m afraid you’ll just collapse somewhere — in the hallway or the bedroom.

Reha sighed and picked up his newspaper.

— Don’t dramatize, — he said, hiding behind it.

— Don’t dramatize? — Gülçiçek straightened, crossing her arms. — I barely managed to get you home, and now I’m supposed to watch you play the hero again?

— I talked to Rengin yesterday, — he said suddenly, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of the paper. His voice was unsure, as if he feared she wouldn’t understand.

— About what? — she asked warily.

— She offered me to teach the students, — Reha hesitated, avoiding her gaze. — Maybe consult in the OR, from time to time. Just a little.

— From time to time?! — she repeated indignantly. — So that’s what you were hiding! — She almost stomped her foot.

Reha lifted his eyes. There was fear in them — the kind he usually brushed aside, but not this time.

— Gülçiçek, I can’t just sit here doing nothing. That’s worse than being sick, — he admitted.

She stood in front of him, hands on her hips.

— So that’s it! — she burst out. — You just got home, haven’t even regained your strength, and you’re already plotting your escape back to the hospital?!

— It’s not an escape, — he objected. — It’s my life, — he shrugged. — I can’t live without it.

— And I can live without you? — her voice trembled. — Isn’t it enough that they discharged you too soon? Do you ever think about me?

They fell silent. The room grew so quiet they could hear the kettle click off in the kitchen. Reha put down his newspaper and looked at her.

— I do think about you, — he said more softly. — Every day. But I also want to live, — his eyes held hers, — not only in this chair under a blanket, but out there, where I’m still needed. You have your own interests too; our life shouldn’t shrink to just this marriage and this room.

Tears flashed in Gülçiçek’s eyes, and she turned away.

— You’ve already decided, haven’t you? — she said quietly, shrugging as if her opinion no longer mattered. — The kids decided to bring you home early, made choices for us. And now you’ve made another choice — without even asking me. Everyone keeps deciding something.

— When I was younger, I made the wrong choices, — Reha said softly, his expression darkening. — I chose work over life. But this time it’s different. I chose you — and I’ll keep working.

He tried to smile, but sadness flickered behind his eyes. Memories stirred, casting a faint shadow on his face.

— You chose me? — she turned to him, her voice uncertain.

— It was the only right choice, — he said, still watching her intently, his tone tense.

Gülçiçek wanted to argue, but instead, she bent down to fix the blanket on his knees again, making him pull back in protest.

— You make me look weak, — he muttered with mock irritation, trying to hide his unease. — And I’m not weak! — There was a boyish stubbornness in his voice.

— No, — she softened. — You’re mine, — she smiled faintly. — You said it yourself — you chose me, and that’s the only right decision.

Reha looked at her, and for a moment the tension melted into a smile — though a quiet sadness still lingered in his eyes. Beneath it, a trace of unease remained, wedged like a splinter between his newfound domestic calm and his yearning to return to work. He thought of the old days, long ago, but told himself nothing was repeating — this time he’d find balance.

— Still, it’s a bit embarrassing, — Gülçiçek said, glancing at him. — That improvised “beach” scene, everyone gathered to watch us, no wonder they sent us home early!

— They sent me home because I’m recovering fast, — Reha countered calmly, glad to shift the topic, settling more comfortably in his chair. — Not because you laid out towels like we were in Bodrum.

— Say one more word and I’ll bring Bodrum right into this living room, — she muttered, though the corners of her mouth twitched.

Silence fell again, broken only by the ticking of the wall clock.

— We never got to see Bahar, — Gülçiçek said at last. — She ran off to the ICU and vanished. Did you talk to Ferdi? What did he say?

Reha frowned immediately, turning toward the window.

— Ferdi always talks too much, — he said evasively. — About protocols, patients… you know him. — He shrugged.

— Reha… — Gülçiçek’s tone grew suspicious. — You’re hiding something.

He sighed and looked at her.

— My love, — he managed a smile that barely masked his concern. — You don’t need to know everything, dear. It’s just work, — he spread his hands, trying to sound convincing.

— You’re strong, — she said, changing the subject, sensing he was hiding something but refusing to press. — And I come off like an overbearing nurse next to you.

— No, — he shook his head. — You’re what makes me strong. Because of you, I want to live.

— No, Reha, — Gülçiçek leaned closer. — I just make you mine, because I love you.

He looked at her and smiled despite himself, though deep inside, a quiet dread was growing — too much was happening around them, and he knew this was only the beginning.

Gülçiçek straightened and walked to the kitchen. When she returned, she was carrying a tray. On the saucer beside the teacup lay a few tablets.

— I definitely didn’t promise you this kind of honeymoon, — Reha muttered when he saw the pills.

— You promised to stay with me, — she said calmly, handing him the cup. — I’ll handle the rest.

He sighed but smiled as he took the tea.

— Then I’m still alive if I’m arguing with you, — he grimaced, taking the pills.

— And that’s our truth, — Gülçiçek smirked, smiling softly. — Sit still, — she said sternly. — I know you — by tomorrow you’ll be running back to the OR like nothing happened.

— Don’t make me sound weak, — he grumbled. — I’m not ready for the archives yet.

— You’re not weak, — she said gently. — I just want us to finally have a honeymoon. Even if it’s here, at home.

He looked at her, and for a brief second, that same spark returned — the one she’d seen back in the therapy room.

— A honeymoon… at home, — he repeated, shaking his head. — Well, as long as the tea isn’t too sweet.

She nudged his shoulder. He pretended to be offended — but the smile that spread across his face betrayed him.

***

Evren showed nothing of what was tearing him apart inside. He couldn’t shake the thought — could he have saved Ayşe? The question kept echoing in his head as he walked down the corridor. Could he have done something? And then Yusuf… and Kamil’s accusations, his attack on Bahar. His heartbeat was uneven when he knocked, didn’t wait for an answer, and opened the door to her office.

Evren thought Yusuf might still be there, but Bahar was alone. She stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself, staring into the distance. His breath caught. He clenched his jaw and slammed the door so hard she flinched and turned. Evren leaned his hand against the door, staring at her. His face was pale, his eyes shining with anger and confusion.

— Why? — His voice was too sharp, almost breaking. — Why didn’t you wait for me, Bahar? Why did you do this to us? — He stepped forward, firing questions like accusations.

For a few seconds, she just looked at him, not understanding his sudden outburst.

— Evren — she began, but he didn’t let her speak.

— Do you even realize you put yourself at risk?! — He came closer, his gaze a mix of fury and fear. — Why didn’t you wait for me?! — he repeated.

Bahar stepped back until her spine touched the window ledge. Her movements were calm, but her trembling hands betrayed her.

— I… — she frowned, searching for words. He had never come at her like this before.

Evren advanced. His eyes were wide, his breathing heavy, as if he’d just run a hundred meters.

— Bahar — He lifted his hand, about to say more, but froze when their eyes met. He flinched, his voice lowering. — I can’t… not when you risk everything as if it means nothing to you.

— Nothing to me? — Bahar straightened and looked directly at him. — Are you serious right now?

— What else am I supposed to think? — His voice rose again, but now there was more pain than anger in it. — I come, and it’s already over. You didn’t even — He broke off.

Bahar froze. Her head tilted slightly, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

— You have no right to say that! — Her eyes flashed. — You weren’t there!

— I should have been there! — Evren stepped closer. — I should’ve taken responsibility. I should’ve been by your side, Bahar! I should’ve declared the time of death! It should’ve been me, do you understand?!

— I didn’t have time for that, — she said firmly, crossing her arms as if shielding herself. — I couldn’t wait, Evren!

— You should have waited! — Evren slammed his palm on the desk so hard Bahar flinched and shut her eyes for a second.

— You wouldn’t have made it in time, — her voice was calm now, but cold.

— Do you even understand? — He moved even closer, and she instinctively leaned back, pressed against the glass. — The first death, — his voice broke, pain distorting his features, — it can destroy you.

— What was I supposed to do, Evren? — Bahar’s voice rose in anger. — Stand there and watch her die while waiting for you? Then it wouldn’t have been just her — I would’ve died too, knowing I did nothing!

Evren froze for a moment, but his eyes narrowed again.

— I was with Esra! — he snapped. — I was saving both your patient and mine, Bahar! But that doesn’t mean you had to fight alone!

— I did my job, Evren. I’m a doctor! — Her voice trembled with emotion. — You won’t always be there with me!

— It’s your first death! — His voice cracked. — You’ll remember it for the rest of your life. And I’m terrified of what that pain will do to you. It will stay with you forever.

— What was I supposed to do? — she fired back. — Watch her go and wait for you to be free? Then I’d have lost her and myself!

— You’re thinking only about her, — he said, his restraint breaking. — I’m thinking about us! What’s left for us after this? What? — He demanded an answer. — What happens now? What if you tell me you don’t want a child anymore? — His words hit her like a blow; she staggered.

Bahar caught herself on the windowsill but stayed standing.

— You’re talking about a child again? — she shouted, pushing against his chest, ready to shove him away. — Even now, after my patient died, you’re thinking about a child? — His words wounded her more than she could bear.

— Because I’m scared, Bahar, — he said, stepping closer until there was no space left between them. — I’m scared of losing you, scared you’ll walk away again. Scared that Yusuf — He stopped, his voice catching. — Scared you won’t want anything anymore if he turns out to be my son.

Bahar swallowed hard, staring into his eyes. She understood — he wasn’t angry; he was terrified. He was shouting because of fear.

— I’m not afraid for myself, Bahar. I’m afraid for you, — he said, eyes closing for a second before meeting hers again. — And even more — I’m afraid for us. If you tell me after this that you can’t go through with having a child, that you can’t take that risk because of the pain — he drew a shaky breath — I won’t survive it.

Stunned by his words, Bahar stood motionless. The silence in the office was deafening. She swayed, and Evren reached for her, pulling her close. He felt the trembling in her body and held her tighter.

— Bahar, — he murmured against her neck, realizing what he’d just done — that he’d yelled at her when she needed comfort.

He held her tighter still, refusing to let her go, refusing to let her slip out of his arms.

— It’s my first death, — she whispered. — The first, Evren… and you come here to yell at me.

Evren closed his eyes, her voice breaking something inside him. He could hear the confusion and quiet horror of realization in her tone. His heart ached with the pain she was feeling.

— I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Bahar, — he whispered, cupping her face in his hands. — I shouldn’t have yelled. I just… got scared, — he admitted, voice trembling. — Her husband… he — Evren broke off, unable to finish.

Bahar closed her eyes, her lips trembling.

— I’m scared too, — she whispered, clinging to his shoulders.

He exhaled heavily. She wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his shoulder. His other hand slid gently down her back, brushing the nape of her neck. Evren was afraid to let go — as if that single embrace was the only thing keeping them from falling apart.

— You did everything you could, Bahar, — he murmured, burying his face in her hair. — I’m here. I’m with you, and I’ll never let you go again. You can’t blame yourself for her death. It wasn’t your fault.

Evren turned his head slightly; his cheek brushed against hers.

— I still remember mine, — he said quietly. — His name was Reza. Twenty-one years old. — He paused, as if pulled back into that moment, that operating room. — It was a simple surgery. Everything was perfect — until his heart stopped. It just… gave up. We did everything — adrenaline, massage, cracked his chest open — he coughed, clearing his throat. — I held his heart in my hands. It was beating — actually beating in my palms — and then it wasn’t. — Evren’s voice was hoarse; he tightened his hold on her. — I walked out of the OR and couldn’t breathe. Even the walls felt like they were closing in. I still remember his mother’s face… how I hid my hands because they wouldn’t stop shaking. I remember the plastic bag in her hands — with his things inside. The way she looked at me, as if I’d taken her whole world, her light.

He swallowed hard.

— I didn’t eat for two days. I replayed every second, convinced I’d missed something. That I’d done something wrong. But no, Bahar, — he drew back just enough to make her meet his eyes, — sometimes we can’t. Sometimes patients die — even when you do everything right. — His lips brushed her temple. — That was the first name on my list. I still remember the date — every year it feels like a knife between my ribs. — He held her tighter, eyes locked on hers. — But you know what? I went back into that OR. And you will too. You’ll keep saving lives — no matter what. Otherwise Reza’s death, and your patient’s, will mean nothing. This isn’t the end, Bahar. It’s the beginning.

Bahar let out a sob; her eyes filled with tears, and she pressed her face against his shoulder.

— There were others after that, — he said softly, holding her closer. — But the first one… she never leaves you. — He kissed her temple. — She doesn’t destroy you, Bahar. She teaches you. If you’re here, holding me right now — you’ve already survived.

Bahar trembled in his arms — not from fear anymore, but from allowing herself to feel, to be vulnerable with him.

— I’m sorry, — Evren whispered again. — For shouting. I wasn’t shouting at you — I was shouting at myself. It was just fear. I was so scared. — His voice broke. — I don’t know how to be any other way when it comes to you. I can’t control myself when it comes to you.

He fell silent, pressing her close again, his hand gently tracing her back. Bahar took a deep breath, eyes lowered. Her fingers clutched at his coat as if that was the only thing keeping her grounded.

— I’m scared for you, for us… and for him too, — he whispered. — For Yusuf. — His voice barely rose above a breath when he said the name.

Now Yusuf wasn’t just a name or a memory — he was part of their lives. Living under the same roof, a real presence between them. Bahar’s hand found his; she squeezed his fingers.

— And if he’s yours? — her voice trembled. She didn’t push him away this time, just stayed in his arms.

— Then I’ve already missed too much, — Evren said bitterly. — If Yusuf really is my son… — His voice went flat, heavy, like the words themselves hurt. — What then, Bahar?

He tensed, his embrace tightening. His heart pounded, blood roaring in his temples. He was waiting for her answer — terrified she could destroy their future with just one word.

— Evren, please, — she whispered, shaking her head slightly. — I’m not avoiding it, — she said softly. — Just… not now. Not because I’m not ready — I just can’t think about anything else right now.

— I don’t know how to hold on to both — to you and to Yusuf, — he said hoarsely. — I don’t know how to keep us together if you turn away from me or — he stopped, unable to say it.

Bahar leaned back a little, and he let her — let her look into his eyes, let her see his fear. In hers, he saw confusion, uncertainty… and something like sorrow.

They stood there by the window, holding each other, silent. Neither of them heard the knock at first — they didn’t even realize they weren’t alone.

— Professor, — Ahu burst in, breathless. — You’re wanted by Sert Kaya, urgently. Bahar, your patients are already waiting outside. Sert Kaya said I should bring them to you, — she rattled off in one breath and shrugged, handing Bahar a chart.

Bahar straightened the collar of Evren’s coat before slowly pulling away from him. Evren reluctantly lowered his arms, turning toward Ahu.

Something was off about her. It was as if, along with Rengin’s dismissal, Ahu had lost a part of herself. Now she moved and spoke like a machine — her tone polite, but empty, every phrase sounding preprogrammed.

— Evren, — Bahar stopped him, her hand gently resting on his shoulder. — I love you, — she whispered, and only then took the file from Ahu’s hands.

He exhaled. Her words seemed to steady him, to give him back some strength.

— And I love you, — Evren’s lips brushed her cheek.

Ahu was already waiting impatiently by the door, shifting her weight, clearly urging them to hurry. Evren gave a brief nod, then reluctantly turned away from Bahar. She watched him leave, then looked down at the file.

Patient: Elif, 32 years old. Spouse: Kerem, 35. Complaint: Five consecutive miscarriages at 8–10 weeks.

— May I? — a woman with dark, wavy hair appeared at the door, a man standing just behind her.

— Yes, please, come in, — Bahar said with a warm smile. — Have a seat.

Elif nervously adjusted the sleeve of her blouse. Kerem held her gently by the elbow.

— I’ve reviewed your file, — Bahar said, her tone calm and kind, as if there hadn’t been a storm of emotion only minutes earlier. — Please, tell me in your own words what brings you to me.

— We… we really want a child, doctor, — Elif’s voice quivered. — I get pregnant, but every time it’s the same. Around the eighth or ninth week — bleeding… and it’s over. Five times now.

Kerem lowered his eyes, his hands tightening into fists.

— You’ve undergone full testing: karyotype is normal, hormonal profile stable, uterine anatomy by ultrasound and hysteroscopy — all clear, — Bahar said, flipping through the pages. — Thrombophilia and antiphospholipid antibodies — negative. Everything looks perfect on paper.

— But I still lose the baby every time, — Elif whispered, her voice barely audible.

Bahar frowned slightly.

— Yes, that’s true, — she said thoughtfully. — Your tests give us a picture, but not an answer. What we need to find out is why this keeps happening.

— What do you suggest? — Kerem asked hopefully.

— I’d like to do more detailed testing, not because your case is “unexplained,” but to look deeper — to find the smallest clue, — Bahar replied, her focus sharpening as she pushed her personal turmoil aside.

— Please, doctor, — Elif said softly, nodding. — Do whatever it takes. You’re our only hope. We’ve read about you… people say you perform miracles.

Bahar’s expression grew serious. She shook her head slightly, almost rejecting the word miracle.

— I’ll order repeat analyses and some specialized tests, — she said, jotting notes in the file. — Sometimes a woman’s body behaves as if it’s rejecting the embryo — like an allergic reaction. — She paused. — The immune system doesn’t “recognize” the baby. It happens — rarely, but it does.

— But it’s our baby, — Elif’s voice grew quiet, wounded. — How can my body not recognize its own child?

— Because for your body, the baby is half-foreign — half your DNA, half your husband’s. Sometimes the immune defenses make a mistake.

— They told us, — Elif glanced at her husband, her eyes pleading for confirmation, — and we read online, about an old method… where a woman “gets used to” her husband’s cells.

Bahar studied them both carefully. She realized they’d done their research before coming here.

— You mean lymphocyte immunotherapy? — she asked, receiving a nod in response. — It’s not a standard treatment, — Bahar sighed. — It was used years ago — they’d inject the husband’s lymphocytes to lower immune conflict risk and — she stopped herself.

— We read, — Kerem cut in, — that some doctors helped women that way. — His voice trembled with hope. — They even used a piece of the husband’s skin, grafted under the wife’s skin. There were cases — even here, but mostly abroad — and those children were born, grew up, have their own kids now. We’re ready for anything!

— I know, — Bahar said quietly, frowning. — Back then, medicine was only beginning to understand immune factors. Today, that method is considered experimental — it’s no longer used in clinical practice.

Elif and Kerem sat close together, hands clasped on their knees.

— We’re ready for anything. We don’t care what it’s called. You’re our last hope, — Elif whispered. — We have no other way to become parents.

Bahar looked from one to the other. In their eyes, she saw exhaustion, desperation — and love.

— I can’t promise miracles, — she said at last. — But there are ways to help the immune system tolerate pregnancy. It’s a complex process, and you’ll need to go through the tests again — in much greater detail than the private clinics offer.

— Private clinics couldn’t help us, that’s why we came here, to this hospital, — Kerem said, exhaling in relief, realizing she wasn’t turning them away. — We just don’t want to hear “unexplained” again.

— Then we’ll try to find an explanation, — Bahar said softly. She didn’t like how uncertain this all was, but in front of her sat a couple who still believed — and she couldn’t take that from them.

She made a note in the file, careful not to show that if Elif’s diagnosis was confirmed, she’d have to take the case before the medical committee — and with Rengin dismissed, she wasn’t sure they’d approve it.

— For now, try not to diagnose yourselves using the internet, — Bahar said with a faint smile as she stood up.

***

— Please, have a seat, Professor Evren Yalkın, — Sert Kaya said calmly, without getting up.

Evren approached the desk, his gaze catching on the neat stacks of folders lined up on the shelf behind him. Sert didn’t look at him, continuing to write something in his notebook.

— I want you to give me a detailed account of the incident involving Dr. Bahar Özden, — he continued in the same even tone, not lifting his eyes.

— It wasn’t an “incident,” — Evren frowned, sitting down across from him. — It was an emotional outburst from a patient’s family. It happens. — The words came out stiffly; he felt like an intruder in someone else’s office.

— It happens? — Sert finally looked up. — Do you think it’s normal that the relatives of patients attack our doctors in the emergency wing and in the operating corridor? — The chill in his voice was unmistakable.

— I think it’s abnormal to turn tragedy into a tool of pressure, — Evren replied curtly.

— Pressure? — Sert’s lips curved slightly — not a smile, more a sharp, ironic twitch. — On whom, exactly? — he asked. — On you? — A pause. — Or perhaps on Professor Rengin, who “lost control” of the situation?

— She’s not to blame, — Evren ground out through his teeth. Sert was playing with words — and with him.

— You want to protect her, then? — Sert tilted his head, studying his face. — Or your team? Think carefully, Professor — one excludes the other. — He leaned back in his chair. — If you stay silent, you leave Dr. Bahar Özden and the whole team exposed. If you speak up, the blow will fall on Professor Rengin. So tell me — whose side are you on?

Sert set down his pen, closed his notebook, glanced at his watch, and continued:

— Your brother’s hearing is today, — he said, pausing for emphasis. — Cem. — He said the name slowly, deliberately. — An unpleasant case. Too many connections. Too many names, Professor. — Another pause, this one heavier. — You’re a rational man. You understand that loyalty opens doors where truth cannot.

— You’re asking me to close my eyes? — Evren lifted his chin, his gaze steady but tense.

— I’m asking you to open them wider, — Sert countered smoothly. — To see the world as it is. To take a position that allows you to influence what happens. — He leaned back, his tone almost casual. — You already turned down one appointment once — in favor of Timur Yavuzoğlu, remember?

Evren swallowed hard, feeling the noose tighten.

— The hospital is falling apart, Professor, — Sert said, leaning forward now, fingers steepled on the desk. — Families attacking doctors. The chief physician losing control. What we need is someone trusted. Someone who can hold the team together — and keep the patients calm.

Evren tensed. He heard the subtext immediately.

— I won’t allow chaos in these walls, — Sert went on, pulling a document from a folder. He read the typed text carefully, then signed it with a precise stroke. — As of now, you’re acting chief physician. — He handed the signed order across the desk. — You start Monday, after the weekend.

— What? — Evren stared at him, stunned. — No. That’s not me. — The refusal came instantly. — I’m a surgeon. My job is to save lives in the OR.

— Of course, — Sert even nodded, as though agreeing. — That’s exactly why people respect you. They trust you. Even those who argue with you follow you when it matters. That’s valuable. You yourself said attacks on doctors are unacceptable. So tell me — who should fix it? The patients? Their families? Or you, Professor?

Evren clenched his jaw, saying nothing.

— You see? — Sert nodded lightly, as if confirming the inevitable. — You’ve just admitted we need someone to take responsibility.

Evren shook his head, teeth gritted, still trying to resist.

— Congratulations, — Sert said evenly, still holding the appointment letter. — Now for your first directives: All surgeries strictly by protocol. Any surgeon deviating from regulations — suspended. Ratings, reports, documentation — on my desk, daily. — His tone left no room for discussion.

— You have no right — Evren shot up from his chair.

— I do, — Sert cut him off, firm and cold. — While you’re still thinking, I’m acting. Your name, Professor Yalkın, will be the face of this hospital — I’ve told you that before. You want to save lives? Then save them — but now you’ll do it by my rules.

Evren stood before him, his whole body tight, struggling to contain the storm inside. The appointment — something that might have once been an honor — now felt like a trap, a tightening loop that stripped him of every ounce of freedom.

— You have no choice, Professor Yalkın, — Sert said politely, almost gently.

Evren stared at him, feeling something boiling deep within. The title flattered him — he couldn’t deny that — but every word Sert spoke only made it feel like a noose tightening around his neck.

Sert gave a slight nod, signaling the conversation was over.

Evren turned, walked out slowly. For the first time, he felt the walls of the hospital pressing in — as though the place he once ruled with steady hands was now closing in on him, one breath at a time…