The room filled with cautious movements, as if everyone were afraid to disturb the final silence granted to Cem. The air grew almost tangible, as though the world itself had stopped, waiting for the inevitable.

Uraz tightened his grip on his wife’s fingers. They stood with Siren by the wall. Pale faces, sorrowful eyes, but in them lived that particular emptiness that came when the pain was too great to be cried out. They didn’t speak — words felt needless.

Rengin, in her wheelchair, slowly rolled closer. The IV swayed quietly in rhythm with her movement. She looked at Cem for a long time, intently, as if trying to memorize every feature, every curve of his face. Her hand drifted to her stomach — a gesture so subtle others might miss it, yet so full of unspoken hope and fear.

Serhat stood behind her. He had barely known Cem; their lives had crossed like shadows at dawn. He stood gazing at the motionless body with a despair as if he had lost someone dear. His lips trembled, but he couldn’t form a single word. The heart beating in Cem’s chest could save his daughter. It could give her a chance. And that thought tore him apart from within.

Serhat lowered his hands onto Rengin’s shoulders, and she flinched involuntarily, turning her head slightly. They hadn’t yet talked about the child — whether she should even fight and keep the pregnancy — yet somehow, silently, they seemed to have already agreed on everything… and now he, leaning on her shoulders, gently adjusted her hair, checked the IV, as if he had already made his decision: that this child would live… and that he would be there with them, as though he had chosen, and she silently accepted it.

Evren stood at the head of the bed. His fingers barely touched Cem’s hair — a light, almost weightless contact, as if he feared letting his brother go completely. There were no tears in his eyes, only a deep, bottomless exhaustion, as though the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders.

Bahar stood beside him, her hand resting gently on his back. She didn’t speak, didn’t try to comfort — she simply stayed close, an anchor keeping him tethered to reality. Her silence was louder than any words.

Yusuf stood frozen on the other side of the bed. He looked at Cem, at Evren, at Bahar, and in his gaze lived a mixture of guilt, pain, and timid hope. Only today he had learned that Evren was his real father. Only now he was beginning to understand that he was truly, finally part of their family.

The silence stretched like rubber, and Serhat was the first to break it.

— I… I didn’t know him well, — his voice trembled, — but… — he swallowed hard, — he’s giving my Esra a chance. I… — the words clogged his throat, and he fell silent, unable to finish.

Evren slowly turned toward him. Their eyes met — two old friends whose paths had parted many years ago. And in that silence there was more than any words could express: the pain of the past, regret, but also a fragile hope that this tragedy might become the beginning of a new path.

— She’ll get his heart, — Evren said quietly. — By tonight it will be beating in your daughter’s chest.

Serhat nodded, unable to speak. His eyes glistened with tears he didn’t bother to hide. Rengin gently took his hand, and he gripped her fingers like a drowning man clutching a lifeline.

Slowly, the room emptied. Uraz and Siren left first, their steps fading down the corridor. Rengin and Serhat lingered a moment longer, then he quietly rolled her out, leaving Evren, Bahar and Yusuf alone with Cem.

The moment the door shut softly, Evren sank onto the chair beside the bed. His shoulders slumped, and for an instant he allowed himself weakness — covering his face with his hands. Bahar crouched next to him, her hand resting on his knee. She refused to leave him alone even for a minute. Her silent presence was the support he so desperately needed.

Yusuf approached slowly. He hesitated, as though unsure how to address this man who was now his father. He didn’t even know how to call him under these circumstances.

— Professor…, — he finally whispered.

Evren lifted his head. His eyes, red from unshed tears, met his grown son’s with a steady gaze.

— Yusuf, — his voice came out low, even. — Stay, — Evren asked. — We need to talk.

Bahar understood perfectly well that this conversation was inevitable — they had to talk.

The room fell silent again, but now it felt different. Not heavy as before, but almost alive, filled with everything that still needed to be said. Evren looked at Yusuf, and in his eyes appeared something new — not only pain, but resolve.

***

— I… — Yusuf faltered. — I don’t know what to say.

— There’s no need for words, — Evren said quietly. — They’re no longer enough here.

— I thought… — Yusuf searched carefully for the right phrases. — I thought that if I were strong, if I proved that I could… — he exhaled. — That I could be the person you wanted me to be.

Bahar gently squeezed Evren’s knee, as if urging him to answer.

— Yusuf, — Evren spoke softly, — I don’t want you to prove anything to me. I want you to stay close.

Yusuf shuddered as if those words had struck him.

— But you… — he stumbled. — You always look at me like I’m a student. Like someone who has to measure up. So what changes now?

— I looked at you that way because I was afraid, — Evren admitted. — Afraid that if I showed you mattered to me, I’d stop being a doctor. Stop being the one who has to make decisions.

Bahar let out a quiet sigh, her fingers brushing along his leg, soothing him without thinking.

— You don’t have to choose, — she whispered. — You can be both.

Evren closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at Yusuf again.

— I don’t know how to be a father, — his voice wavered, but he didn’t look away. — For a long time I didn’t know what it meant to care for someone without fearing I’d lose control. And with Bahar… I’m only now learning.

Yusuf stepped closer, his hands trembling.

— I don’t know either, — he whispered. — I don’t know what it means to have a father. I thought Serhat… but now I understand it’s you.

The silence between them no longer felt heavy. It became the kind in which something new was born — imperfect, fragile, but real.

— Yusuf, — Evren said, looking at his brother’s still body, — I’ve always been a terrible example of a father. Even when I had the chance, I never learned how. You’re not my only failure, — he continued, a bitter irony threading his voice. — But perhaps the most important one.

— Don’t say that, — Yusuf whispered. — You shouldn’t blame yourself for what you didn’t know.

— For what I didn’t want to know, — Evren corrected softly. — But I should have learned to be a father even without an example of my own, — he ran a hand over his face. — Your mistake with that patient… it showed me how badly I failed as a mentor.

— That was my mistake, — Yusuf frowned. — Not yours.

— No, — Evren shook his head. — We both know that’s not true. I should have noticed something was wrong. I should have talked to you, supported you.

Yusuf clenched his jaw but said nothing.

— I was afraid, — Evren confessed unexpectedly. — Afraid that if I showed weakness, I’d lose respect. In the OR, as a teacher… and as a father.

Yusuf looked him straight in the eye.

— You never lost my respect, — he said softly. — Even when you scolded me in your office, I knew it was because you expected better from me.

Evren nodded slowly, as though accepting that truth cost him effort.

— Do you know what scares me most? — he asked after a pause. — That I might repeat my parents’ mistakes.

— You’re already not doing that, — Yusuf replied gently. — You’re different.

— Because of you, — Evren admitted quietly. — Because you made me look at myself from the outside.

Silence settled again, but now it was filled with understanding and acceptance. Bahar rose slowly and placed her hand on Evren’s shoulder.

— You know, Yusuf, — Evren continued softly, almost in a whisper, — I never wanted children because I grew up in an orphanage. Because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to give them what I never had.

Yusuf froze, unsure what to say, simply watching him — the man seated on the chair, too overwhelmed to stand.

— And now I have you, — Evren went on, allowing himself vulnerability for the first time in a long while. — And Bahar is expecting a child, — he lifted his hand, and she immediately squeezed his fingers. — And now I realize I’ve been running from what I actually wanted all along, — he confessed with a heavy breath.

Bahar leaned into him, squeezed his fingers tightly, careful not to interrupt.

— I’ve watched other people’s children grow, — Evren struggled to find the words. — Watched them being loved, being cared for. And I always thought: what if I can’t do it? What if I repeat my parents’ mistakes? My father’s?

Yusuf stepped closer, for the first time truly feeling that Evren was opening himself to him.

— You’ve already made a mistake, — Yusuf said quietly. — With me. You weren’t there when I grew up.

Evren closed his eyes as if that truth caused him physical pain.

— Yes, — Evren said. — I am guilty of that. But now I have a chance to fix it, — he met Yusuf’s eyes. — With you. With my future child.

Bahar stiffened, pressing closer to him, leaning her weight against his shoulder.

— You’re a good man, Evren, — Bahar whispered, unable to keep herself from joining in. — You just need time to learn how to be a father.

Evren looked at her, his eyes filled with tears.

— I’ve been so afraid of reliving the orphanage, — he confessed. — Afraid I didn’t deserve happiness. That I couldn’t give children love.

— You already are, — Yusuf objected. — By being here. By caring. By admitting your mistakes.

Evren shook his head.

— I want to be better, — he said quietly. — For both of you, — his voice trembled. — I want to be the support I couldn’t be for Cem. I want to learn to be the father I never had.

Yusuf took another step toward him, sensing the barrier between them finally breaking. Carefully he extended his hand and touched Evren’s shoulder — and Evren stood up.

— You will, — Yusuf said simply. — Because you’ve already started.

— I don’t want to be a perfect father, — Evren whispered. — I want to be an honest one. With myself, with you, with Bahar.

Yusuf smiled through tears for the first time during their entire conversation.

— That’s enough, — he said. — More than enough.

Evren trembled and raised his arms, and Yusuf stepped into his embrace. Bahar wrapped her arms around both of them.

— I’m sorry, — Evren whispered suddenly, — I’m sorry for everything, — he held his grown son tightly.

— And you too, — Yusuf murmured, closing his eyes as he hugged him back.

— We’ll get through this together, — Bahar whispered, burying her face in Evren’s shoulder, barely holding back a sob. — What matters is that we have each other.

A new silence filled the room — a silence of acceptance and hope. A silence in which each of them finally felt part of something larger. A silence that didn’t get in the way of hearing their hearts beating…

***

In the cozy hospital café, where the dimness was softened only by the warm glow of lamps, Çağla and Carter sat in silence at a small table. Outside, a fine drizzle streaked the window, creating a sense of secluded calm. Without lifting her eyes, Çağla gently stirred the sugar into her tea.

— I keep thinking about Evren’s decision, — she began quietly. — To donate Cem’s organs… It’s so hard, but probably the right thing.

Carter nodded, staring into his cup.

— Yes, — he said calmly. — Cem will be able to give a chance to those no one else can help anymore. Even his lungs…, — he sighed.

Çağla looked at him without saying anything.

— If you’re thinking about my mom… — Carter offered a gentle smile. — No, Çağla. Her condition won’t allow it. We’ve already accepted it, made peace with it.

A heavy pause settled between them, broken only by the soft clinking of cups against saucers.

— And the shooting in the hospital? — Çağla asked, turning toward the window. — How do you even process something like that? Bahar. Professor Reha. Mrs. Nevra.

Carter shrugged.

— Bahar’s fine, — he answered, his hand trembling slightly as he placed it on the table, though he didn’t reach for hers. — And… it’s far from the worst thing I’ve been through.

Çağla immediately turned toward him, searching his eyes. A swarm of questions buzzed in her mind… but she chose the one that mattered most.

— Why did you come back now? — she asked, unable to hide the concern in her voice. — Is it somehow connected to Evren and Bahar?

Carter looked away and took a sip of tea.

— Our house burned down, — he said simply. — Aunt Leyla moved to Istanbul. Mom didn’t want to relocate, but the illness was getting worse. And then Aunt Leyla passed away… so we decided to return.

Çağla nodded, but she still didn’t understand the true reason behind his return.

— And your son? — she asked softly. — Was he ready to change his life so drastically? Your wife?

Carter tensed involuntarily.

— I’m raising him alone, — he replied, without going into detail.

— And his mother? — Çağla couldn’t help herself.

— We don’t have a mother, — Carter said calmly, and in his voice there was something that made it clear he didn’t want to discuss it.

Çağla lowered her eyes, realizing she had crossed a line.

— Do you feel any resentment toward Evren? — she asked suddenly.

Carter looked at her, surprised.

— Should I? — he asked honestly. — For what? For the fact that we all suffered in our own ways?

— Then why did Mrs. Meryem come now? Because of her illness? — Çağla frowned slightly. — And Professor Reha? He’s your father.

Carter sighed.

— And what is he like, Professor Reha? — he asked suddenly, leaning a little closer, resting his elbows on the table.

His question caught her off guard. Çağla looked into Carter’s eyes, trying to understand what truly lay behind it.

— Do you really want to know? — she asked, surprise in her voice.

— Yes, — Carter answered simply. — I want to hear the opinion of someone who knows him well. He’s Bahar’s mother’s husband — your best friend’s stepfather.

Çağla couldn’t help a small smile, remembering how Professor Reha once tried to court her. She lowered her head, hiding her gaze, feeling something fragile and delicate stir between them.

— He’s a complicated man, — she began, choosing her words with care, — but he’s fair, deeply devoted to his work, — Çağla took a sip of tea. — And he loves Gülçiçek’s mom very much, — she looked into his eyes over the rim of her cup, — very much, — she repeated.

Carter nodded, taking that in.

— Thank you, — he said quietly. — For being honest.

Çağla felt warmth rising to her cheeks. She didn’t even know why, but she suddenly realized Carter was looking at her not as Bahar’s friend… but as someone he could trust…

***

Learning to trust one another — that was the difficult part for them. Evren and Yusuf stepped out of Cem’s room. After closing the door, Evren turned and froze when he saw Parla, Umay, and Ekrem walking down the corridor toward them.

— What does this mean? — his voice came out sharper than he intended. — Why are you together?

He seemed to forget that the girls had come to say goodbye to Cem.

— We’re neighbors now, — Umay sighed. — Ekrem just gave us a ride, — she explained.

— Yes, he very kindly offered to help, — Parla added, blushing slightly as she glanced toward the door of the patient room.

Her fingers clenched around her phone… Cem would never answer her again, never text her back, and her last messages would forever remain unread.

— Glad to help, — Ekrem smiled, adjusting his glasses.

Bahar stepped out of Cem’s room and immediately came to Evren, touching his elbow.

— Girls, — she called softly, looking at Umay and Parla and giving them a small nod, silently inviting them in.

Umay and Parla followed her at once. Yusuf watched them go, and once he saw they had entered the room, he turned toward Ekrem.

Ekrem stood facing Evren, studying him with open curiosity. Then, suddenly, he extended his hand.

— Professor Evren Yalkın, — he said with the same friendly smile. — I’m Ekrem, Carter’s son. Shall we introduce ourselves properly? — he suggested.

Evren froze, not taking the offered hand, simply staring at the young man — nearly his height, slim, wearing oversized glasses. His nephew… and Evren didn’t react. He stood there as if turned to stone. Yusuf glanced at Evren, then at Ekrem, and stepped forward.

— I’m Yusuf, — he said simply, shaking Ekrem’s hand. — Evren Yalkın’s son.

Ekrem flinched slightly… studied him for a moment… then smiled even wider.

— So we’re connected in some way, — he replied, gripping his hand firmly.

— Yes, — Yusuf nodded. — Looks like things are complicated in our family.

Their brief exchange seemed to bypass Evren completely. He stood silently, watching the scene unfold, feeling out of place. So out of place he didn’t notice Çağla and Carter approaching them. Carter exhaled when he saw the handshake between the two boys.

— Let’s go, — he said, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. — This isn’t the time.

Hearing that, Evren went pale… not the time? Later… As if the universe kept reminding him from every side that nothing could be postponed anymore. He looked toward Carter, but they were already walking away. Carter, with his arm around Ekrem’s shoulders, was leading him off.

— Ekrem’s a good kid, — Çağla noted. — And Yusuf too, — she stepped forward, hugged him, and patted his back. — Evren’s son, — she pulled away, shaking her head. — Imagine that… — she still seemed unsure she believed it.

— I should go, — Yusuf muttered, slipping out of Çağla’s embrace and making a quick escape.

Yes, he was happy to finally be part of a family… but the family was expanding way too quickly… every day there were more and more people… and he clearly wasn’t used to that, despite living in Bahar’s house, where there were always plenty of people.

— You can’t control everything, Evren, — Çağla said gently, watching Yusuf disappear down the hall. — Kids grow up, meet people, make friends.

— I’m not used to it…, — Evren admitted, shaking his head helplessly.

— Life changes, — Çağла smiled, hugging him. — And sometimes that’s for the better, Evren.

She hugged him tightly, then leaned back, looking into his tired eyes as if trying to read his thoughts.

— I’ll go see Cem, — she whispered, hugged him once more, and headed into the room.

Evren watched her go, realizing that everything around him truly was changing… and that he, whether he wanted to or not, would have to learn to live differently…

***

She needed to speak with him. Meryem stepped into the room, trying to hide her cough, but her unsteady breathing betrayed her weakness. She moved slowly, almost cautiously, as if afraid to stumble, afraid to fall. Sert Kaya lay half-reclined against the pillows. Despite his pallor, his gaze remained sharp, piercing, attentive. She stopped beside his bed, gripping the rail for support.

— It’s surprising that you protected Bahar, — she said, breaking the silence. — I didn’t expect that from you.

Sert Kaya didn’t answer. His face stayed unreadable. He watched Meryem from beneath his half-lowered eyelids.

— What are you planning to do next? — she continued. — Will you approve Bahar’s research? What’s your plan now?

She spoke as if demanding a report. She stood there, staring straight into his eyes. Sert remained silent, only his fingers tapping nervously against the white sheet.

— What will happen to the hospital? — Meryem didn’t relent. — How many more people have to suffer before we start fighting for life instead of taking it?

She coughed, pressing a hand to her chest. A drop of blood appeared on her lips; she quickly wiped it away with a tissue.

— Timur is my son, — Sert said suddenly, looking away. — Uraz is my grandson. Umay and Parla — my granddaughters. I have great-grandchildren, — he tilted his head slightly. — Leyla and Mert.

Meryem frowned.

— Are you building a new game, Sert? — she asked, studying him closely. — What strategy are you crafting this time?

Sert turned toward her, and she saw determination in his eyes.

— I’m not playing, — he replied quietly. — I’m thinking about how to fix the mistakes of the past.

Meryem let out a short laugh, but there was no joy in it.

— Fix mistakes… — she repeated. — And how many new ones will you make in the process? — she leaned toward him and coughed again, harder this time. After struggling to catch her breath, Meryem continued. — I’m in the terminal stage, Sert, — she whispered. — Lung cancer. I know my time is short. But I want you to understand — everything I did was for the future. To save at least someone.

Sert looked at her in silence, his expression unreadable to her.

— You’ve always been a mystery, Sert Kaya, — Meryem whispered, turning toward the window. — Even now, when everything is almost over, you still cling to your secrets.

Meryem took a deep breath, and as if it gave her strength, she released the bed rail and let herself move away from the support, stepping toward the window.

— It’s strange, isn’t it? — she said, studying the city beyond the glass. — You, who always valued science, suddenly oppose Bahar’s research. Why?

— I have my own plans, — Sert replied curtly, not looking at her.

— In your attempt to do good, Sert, don’t cause harm, — she pleaded softly, still facing the window. — Think about what I’ve said, — Meryem added over her shoulder. — Time is running out, Sert. For both you and me.

— And how will you fix yours? — he asked suddenly, forcing her to turn to him. — Your son is Reha’s son. Word spreads quickly, — he said. — What are you going to do, Meryem?

They looked into each other’s eyes and fell silent. His fingers drummed restlessly against the sheet, as if tapping out a complex code. Meryem simply straightened her shoulders, her posture showing she had long ago accepted everything that had happened in her life…

***

Reha jolted awake as sharply as if someone had pushed him up from deep water. The ceiling swayed, a ringing filled his ears, and his heart slammed against his ribs… but what terrified him most was the silence. He blinked, tensed, trying to focus, trying to understand when he’d fallen asleep, trying to remember the last thing she said, the last thing he said.

— Gülçiçek? — Reha called out, pushing himself up in the bed.

His muscles responded with a dull ache, the incision felt as if it had torn open from the inside. He clenched his teeth and sat up, lowering his feet onto the floor.

— Gülçiçek, — he called again, louder.

The silence only intensified the panic. She couldn’t have left. Not now. Not after everything. Not after he… after they…

His mind instantly painted the picture: the hallway, that doctor in a white coat, her hands in his, his lips on her skin… and that cursed kiss from Meryem, bitter with guilt, the one that had started their quarrel.

His temples throbbed, a dull pain pulsed in his side, but he paid no attention. Where was she? Where did she go?

The door creaked. Gülçiçek entered, fastening the top button of her blouse. Her hair was slightly mussed, her cheeks flushed. She froze when she saw he was awake.

— Where… were you? — Reha’s voice came out hoarse, already carrying tension.

— In the bathroom, — she walked toward the bed, but Reha pulled away sharply.

— The bathroom? — he let out a bitter laugh, so sharp it made her flinch. — That long? And looking like this? — he couldn’t hold back as he examined her.

— What are you talking about? — Gülçiçek faltered under the pressure of his tone. — I just…

— Just? — he stood abruptly, despite the pain. — Just leave somewhere? Just come back looking like that? Just put on your best outfit while your husband is lying here barely alive? There’s a bathroom in the room! — he reminded her, pointing at the door.

— I didn’t…, — she began.

— Don’t lie to me! — Reha cut her off. — I remember everything! — he was losing control fast. — That doctor! His hands! His lips! Did you go to him? For a massage?

— And you? — Gülçiçek threw her head back sharply and stepped closer. — Do you remember? How Meryem kissed you? On the mouth? Right outside my daughter’s house! I saw it! Everyone saw it, Reha! Saw it, and you didn’t pull away!

He froze for a second, but then rage flared in his eyes.

— It was… fleeting, — he said, guilt creeping into his voice. — She just…

— Just?! — Gülçiçek stepped closer; her voice trembled. — Just kissed you! On the mouth! And you didn’t stop her!

— You don’t understand! — he raised his voice slightly.

— And you do?! — her voice rose higher. — You think I don’t see how you look at her? How you remember your past and stay silent? You have a son, Reha! A son you never knew about! And I… I’m here, right here, and you… — she didn’t finish, staring into his eyes.

— It means nothing! — he breathed heavily. — Nothing!

— To you — maybe. But to me? — her voice cracked. — I’m here every day, taking care of you, and you… you don’t even notice! But the moment she appears — all your attention is on her!

— You’re jealous? — he looked at her bitterly. — After everything? After you let him…

— Let him?! — Gülçiçek grabbed a chair and squeezed the back so hard her fingers turned white. — Do you even hear yourself? I never… never gave anyone a reason!

— And him? — Reha pointed to the door. — That doctor? His hands on you? His lips on your hands?

— It was just a massage, Reha! — she shoved the chair aside. — Just a massage! And your kiss with Meryem — was that “just” too?!

They stood facing each other, breathless with rage, with fear, with everything unspoken. The air between them trembled like a tightened string.

Gülçiçek grabbed her bag.

— You’d better lie down, Reha, — she gestured toward the bed.

She turned, but didn’t take even a single step.

— Where are you going? — he wouldn’t listen, something snapped inside. — To your masseur? — his voice dropped into a growl. — Straight to his office for him to kiss your hands again?

Gülçiçek stopped, turned back slowly.

— Have you lost your mind? — she asked quietly. — Do you have a fever? — she touched his forehead so quickly he couldn’t react, couldn’t pull away, couldn’t catch her hand.

— I’m fine, — Reha protested. — I just woke up — my wife is gone. And I remember perfectly how you stood there in the hallway while I was lying here, — his voice hardened, — and another man kissed your hands. Your hands, Gülçiçek. The ones you use to pour my tea. And now you’re leaving! Where? To whom?

— Home, — she said, barely holding herself together. — I want a shower. I smell like a hospital.

Reha turned pale.

— And will he miss you while you’re gone? Are you getting ready for your massage? — he stepped closer. — Massage… what is it now? Thirty minutes? An hour? Do you undress there or already did enough?

Her eyes flashed. Her cheeks burned. She took a step toward him.

— What… did you just say? — she asked, calmly, almost too calmly.

— I said, — his voice cracked, — that I see how they look at you. How they hold your hands. How they kiss them! And you stand there smiling like a girl, — he clenched his fists. — And don’t tell me stories about “just a massage.”

— Just a massage, yes, — her voice turned sharp. — And don’t you dare say I undressed for him! Do you think I’ve lost my mind?!

— And what about me? — he leaned forward, towering over her. — You think I’m okay? You disappear, leave without a word, — he pointed toward the door, — and that man has already kissed your hands. Today him, tomorrow someone else. While I’m stuck here, you decided to catch up, is that it?!

— You… — she lifted her chin — you’re accusing me of cheating?!

— What else would you call it? — he didn’t back down.

Gülçiçek’s expression changed; she dropped her bag to the floor.

— Then let’s be honest, Reha, — her voice rose, and she jabbed a finger into his chest. — That kiss with Meryem — what was that? An anesthetic? A medical procedure? Or nostalgia for your youth?

Reha staggered back as if she’d punched him in the solar plexus.

— It… — he stammered, — it wasn’t like that…

— Not like that? — her lips twisted in a bitter smile. — She kissed you on the mouth. I saw it. Not the hand, Reha. Not the fingers, — she fluttered her hand right in front of his face. — The mouth, — she almost touched his lips but pulled away as if burned.

He frowned slightly but still refused to back away.

— She was the love of my youth, — Reha exhaled. — We…

— You have a son, — Gülçiçek cut him off. — Surprise, right? You learned about him yesterday, and she knew for forty years! — her voice trembled. — And all that time she walked around with that secret while I… — she inhaled sharply, — I baked for you, ironed your shirts, thought you were my husband. Just mine. And now I’m supposed to share you with a forty-year-old memory, is that it?

— I never! — Reha raised his voice. — Never shared you with anyone! I’m shocked myself! Think for a moment how I feel! A son. A grandson. I don’t even know how to be a father, let alone a grandfather.

— And think about me, Reha, — Gülçiçek’s eyes sparkled. — Watching your “young love” cling to you, kissing you like she’s picking up right where you two left off forty years ago. You didn’t even pull away, Reha. You just stood there.

— And you didn’t pull your hand away, — he countered. — While that man kissed your fingers, you stood there too. You smiled at him, Gülçiçek. So warmly. Breathily, — his breathing grew heavier. — And your voice, — he shook his head.

— I… — she tried to explain, but her throat closed up. — I was thinking about you in that moment, Reha! — she confessed. — While he was mumbling something, all I could think about was that you might stop breathing again! Or that your heart might stop!

— Very convincing, — he said coldly. — You’re really talented… standing there thinking about me while in another man’s arms.

She stepped closer, almost touching him.

— Do you want me to justify myself right now? — Gülçiçek asked. — After seeing her kissing you? After finding out you have a son you didn’t know about because you were too busy with yourself? Doctor, professor, hero… And who am I?

— You are my wife! — Reha exploded. — Mine! And even with a wound in my side, I can’t close my eyes without seeing you smiling at that… masseur. Yes, I’m jealous! I’m a jealous idiot, call me whatever you want! But I— — his hands tightened on her shoulders — I’m not letting anyone touch you like that!

— And I don’t want to share you with anyone! — Gülçiçek nearly shouted, pushing against his chest. — Not with Meryem, not with your past!

— You’re already sharing, — he said through clenched teeth. — And it looks like you enjoy it.

She jerked back as if he’d hit her. Gülçiçek grabbed the collar of his pajamas.

— How dare you… — she whispered, staring into his eyes, ready to shake him.

— Like this, — he gripped her shoulders even harder, as if he no longer knew how to stop. — Because I love you to madness! To stupidity! To the point that I’d rather die than see this!

— Don’t say that! — she crushed the fabric of his pajamas in her fists. — Don’t you dare!

— And what if you leave? — he looked straight into her eyes. — What if you walk out to him? Or anyone else? I… I… — his breath caught.

— Me? Leave?! — Gülçiçek cried out. — After holding your hand while you hovered between life and death?! After watching another woman kiss my husband and having no right to make a scene because you were wounded?! I couldn’t even tell you anything!

Reha tried to answer, but his breath stumbled. They stood gripping each other — two grown, stubborn people with that wild look that only appears in those who learned to love far too late.

They didn’t even notice the knock, and Bahar and Evren entered the room. They froze for a moment at the sight: Reha, pale as a sheet, clutching Gülçiçek’s shoulders, and she gripping the collar of his pajamas as if ready to shake him until his teeth rattled.

— What is going on here? Are you both out of your minds?! — Bahar rushed toward them. — Mom, he just had surgery!

— Ask him who’s lost their mind here! — Gülçiçek shot back without loosening her grip, glaring at Bahar. — Let him tell you everything!

— Let her tell you whose hands were being kissed! — Reha fired back.

— Professor, please, — Evren gently took hold of Reha’s wrists.

— Enough! — Bahar forced herself between them, grabbed her mother by the elbows, and tried to pull her back. — Mom — breathe. You can argue about kisses later! Let’s go out.

— I’m not going anywhere, — Gülçiçek resisted.

— Professor, you’re injured, don’t make it worse, — Evren said, stepping between Bahar and Reha, pushing the older man back slightly. — Your stitches may tear. Please lie down.

— Don’t order me around! — Reha snapped — and his legs gave way slightly as he staggered.

Evren caught him, guided him back to the bed. Bahar seized the moment and pushed Gülçiçek toward the door, practically forcing her out.

— Bahar, I’m not leaving! — Gülçiçek tried to resist.

— You’re coming with me, — Bahar whispered urgently. — You’re coming now.

Already at the doorway, Gülçiçek turned toward her husband. Her eyes were full of hurt, love, anger, fear. And in his gaze she found the very same mix.

— Don’t you dare die, — Gülçiçek whispered. — I’ll never forgive you for it.

— Don’t you dare smile at him, — he shot back, lowering himself onto the bed. — At any of them. At anyone!

Bahar shoved Gülçiçek into the hallway and slammed the door behind them, leaving Evren and Reha alone in the room. Silence settled between them, broken only by their heavy breathing…

***

Evren checked the stitches, replaced the dressing, trying not to react to Reha’s trembling fingers or his uneven breathing.

— Listen to me, — Evren said quietly. — You’re about to explode, and she’s out there with Bahar. Give each other a break.

Reha clenched his fists, staring at the door where Gülçiçek and Bahar had disappeared. His chest rose heavily, his eyes full of fury and despair.

— She… she doesn’t understand, — he whispered.

— And you do? — Evren sighed. — Do you understand her? Yourself?

Reha turned his face toward the window. Evren attached the monitors, and the room filled again with the steady beeping that marked each beat of Reha’s heart — a heart splitting apart.

— Well, professor, — Evren murmured, — welcome to the club.

— What club? — Reha kept his gaze on the window, jaw clenched tight.

— The club of men who love so much they lose their minds with fear, — Evren replied. — And do stupid things while the women keep them alive.

Reha let out a heavy breath and turned to him.

— You think we’ll survive? — he asked, his voice rough.

— If you fight less and talk more, — Evren said, adjusting his pillow, — then you’ve got a chance.

He fell silent, giving him space to breathe. Reha lay there motionless, staring at the ceiling as if it were the last solid thing left for him to hold onto. He didn’t even blink. Just breathed — evenly, but too loudly, as if each inhale cost him strength.

Evren pulled up a chair beside the bed. He stood for a moment with his hands in his pockets before finally sitting.

— So? — Reha was the first to speak. — Are you going to… save me from myself?

— I just don’t want you to die from stupidity, — Evren replied.

They were quiet for a while, until Reha finally exhaled.

— She looked at him like that, — he said, pain threading through his voice. — I shouldn’t have… — he rubbed his temples — but it felt like the ground was pulled out from under me.

— I know what that’s like, — Evren leaned toward him slightly.

— I thought… — Reha swallowed. — I keep thinking that if she ever leaves — I… won’t get up.

Evren didn’t interrupt; he just listened.

— I saw… — Reha continued more quietly, — how he… her hand… — his voice cracked, revealing more than jealousy — terror. — While I was unconscious… she stood with him so close. As if I… — he hesitated — as if I no longer existed.

— She was scared for you, professor, — Evren said softly. — Not for him.

— And I was terrified for her, — Reha admitted. — When I saw her rush into the gunfire… I didn’t think at all. I wanted only one thing — that she survived.

Evren dragged a tired hand over his face.

— You know, — he began slowly, picking his words carefully, — sometimes… in moments like that… love isn’t warmth. It’s a knife. That moment when you’re terrified of losing someone.

Reha let out a long breath. He understood — too well.

— I also saw… Bahar with someone else, — Evren continued. — Once, with Timur. And I thought… that was it. — He cleared his throat. — That she didn’t need me the way I needed her.

— But you didn’t let her go, — Reha watched him closely.

— I did, — Evren admitted, looking at the floor. — Then I took her back… — he shook his head. — And I keep taking her back. And you won’t let yours go! — his voice carried a stubborn edge. — You won’t let her!

Reha closed his eyes.

— I love her, — he whispered. — It’s ridiculous… at my age. I love her so much my knees go weak. So much that my heart… feels like it has to learn how to beat again, — he faltered, falling silent. — I love her so much that even death didn’t stop it. That’s all.

— Then don’t hurt her, — Evren leaned closer.

Reha opened his eyes slowly, as if waking from an operation — not on his body, but on his soul.

— I… I’m afraid, — he whispered. — Afraid I’m no gift. That she’ll realize she made a mistake. That I’m… too… — he paused, searching.

— Human, — Evren offered.

— Human, — Reha echoed with a faint smile.

— She loves you, — Evren smiled back. — To the point of shaking. To anger. To screaming. Enough to be jealous even of your past. Women like that don’t walk away, professor.

Reha turned away and stared at the ceiling again.

— Evren, — he whispered, not looking at him, — I… have a son. — The words came out painfully. — I didn’t know for forty years.

Evren stretched his neck. He understood too well… he had also had a son he didn’t know — didn’t want to know.

— And now what? — Evren asked, realizing how similar their stories were. — Are you going to lose your wife over a past you can’t change?

— I… don’t know, — Reha admitted honestly. — I just… won’t survive if Gülçiçek leaves.

— She won’t leave, — Evren smiled. — Not after what she went through today. — He stood, pushing the chair to the wall. — She loves you. Anyone could see it.

— Why… is she still with me? — Reha asked, as if he didn’t understand or refused to.

— Because you’re the only man in the world who can drive her crazy, — Evren smiled. — Who can push her to tears and still be the man she’ll run to first when something goes wrong.

Reha closed his eyes and, for the first time that day, truly exhaled — as if he hadn’t been able to breathe properly until now.

— Evren… — he said quietly — thank you.

— Don’t thank me, — Evren shrugged. — We’re family now, whether you like it or not.

— I hate that word, — Reha muttered.

— Me too, — Evren replied calmly. — But it’s not going anywhere.

Evren leaned his shoulder against the wall. Two men, each with his own storm raging inside, standing side by side — and for the first time in a long while, they were beginning to understand something about each other…

***

Two women understood each other without words, because once they had already gone through this pain — had loved so deeply it was frightening to breathe. Bahar’s office was too small for these two hearts trying to hold far too many fears.

Bahar closed the door and walked over to Gülçiçek, but didn’t touch her, giving her space to pull herself together. Gülçiçek’s arms hung limp at her sides; she stared out the window, but her gaze was empty, as if everything that had kept her standing was still back in Reha’s room.

— Mom, — Bahar said quietly, and Gülçiçek flinched as if Bahar had touched an open wound.

— I… — she exhaled, closing her eyes for a second as if searching inside herself for what little strength she had left. — I’m here. You can’t imagine… what I was like…, — she didn’t finish, just shook her head.

Bahar gently laid her hands on her shoulders, carefully wrapping her in a loose, tentative hug from behind.

— I… — Gülçiçek ran her hand over her face, as if wiping off someone else’s fingerprints. — I saw… how she… — her voice went hoarse.

She sobbed, as if the memory of that kiss itself lodged in her throat and wouldn’t let her speak. Bahar held her tighter.

— You know… when he was covered in blood… so pale… — she shivered, speaking quietly, afraid a louder word would shatter her completely. — I thought I wouldn’t make it, that day would be the last time I saw him alive, — she closed her eyes. — And then, right in front of me, that scene — as if they had simply picked up where they left off forty years ago.

Gülçiçek’s fingers clenched convulsively. Bahar rested her chin on her mother’s shoulder.

— You were scared, — she whispered.

— I thought he’d leave, — came the barely audible reply. — Just… walk away to where his past is… where his youth is… where everything was before me, — now she truly broke into a sob. — I felt… unnecessary.

— You were never unnecessary, — Bahar closed her eyes, swallowing back a sudden wave of nausea.

— And you? — Gülçiçek asked, almost in despair. — You could barely stand in front of him. You’re pregnant, Bahar. You’re pregnant and I… I didn’t even have time to hug you. Didn’t have time to ask if you were even breathing, — she touched her daughter’s hands. — I was so scared for you. I’m so afraid of losing you, — Gülçiçek confessed.

Bahar gently eased her down onto a chair, pulled another chair close and sat across from her.

— Mom, I’m alive, — she squeezed her hands. — The baby is fine.

— And what if not? — Gülçiçek whispered it so quietly that it sounded louder than a scream. — What if I had lost you the same day I might have lost him? — she tightened her grip on Bahar’s hands. — I wouldn’t have survived it, Bahar.

Everything inside her was shaking. Bahar leaned forward and carefully pulled Gülçiçek into her arms, without sudden movements, without extra words. Gülçiçek pressed her forehead to her daughter’s shoulder.

— I’m strong, yes, — she whispered, — but today… I’m just a woman and a mother who loves her husband and daughter too much.

Bahar understood her like no one else could, because she herself lived on that edge between love and fear. Bahar slowly, almost weightlessly, ran her palm along Gülçiçek’s arm.

— Mom… you do understand… — she searched for her mother’s gaze. — What you did out there…

— Stop, — Gülçiçek waved it off. — Any mother would…

— No, — Bahar didn’t let her hide behind the usual phrase. — Not any, — she squeezed her hands. — You ran into gunfire, — Bahar said softly. — Without thinking. Without hesitating. You just… stepped between me and the gun, — Bahar looked her straight in the eyes. — Mom, you used your own body to shield me.

Gülçiçek looked away, as if the words were too heavy to accept.

— You could have died, — Bahar went on in a whisper. — And my heart almost stopped when I saw you…

— I’m a mother, — Gülçiçek sighed. — And you’re my girl — and a mother too. I would…, — she raised her hand and brushed a strand of hair from her daughter’s face. — I would do it a thousand times over without thinking.

Bahar leaned in until their foreheads touched.

— I would do the same if it were Umay, Uraz, — she admitted, and with a sigh added, — Yusuf. Parla.

Those words settled between them like a confession: they were both mothers, and deep down, they were the same. Gülçiçek tried to smile but couldn’t.

— And you stood there… pregnant… and didn’t even tell me, — Gülçiçek sobbed.

— I didn’t have time, — Bahar whispered. — And I didn’t want you to worry, you… you’d already been through too much.

— I have, — Gülçiçek laughed weakly through her tears. — And I’ll get through more. We’re women. We hold the world on our shoulders while men compete over whose heart beats louder.

— Mom… if it weren’t for you, for Reha… if it weren’t for Nevra…, — tears flashed in Bahar’s eyes; her voice grew rough. — Sert Kaya, — she shook her head. — You all shielded me.

— We were just… doing what we had to do, — Gülçiçek replied. — We were protecting what’s ours, — she pressed her palm to Bahar’s cheek, just as she had in childhood. — And now you… — her hand slipped down to her daughter’s belly. — Now you’re protecting two.

— Mom, — Bahar hugged Gülçiçek and held her close.

Bahar fell silent, staring ahead but seeing nothing — only that moment replaying in her mind when Sert Kaya stepped in front of her and wrapped his arms around her, taking the bullet meant for her.

— Reha — that I understand. Even Nevra, probably, — she said, shaking her head slightly. — But Sert… why? Why did he shield me with himself?

— I don’t know, — Gülçiçek sighed, pressing a hand to her chest where the ache made it hard to breathe. — It’s not logical for him, but he clearly had a reason, — Gülçiçek pulled Bahar into her arms again and stroked her back as if soothing a small child. — People don’t do things like that by accident. There’s always a motive.

They were both curious about the real reason behind his act, and yet Gülçiçek sighed again.

— You know… — her voice grew softer, — I really am strong, Bahar. I’ve been through a lot, but… when I saw that woman, Meryem, kissing him… I… — she fell silent, unable to finish, and Bahar patiently waited. — It hurt so much, — she admitted. — As if… I’d been betrayed. Forty years… she lived inside her memories, and then what? What does she want now, Bahar? What does this woman want? Why come back now? Why buy a house next to yours? I… I’m scared, Bahar. Do you understand? — she pressed her hand to her chest, looking straight into her grown daughter’s eyes. — I am strong. I always have been. I survived being alone, disappointment, my husband’s betrayal, your illness, your surgeries, the crash you were in. I thought that was it, nothing could break me anymore, — she closed her eyes and continued without opening them, — but I broke. He broke me.

— Mom…, — Bahar leaned toward her.

— No, let me finish, — Gülçiçek lifted her hand, still not opening her eyes. — When I saw her… that Meryem… kissing him… Bahar, I felt so weak. I thought I just couldn’t compete with his past.

— Mom, — Bahar squeezed her warm hands, lifting them to her face and pressing them to her cheeks, looking into her eyes.

— And it would be so easy, — Gülçiçek didn’t take her eyes off her daughter’s face. — They have history. Youth. Love. A son he never knew about. A grandson. And me? I walked into his life when we were already past sixty. Do you know how terrifying it is to fear being replaced by the past?

— I understand more than you think, — Bahar sighed.

— And I thought, she came back because she realized she wanted to be with him, — Gülçiçek went on, as if she hadn’t heard her. — And I… I’m just his wife. An accident in the last chapter.

Bahar let go of her hands and cupped her mother’s face in her palms.

— You are not an accident! — Bahar said firmly. — Mom, you’re the woman he loves. Do you hear me? Loves so much he’s jealous to the point of shaking. To blood. To madness.

— And you… — tears streamed freely down Gülçiçek’s cheeks now; she looked at Bahar’s belly. — You almost died. Almost. And I didn’t even have time to ask — how are you? — Gülçiçek placed her fingers on her daughter’s lips, not letting her answer, and went on. — I was so consumed by my jealousy… my pain… that I missed yours.

— Mom, I’m here. I’m alive. And the baby… is too, — Bahar sighed. — We’re all okay.

— I’m more afraid for you than for anyone, — Gülçiçek admitted. — The shooting… that man, — her voice grew rough.

— Hush, — Bahar held her gaze. — I’m here with you. We’ve survived so much already — we’ll survive this too.

Gülçiçek nodded, and both of them finally allowed themselves to be weak, allowed themselves to speak their fears out loud, openly, without a trace of pretense…

***

The shadows from the blinds stretched across the floor, yet the room was filled with the soft glow of the setting sun. Nevra lay in bed, wrapped in a blanket. Her face seemed especially pale against the white pillows. She heard his footsteps long before he appeared in the doorway.

Nevra tried not to show her interest… and yet he managed to surprise her again and again. Ismail stepped inside with a tray in his hands. On it stood candles, slender glasses of tea, and şekerpare soaked in syrup — soft, warm. A dessert meant to be eaten with fingers, a dessert that invited touch. A dessert that melted from the syrup, filling the air with its sweet aroma.

— I brought you some tea, — his voice sounded timid, carrying an unfamiliar gentleness, as if he still feared her coldness and distance.

Nevra parted her lips, ready to answer with her usual indifference — but the words stuck in her throat.

— Thank you, — she said quietly, and her own voice sounded foreign to her.

Ismail set the tray on the bedside table. Nevra said nothing. She simply watched him. She didn’t send him away. Didn’t turn aside. And that alone was already a small victory. Ismail sat at the edge of the bed — very close, but not touching her. Then he reached out and gently took her hand. She tensed, but didn’t pull away. Her fingers trembled slightly, as if asking whether they were allowed to trust.

— Let’s rewrite these moments, — he whispered, guiding her gaze to his. — I’m here now, — he slowly ran a finger along her wrist, as if touching a nerve beneath the skin. — I see you, — he pressed with the tip of his finger into the center of her palm, — I hear you, — his thumb traced her life line, as though reading her fate. — I’m with you.

— Ismail, — Nevra flinched.

He picked up a piece of şekerpare and brought it to her lips.

— Try it, — he whispered, leaning in a little closer.

She wanted to intercept his hand, wanted to say “I’ll do it myself,” but she said nothing. Her lips brushed the dessert, the syrup hit her tongue — warm, sweet… cloying, like a moment she hadn’t expected.

Ismail watched her carefully, noted the change in her breathing, the softening in her eyes. He lifted another piece of dessert to his own mouth, very slowly, as though it wasn’t food but her touch.

— Nevra, — he leaned closer still, — back in the hall… and at my place, I froze, — he admitted, lowering his eyes. — But I want you to choose which moments stay, — Ismail turned to the tray and lit both candles.

Nevra watched his movements intently. The flame flickered and reflected in her eyes.

— You say you feel invisible, — he said. — Then listen, — Ismail enclosed her hands in his. — These candles are so you know you’re my light, — he looked straight into her eyes. — I don’t want the darkness of misunderstanding between us. I won’t allow it! — he picked up one candle without looking and held it near her face. — Blow it out, — he said.

She tilted her head slightly, unsure of what he meant, but Ismail waited patiently… waited for her to trust him. And she did — she sighed softly and extinguished the flame.

— This, — Ismail showed her the extinguished candle, — is for the moments when I didn’t protect you, — he whispered. — Let them stay there, in the past.

Her eyes gleamed. She looked at the second candle.

— And this one, — he touched the flame and immediately pulled his hand back, — I’ll leave burning, — he turned to her and met her gaze. — It’s my promise to protect you.

Nevra said nothing, but her hand trembled, reached forward, and slowly settled atop his. Her thumb brushed his skin — a fragile, tender movement. Not a promise, but not a refusal.

— And what now? — she asked quietly.

Ismail looked into her eyes.

— Now, — he exhaled with a quiet relief, — we go to Izmir, — he leaned toward her, his breath grazing her cheek, — and there we get married.

Nevra froze — not from fear, but from realising that for the first time in a long time she felt simply like a woman who was cherished, a woman someone wanted to protect. She breathed out, lifted her hand and touched his cheek.

— Then, — she whispered, — hold me.

And Ismail held her — carefully, tenderly, as though he knew that every touch right now wasn’t rewriting a moment, but an entire life. Her heart quickened. His embrace was warm, steady. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in its scent.

— I’ll never let you go again, — Ismail whispered.

— Don’t, — Nevra replied, holding him even closer.

They turned toward each other slowly, shyly, and their lips met in a gentle kiss. Every unsaid word melted away in that moment. Time seemed to stop for them, leaving only the two of them in this warm, candlelit space. Ismail pulled her closer, afraid she might vanish. Nevra leaned into him, feeling pain dissolve, feeling trust return.

— I love you, — he whispered.

— And I love you, — she breathed, allowing herself to be vulnerable.

And all the barriers fell, leaving only their love — now illuminated by a new light of understanding and forgiveness…

***

The lights flickered, and the silence in the corridor felt unusual — normally there were footsteps, voices, movement, but now everything seemed frozen, suspended for a moment.

Bahar stepped out of her office and closed the door behind her. Evren immediately turned toward her. He was standing by the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

— Did you calm her down? — he asked quietly.

Bahar nodded, walking up to him.

— And you calmed Reha? — she asked in return.

Evren immediately took her arm, noticing how pale she looked.

— That stubborn man nearly died from jealousy, — they slowly walked down the corridor together, — but he’s breathing a little more evenly now.

They fell silent and simply continued forward.

— Why did you call her here? — Evren asked suddenly, frowning.

— What? — Bahar, fighting a wave of nausea, didn’t understand at first whom he meant.

— Meryem! — he hissed through his teeth. — You invited her.

Bahar exhaled slowly through her nose, trying to steady her breathing.

— She’s a doctor, — she replied softly. — And she’s your aunt, — she reminded him.

— This is a nightmare, — he muttered.

— Evren, — Bahar stopped.

— What? — he didn’t even bother softening his tone. — This woman shows up and half the hospital is on fire, the other half is busy being jealous of each other!

— She told the professor about his son, — Bahar said, tilting her head slightly.

— And she kissed him! — Evren snapped.

— We all saw it. And then what, Evren? — she looked him straight in the eyes.

— If the professor starts getting close to him and… — he didn’t finish, dragging a hand over his face.

— You’re afraid it’ll drag up your past too, — she finished quietly.

Evren nodded.

— A son… a grandson… Meryem…, — Bahar sighed. — And we have Cem. Esra’s surgery. And… — she suddenly grabbed his hand as her vision swayed and dizziness washed over her.

— And you’re pregnant, — he added softly, steadying her.

Bahar flinched, straightened, and met his gaze.

— Oh, you remembered?! — she said, colder than she meant to.

— What are you talking about? — Evren blinked, confused.

— Two hours, Evren. In two hours you didn’t ask once how I am, — her fingers trembled, — or how the baby is. Are you seriously going to check on me every half hour? Just to prove you remember? Evren, we have seven months ahead of us… and I’m already scared, — she whispered, tension in her voice.

Evren didn’t seem to hear everything she said. His eyes drifted to her stomach, as if in that moment the only thing that mattered to him was the baby.

— I was afraid… to touch that topic, — he admitted. — Afraid that if I started talking about it, I’d break down, — he stepped closer. — Come here.

Bahar instantly stepped back until her back hit the wall. Evren leaned in, and his lips brushed her belly. He kissed her through her medical uniform, but she still felt it — too tender, too intimate for a hospital corridor.

— Evren, people are here, — she swallowed hard, her hands resting on his shoulders.

— Let them look, — he whispered, kissing her belly again. — This is my child, and I almost lost him. Almost lost you both. You’re my woman.

— Evren, — she tried to pull him up. — We need to go to Nevra, then to Sert Kaya, — she reminded him as he straightened and met her eyes.

They were standing far too close to stay calm. His eyes darkened. He pressed gently, pinning her lightly to the wall. Evren leaned toward her lips, meaning to kiss her, to let at least one moment erase the stress of the day. Bahar pressed both palms to his chest, looking around anxiously, trying to push him away. His breath grazed her lips — one more second and he would have kissed her.

— Evren, no, — she managed to turn her head aside, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward Nevra’s room. — Come on, Evren! You’re acting like a teenager! — slipped out of her mouth.

Evren huffed. He really did feel like a boy around her — and for the first time that day, he smiled… barely, hiding the sadness still lingering in his eyes…

***

He couldn’t see her eyes, but his gaze softened; he watched her back and let her lead him by the hand. Evren followed her into Nevra’s room… and immediately bumped into her when she stopped short. He leaned around her shoulder, brows lifting in surprise.

Nevra and Ismail were sitting very close — her hand in his, her fingers resting on his shoulder… and they had caught them kissing. A quiet kiss between two adults who had spent far too long refusing to let themselves be alive.

— Oh… sorry, — Bahar murmured.

They instantly pulled apart. Nevra lowered her head in embarrassment. Ismail stood up at once, straightening his shirt.

— We’re getting married! — he announced, just to avoid any questions.

Nevra blushed even deeper. Bahar’s mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out.

— Thank you, — Evren stepped forward, — thank you for what you did for Bahar, — he said.

Nevra met his gaze without bravado — just with that familiar pain she had never voiced aloud.

— It’s… — she swallowed, — it’s the least I could do, Evren.

Ismail sat back down on the bed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. No one added anything — no talk of the past, no accusations.

— Congratulations, — Bahar finally managed, snapping out of her daze.

— Thank you, — they replied together, sharing a glance.

— Wonderful, — Evren muttered in her ear, — they’ve already gotten that far. If you’d just let me kiss you properly, we wouldn’t have interrupted anything.

Bahar elbowed him sharply in the side and stepped back. Nevra looked utterly unsure of what to do with her hands. Bahar smiled, feeling foolish. Evren looked like he couldn’t understand how he had ended up in this parallel universe — and yet inside him something bristled in protest.

— Let’s go, — Bahar turned, grabbed his hand, and the two of them slipped out of the room without even asking how Nevra was feeling…

***

They closed the door behind them, still feeling awkward, and stepped back into the corridor. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting sharp shadows on the walls, where every echo sounded like someone else’s heartbeat.

— Even they’re getting married, Bahar! — Evren started immediately, searching her eyes.

— And we haven’t even had a proper date, — Bahar reminded him, trying to pull him forward.

— Is that so essential? — he resisted.

— Yes, Evren, — she wasn’t going to yield. — I want a date. I want to dress up, I want to look at you, I want to dance with you, walk knee-deep in water and stare at the stars! I want things — simple, human things.

— You’re pregnant, Bahar, — he stepped toward her.

— All the more reason, Evren, — her voice trembled with barely contained frustration. — You’re not inviting me anywhere!

— Normal people get normal desserts! — he clenched his fists. — And we get lemons!

— Lemons? — Bahar blinked, her gaze fogging slightly. — Evren, I really want a lemon.

— What? — he froze in place.

— A lemon, — she nodded. — Very sour, juicy, bright yellow… — she licked her lips, as if her mouth had filled with saliva, swallowing hard. — And eggplants. — Bahar didn’t look away from him. — And mussels, Evren, I want mussels so badly. — She placed her palm on his chest. — And coffee with lemon.

Evren went pale. He couldn’t keep up with her sudden gastronomic stream of consciousness, trying to figure out how to get all of it at once… when his face suddenly changed.

— You’re messing with me, aren’t you? — he realized.

Bahar smiled — at least she had managed to pull him away from the dangerous topic of marriage.

— You know, — he stepped even closer, his voice trembling, — sometimes I hate you.

— I know, — she took his arm, and they walked down the corridor. — It’s like lemons, Evren. Sour, but without them life gets bland, — she leaned her head against his shoulder, matching his pace. — And honestly, your daughter really likes lemons. Get used to it.

Evren stumbled, then stopped. His hands found her shoulders, turning her toward him as he stared into her eyes.

— You said — daughter?! — his breath hitched. — We’re having a daughter, Bahar? When? When did you find out the gender and decide not to tell me?! Why would you do that without me, Bahar? Why would you steal that moment from me? — the realization he might have missed something so important shook him to the core.

Bahar blinked. Even she didn’t understand how the word slipped out. Perhaps her body was saying what her mind hadn’t yet realized.

— Evren, — she began carefully, — it just slipped. I don’t know the gender, — she tried to convince him.

— No, — he trembled, — no, she told us herself, Bahar. We’re having a daughter. Derin. She’s talking to us! Don’t you see?

— You already picked a name? — now Bahar was the one struggling to keep up.

— A daughter, — Evren stood still, as if trying not to lose his balance. Then he laughed softly, and the laugh turned into a quiet shout. — Derin!

— Evren, wait, — she placed her hands on his chest. — I don’t know, it just slipped out, listen to me.

— A daughter, — he suddenly pulled her close, his voice softer, steadier. — Your little copy, Bahar, our daughter. Just as stubborn as you.

— I’m stubborn? — Bahar gasped. — You’re unmatched in stubbornness!

— A daughter, — Evren lifted her slightly off the floor, ready to spin her in the middle of the corridor, not caring who saw. — Bahar, — he set her down and looked into her eyes, — do you understand what this means? We’re alive. We can argue, fight, prove things to each other — but we’re alive because we still want things. Dates, lemons, — he added with tears in his eyes. — Some people get jealous because they’re alive, others get married because they’re alive too, and we… — he looked down at her belly, — and we’re alive. A daughter, — he breathed in deeply.

Bahar hesitated only a moment, studying his face. Then her hands cupped his cheeks, she rose on her toes, and kissed him.

— Yes, Evren, — she whispered, her breath brushing his lips. — I agree.

— A daughter, — he smiled against her lips, not even realizing what she had just said. Only a moment later did he freeze. — What? — his eyes widened.

— Let’s get married, Evren, — Bahar whispered. — You’re right, — tears shimmered in her eyes, — this is life. And as long as we want something, it means we’re still living. — She hugged him, burying herself in him. — You know, — Bahar murmured, holding him, — I was thinking…

— More lemons? — Evren smirked. — Or mussels? Or something else entirely? Come on, Bahar, surprise me.

— About the wedding, — her brows lifted slightly, and she really did surprise him. — How do you want to do it? How do you picture our wedding? Quiet, loud? Where?

— And you — a limo, a veil? — he leaned in. — What do you want, Bahar?

— No, — Bahar shook her head. — What matters is that we’re both ready for that step — truly ready.

— We’re ready, — Evren took her hand. — I’m ready.

— And I’m scared, — she admitted. — What if something goes wrong again…?

— Nothing will, — he suddenly turned her and gently pressed her to the wall, looking straight into her eyes. — Because I’m not letting you go. Ever again.

— Even if I panic? — she smiled. — Get scared?

— Even then, — Evren brushed his fingers over her cheek. — You walked away from the wedding table, — he reminded her.

— That was a mistake, — Bahar lowered her gaze.

— No, — he held her face in his hands, — that’s our life, you understand? That’s our story, and we’re in it together. And nothing will tear us apart.

— And if I change my mind? — she tried to pull back, but he held her gently but firmly.

Panic flickered inside her chest.

— Then I’ll steal you, — Evren answered. — Kidnap you in front of everyone and marry you without your consent.

— You’re impossible! — Bahar exhaled and laughed.

— And you love me, — he whispered, leaning toward her lips.

— I do, — Bahar murmured, her gaze fixed on his lips as she leaned in.

— And I love you, — he breathed, kissing her.

Their kiss was shattered by a sharp voice from the speaker, calling them to the operating room. They looked into each other’s eyes, and their hands intertwined. They walked forward, quickening their steps with every stride — toward the place where life and death intertwined, where one heart would stop beating and another would begin a new rhythm. Two lives, one death, one child, one heart shared between them, and one day that changed many fates…

***

Everything in his life changed in a single instant.

The room sank into half-darkness, into a gray kind of light — the kind that didn’t warm, only showed that night was drawing near. Reha stood by the window, his hands braced against the sill. He watched the lights of the city flicker on, but his gaze stayed tense, as if he saw neither lights, nor streets, nor people.

His breathing was steady — too steady to be anything like calm. He shifted his eyes to the hospital courtyard: cars, rushing figures, blurred silhouettes… Everything drifted by, never settling in his mind. Thoughts rolled in like a tide — thick, heavy, relentless.

Son. The word hit him in the chest like a fist. Son. Forty years. Forty years a man had walked this earth — and he had known nothing about him. Grandson. He had already become a grandfather, without ever truly realizing he’d been a father.

Gülçiçek. Her eyes. Her accusations. Her hands… those very hands another man had kissed. Those same hands that gently changed his bandage, cooked for him, held him. And, perhaps, held someone else.

Reha pressed his palm to his chest. It burned. Everything inside him burned, as if someone had brought a torch right up to his heart. With his other hand, he wiped his face, as if trying to erase everything at once: shame, jealousy, pain, weakness… and fear.

He exhaled, pushed himself away from the windowsill, stepped toward the chair. A white coat hung over its back. His fingers trembled as he took it. It’s time. The word rose on its own — not a thought, not a decision, but something greater. Something that had been ripening in him for a long time, waiting for this very moment.

It was time to stop standing still. Time to move. Anywhere, as long as it wasn’t backward.

He slowly put the coat on over his hospital pajamas. The familiar smell of cotton, the known touch of the sleeves on his wrists — everything suddenly felt painfully real. Reha shuddered and sat down on the bed.

His gaze fell on the bedside table. He reached out, took… A few motions, a few items — all silent, without hesitation, as if his hands knew what to do even if his mind didn’t yet fully grasp it. A couple of lines on a white sheet.

His chest still burned with fire, but in his eyes a new certainty flickered — cold, firm, pushing out the very confusion that had held him captive for so long.

He folded the paper, laid it on the pillow. Stood up. Reha didn’t look at the bed again.

He walked toward the door. Opened it and stepped out into the corridor, without looking back.

***

The corridor stretched on endlessly, as if time itself had slowed, giving them a chance to linger in this last fleeting moment.

The orderlies wheeled the gurney with care, almost reverently. Beneath the snow-white sheet lay Cem. Not a patient. Not a case. A man whose life was now flowing into another fate… other lives.

Bahar walked beside him. Her fingers brushed lightly against the rail — a weightless touch, as though she were holding his hand. She walked with him, accompanying him, all the way to the end.

Evren moved on the other side. Silent. Composed. His shoulders trembled just barely, as if some string inside him — one he had tried to tune for years — was finally giving way.

At the elevator, Rengin waited — in her chair, pale, an IV line in her hand. Behind her stood Parla, gripping the chair’s handle tightly. Umay stayed close to Yusuf. Only her eyes, wide and dark, seemed to speak more than words, while her lips remained still, unmoving.

Serhat stepped up to Evren and placed a hand on his shoulder. Like a friend. Like a brother. Like the man he had once been. Serhat’s voice came out steady, rasped with a kind of pain that had to fight its way through.

— You held my daughter’s heart in your hands… — he exhaled. — And you saved her life. I’ll never forget that. I’ll take it from here. — He squeezed Evren’s hand, as if silently asking him to let go of the gurney where Cem lay.

— And now you’ll touch the heart — Evren looked into his eyes — that will beat in your daughter’s chest.

Serhat closed his eyes for a brief instant — it was both a blow and a healing in one. His hand on Evren’s shoulder tightened. A silent promise: I’m here again.

Evren and Bahar loosened their fingers at the same time, stepped aside… and Serhat took Evren’s place, pushing the gurney into the surgical block. The doors swung open and closed behind him.

Umay let out a sob and buried her face in Yusuf’s shoulder. Rengin squeezed her daughter’s hands.

Bahar and Evren, shoulder to shoulder, entered the other operating room. Esra, hooked up to monitors, lay in the dim light, looking so fragile, so small, that for a moment they both wondered whether Cem’s heart was too big for her body… but it was only a passing thought.

They were ready when the metal container was brought in — small, silver… Evren met Bahar’s eyes, and she met his… and they simply breathed in unison, understanding that in a second he would take Cem’s heart into his hands and lower it into Esra’s chest. His brother’s life had become her hope. Evren swayed faintly, but stayed on his feet; she held him steady with her gaze. One breath for both of them… and he nodded.

The light cut at their eyes. The metal gleamed like ice. The air was cold, sterile — and yet warm with the breath they shared above the table beneath their masks. Evren held the heart in his hands — the very same heart that not long ago beat inside Cem. His fingers tightened. His gaze fell for an instant into memories, pain, guilt.

— I’m right here, — Bahar whispered.

He inhaled. Returned. They worked in sync, as always. The sutures lay neatly, threads of a new life. They removed the cannulas.

— It’s done, — Evren said.

He nodded to the anesthesiologist. The bypass was turned off. The silence became almost unbearable. The machine stopped. A pause. Another. The world tipped. Then a faint jolt. Another. The heart twitched. Again. Once more. Evren exhaled slowly, as though with each beat he, too, was returning to his own body.

— She’s going to live, — he said quietly.

Bahar closed her eyes — that was all they needed to hear. He looked at her for a long moment, a gaze full of recognition, remorse, and gratitude. And for the first time in many days, something eased inside them, as if the clouds above had finally begun to thin…

***

Gülçiçek pushed the door open gently with her elbow, careful not to spill the tea in the thermos she held in her left hand. In her right — a small box of warm pastries. The smell of dough and cinnamon slipped into the room before she did.

— Reha… — she called softly, letting out a breath, trying to smile — that warm, homely smile she kept only for him.

The room met her with emptiness. The bed — perfectly smooth. The pillows — untouched. The light — cold. And the silence. The kind that made the heart stop. Gülçiçek froze in the doorway.

— Reha? — she called again.

The silence swallowed her voice. She stepped further inside. Her husband was gone. The bed — empty. The coat — missing. The window — closed. The monitors — off. The warmth from the pastries vanished instantly, replaced by a cold knot beneath her ribs. Something shuddered in her chest — jealousy? Fear? Panic? Probably all at once. Heavy. Crushing. Did he go to her? Is this it? Did he… leave without a word?

Gülçiçek squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, pushing the pain back. When she opened them, she slowly sank onto the bed. Her breathing was uneven as she sat there with the pastries and the thermos, staring ahead. Then she set the pastry box on the bed, lowered the thermos onto the bedside table, and just as she straightened… she saw it. Something lying on the pillow. Something so simple, yet her heart clenched all the same. Barely feeling her fingers, she picked up the sheet of paper, unfolded it — and flinched when something tiny… small, almost weightless… fell onto her palm.

— Reha… — she whispered.

Her face went pale. Her lips trembled, she nearly dropped it; only instinct made her cup her hand and hold on. Her fingers closed tightly around the little object.

She lifted her head slowly, as if expecting him to appear, step out of the shadows, throw out some teasing remark, make her laugh, slip an arm around her shoulders… but the room stayed empty. Only her ragged, noisy breathing broke the stillness.

Her vision dimmed for a moment, whether from fear or sudden realization. She shook her head, clenching her hand even tighter.

— Why, Reha… — her lips whispered soundlessly.

The question hung in the air, dissolving under the hospital lights. Gülçiçek rose, moved toward the door… her heartbeat drowning out the sound of her steps… and with each step she moved faster. She yanked the door open and rushed into the corridor — swift, urgent, unwilling to wait another second…

***

Night had already settled over the city, wrapping the streets in a soft gloom. Evren drove slowly, carefully, as if afraid to disturb the fragile balance of this moment. There was none of his usual professional precision in his movements — only quiet, almost domestic tenderness.

Bahar sat beside him in the passenger seat. She tried not to breathe too deeply, not wanting him to notice how nauseous she felt. The car smelled of hospital, his skin, and… lemons.

A bag rested at her feet. With every turn, the lemons rolled with a soft thump. When he braked, one lemon slid out and gently bumped against her ankle. Bahar glanced down and smiled. Such a simple, almost childlike reaction after a day filled with too much blood, shouting, loss, and salvation.

— You’re smiling at a lemon, — Evren observed.

— I want it so badly, — she admitted, brushing her finger over his knee. — I could eat three right now. Maybe five.

— Bahar, I hate lemons, — a shadow of disgust flickered in his eyes; he didn’t even react to her touch.

Taking advantage of the red light, Bahar turned toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

— It’s okay, — she said with a smile, — our daughter already loves them, — she said it without thinking, as something completely natural.

What she dismissed, he felt sharply. Evren nearly drifted into the opposite lane.

— So you did find out? — he asked, suspicious. — I… I still don’t understand how you figured it out, and when? You’ve been next to me the whole time!

— I didn’t find out! — she raised her hands. — It slipped out. A mistake. An accident!

— There are no accidents, — he muttered, trying to convince himself more than her. — She told us herself.

— Who? — Bahar tried to keep her breathing steady, not showing how badly the nausea pressed on her.

— Our daughter, — he said stubbornly, gripping the wheel as if he were steering not the car but his own fate. — Derin. Our Derin!

She looked at him, and for the first time that day, warmth spread through her at how deeply he believed in this tiny life.

— Evren, — she said more gently, — we don’t know yet. What if it’s a boy?

— We do know, — he shook his head, refusing to accept anything else, his voice low, almost intimate. — You said “daughter.” That’s… a sign.

She couldn’t hold back a smile and placed her hand on his again. He squeezed her fingers — a little tighter than necessary — and they pulled into the driveway. She unbuckled her seatbelt and, stepping out of the car, reached for the bag of lemons, but Evren snatched it away.

— It’s heavy! — he grumbled.

— It’s five lemons, Evren, — she stared at him, baffled.

— Five heavy lemons, — he said, not even noticing his seriousness.

They headed toward the door, walking slowly, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. A storm of thoughts rushed through her mind: Esra, new life, Cem’s heart, Reha and Gülçiçek, İsmail and Nevra, the date that still hadn’t happened… and the wedding she had agreed to. And Serhat Kaya, whom they hadn’t found in his room before leaving.

— We need to go there, — Bahar said quietly. — To your apartment. Cem. We need… to look through his things. Decide what to do with them.

Bahar fell silent. Evren stopped so abruptly she nearly bumped into his back.

— We’ll go together, — he said, and she nodded. — And Bahar… — he looked at her, his gaze turning more serious. — We’re going to have a date. A real one. No hospital. No gunshots. No jealousy from your mother or the professor. No sweets from İsmail and Nevra.

— I’m not going on a date right now, — she swallowed hard, and only then did he notice how close she was to collapsing. — Right now… I just want to lie down and not move, — she admitted.

— Finally, — Evren said hoarsely, already replaying in his head how to sneak her into bed without anyone in the living room noticing. — For once you’re telling the truth instead of your usual “I’m fine.”

She nudged his shoulder gently, almost affectionately.

— Evren… — she whispered, not finishing, but her eyes screamed the words — I love you.

He looked at her as if he wanted to pull her close, press her to him, let his lips touch her neck — but he held back.

— Come on, — he said, nudging her lightly. — Let’s feed you and our Derin.

— You’re impossible, — she rolled her eyes. — Four more weeks before we learn the gender, and for all that time you’re going to keep saying— she didn’t finish.

— Your daughter is stubborn, just like you, — he cut her off.

— Evren! — her voice rose a notch.

— What? You said it yourself — our daughter loves lemons, — he lifted the bag of lemons to her eye level, — her dad bought her favorite lemons, what’s the problem, Bahar?

She meant to respond, but too tired to argue, she simply pushed the door open, and they stepped inside.

The first thing they saw was Uraz. He stood in the middle of the living room, and his face was… nonexistent. When he noticed them, he raised a hand as if to say something, but no words came out. Umay gripped the railing with both hands, shaking her head as if refusing to believe something. Evren instantly stopped Bahar, stepped forward. He held out his arm, blocking her, forcing her to walk behind him… and the moment they entered the living room, they saw them.

On the couch, as if in their own home, sat Meryem. Straight-backed, with that very look that had already become the harbinger of trouble… and beside her — Sert Kaya, in a suit but without a tie. He looked calm, too calm, as if he had already made a decision but hadn’t shared it with everyone yet — or had shared it, but not with the right ones.

Bahar froze. Evren shook his head slightly, as if refusing to believe what he was seeing. The bag of lemons slipped out of his hand. One lemon rolled across the floor and stopped at Meryem’s feet.

Evren and Meryem locked eyes — like two opponents on an invisible front line, where every second stretched like rubber and the air thickened to the density of glass. Neither of them looked away, and their gazes held everything: unspoken accusations, old wounds, questions without answers.

Sert Kaya sighed — softly, almost imperceptibly. The sigh sounded ordinary, as if this were the most usual evening of his life, as if he ended up in this living room every day. But inside that sigh lay exhaustion — the kind that had been gathering for years, drop by drop, until it became a weight impossible to shake off.

Bahar swayed but stayed on her feet, clenching her fingers into a fist as if gripping her own composure like the last remaining support. Everything inside her tightened into a hard knot: fear, confusion — all mixed into one hot lump stuck somewhere between her throat and her heart.

Everyone was silent, unable to move. Even the air went still, as if turning into a vacuum where there was no room for sound, movement, or words. In that silence lay a storm — not the one rumbling outside, but the one growing inside each of them, gathering for years in every look, every stifled breath. It hadn’t broken yet, but it was already there — heavy, inevitable, ready to crash down at any moment.

And in that stillness, in that painful pause before the storm, everyone understood that what would happen next would change everything…