Çağla tried not to listen to what Bahar was discussing with the reproductive specialist and the embryologist — she trusted her completely. She was certain of Bahar’s every move, because without her, none of this would even exist.

— The catheter has passed through the canal, — no matter how much she wished not to hear it, she still did.

Bahar was staring intently at the monitor — a tiny droplet, like a speck of light… silence, and then it disappeared from the screen.

— The patient is stable, — the embryologist didn’t take his eyes off the monitor, — the transfer is complete. The embryo is inside the uterus.

— Time recorded, — the assistant reported.

— Is she home? — Çağla whispered.

She hadn’t even managed to open her eyes. Bahar bent over her, touched her shoulder through the sheet:

— Yes, — she whispered, — now it all depends on her… and on you.

— Five minutes of rest, — the reproductive specialist said in an even tone. — Then we’ll move her to the ward.

They slowly left the operating room, leaving Bahar and Çağla alone.

— If she takes hold, — Bahar whispered, — it will be the beginning of a new life.

— If not, — Çağla found Bahar’s hand and squeezed it, — we’ll still remember that we tried, my little bird.

Bahar barely held back her tears. Çağla’s faith pierced so deeply, touching something so personal, something Bahar tried never to think about — because if she did, the panic would rise so fiercely she couldn’t breathe… but now she couldn’t avoid it anymore.

A child. Could she and Evren have a child in the world they were living in? No… no… not now, not when she was barely holding herself together, when she was just taking her first steps as a doctor, when Timur was gone, when Evren… no, it was all too tangled. No. Bahar once again forbade herself to think about it, just as she had months ago — she hadn’t forgotten… she simply refused to fall into the terrifying silence of despair… where there were only questions, and no answers. Where she was left alone, and he was no longer there.

… but he was. Evren was standing by the wall, unable to tear his eyes away from the door. More than ten minutes had passed since the doctors left, yet they still hadn’t come out. He frowned, even took a step forward, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and suddenly the doors swung open. The orderlies rolled out a stretcher with Çağla, and Bahar followed, mask already removed, holding her cap in her hands.

Her eyes slid across the room and stopped on him. He was close again. And it hurt all the more — as if they were reliving those same days, when she found out she was pregnant, and then the ectopic… and then silence… and it was terrifying… and once again, they said nothing.

Evren didn’t come closer. He just waited. They wheeled Çağla past him down the corridor… and Bahar followed, passing him by, saying nothing, not even smiling. She stared straight ahead but saw nothing, as if a veil had fallen over her eyes. She didn’t even notice how her lips trembled, how her steps grew heavy.

She let the orderlies pass with the empty stretcher, entered Çağla’s room, and turned toward the wall. Pressing her forehead against it, trying to cool herself down, her fingers scratched at the surface while her lips opened in a silent scream.

— Bahar, — she heard Çağla’s voice. — Bahar.

Pressing her hand to her mouth, she brushed away the tears, fixed her hair, almost smiled, and went to her friend. She looked at her softly, as if she felt nothing, as if everything was fine.

— I don’t feel anything, — Çağla’s words struck her like a blow to the stomach, stealing all the air from her lungs, — no heaviness, no warmth, — Bahar swallowed hard, her hand dropping onto the headboard, — only a hum, — Çağla’s voice cut through the ringing in her ears, — what if she doesn’t hold?

— My dear, — Bahar’s voice cracked, — she doesn’t need to make herself known yet, — Bahar leaned over, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, — she doesn’t kick yet. Right now she’s fighting, — she exhaled, closing her eyes for a moment, — just like you are. What you need now is complete rest. I… I’ll come back soon.

Bahar even smiled. She bent down, touched Çağla’s forehead with her lips, smoothed her hair again, and glanced at the monitors. Making sure everything was fine, she let her eyes sweep the room once more, then turned and left.

Bahar walked down the corridor, not even knowing where she was heading. Only when she reached the glass door did she hesitate for a moment, then pushed it open and stepped onto the terrace.

Sunlight struck her eyes, forcing her to squint. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she couldn’t hold them back anymore. The sun, the day, the air — stifling, hot, heavy… just like the weight crushing her shoulders — all came crashing down, leaving her unable to take another step.

She stood there, right by the door, her head tilted back toward the clear, cloudless sky, trembling slightly, sobbing in silence. Her lips almost curved into a bitter smile at herself… because even the world around her seemed to mock her inner storm.

— Come here, — first she heard his voice, and then she was pulled against his chest.

Evren held her tightly, his hand stroking her hair, her back, until she managed to breathe again. Then he clasped her hand and led her to the farthest corner of the terrace, away from all eyes. There she let go of his hand, and he didn’t insist — he simply looked at her, without judgment, without reproach… He looked at her like the Evren she had known, the one she had loved. The one who could read her thoughts, feel her breath.

— You came, — she broke the silence first, turning away and wiping the corners of her eyes.

— I would’ve come earlier, — Evren stepped closer, — if I hadn’t run too. If we both hadn’t run in opposite directions.

Bahar shuddered, turning to him, her hand still pressed to her mouth as if ready to smother a silent scream at any moment. She searched his eyes, trying to understand if she could speak now, or if it would be useless again. Would he hear her this time? Would she hear him? Were they ready at all to talk? Not just talk — but talk and be heard.

— I’ve spent too long piecing myself back together, — she whispered. — I was afraid, — she repeated, forcing herself, — afraid of the pregnancy, afraid of you. I was afraid of losing myself, of ending up back in domestic life, diapers, porridge, — she held his gaze, — a marriage by routine, of everything I’d achieved disappearing.

— I always told you I didn’t want children, — he came even closer, shielding her from the burning sun, — not because I didn’t love you, — he sighed, — I didn’t know how to be a father. I never had one. I had no family, only new last names, new rooms. I didn’t want to give a child the same.

Bahar lowered her eyes, then lifted them again, searching his face timidly:

— But when you found out, — she spoke so carefully, afraid of being misunderstood again, — you were so happy.

Evren glanced aside, just for a moment, before meeting her eyes again:

— I didn’t know I could be, — he whispered. — And then suddenly, I wanted it, — he admitted. — So much that it scared me. I was so afraid of losing you that I couldn’t see anything else, — his hands found hers, squeezing gently, — I stopped seeing you. I gave in to my urge to make you my wife. I rushed to create a family, — his voice grew hoarse, — to have what I’d never had, that… — he broke off, pulling her into his arms, — and when you walked away in that dress, and I was left standing there with the rings… even then I didn’t understand that you were right, that we weren’t ready. Bahar, — he held her as though she were fragile glass, one careless move away from shattering. — I should have stayed. I shouldn’t have pressed you, — he whispered. — I should have just been there.

— Evren, — her hands slid to his shoulders, and she hugged him tighter, — it hurts me when you say should have, — she whispered. — I feel so guilty that I couldn’t set my priorities straight, couldn’t love you the way you deserved, — she leaned back slightly, searching his eyes, — and what if I have to let you go? Maybe with Naz it could work. It would be easier for you, you know that. She’s free, no obligations.

— I don’t want easier, Bahar, — Evren shook his head. — I don’t want Naz. I want you!

I want a family with you! I love you, Bahar!

— But you know she can give you a child, don’t you? — her voice trembled with fear of believing him. — You said yourself, now you want that.

— I want a child with you, Bahar, not just a child. Do you feel the difference? — Evren’s tone grew serious. — I don’t love Naz. I don’t want to build a family with her, I don’t want to make her coffee in the morning. I don’t want to see her on the deck of my yacht wearing my T-shirt.

Bahar shook her head. Everything he said sounded so full of promise, and still she was afraid to believe it, afraid to believe they might still have a chance.

— And if I can’t? If I don’t dare? If it never works for us? — panic slipped into her voice, her eyes darting away. — I can’t take away your right to be a father, Evren.

Bahar felt cornered again. Even though he held her in his arms, even though she held onto him too, the urge to break free and run away surged within her.

Evren pulled her closer gently, his lips brushing hers. He kissed her once, again, and again, until she stopped trembling in his arms.

— Then we’ll just live, — he whispered, — and if someday we decide, if it works out or it doesn’t, there are always options, and we’ll talk them through. You want everything decided here and now, as if life could hand you guarantees. That’s not how it works, Bahar. Are there any guarantees in life? — he asked softly. — We don’t know what tomorrow will bring. We can want things, plan things, but certainty — no. If we keep talking, then we’ll make it through. — Evren’s voice was low, tender.

Bahar exhaled, her body melting into his arms as she buried her face in his neck. For the first time in what felt like forever, she could hold him this calmly, as if it were the way it used to be.

— And if it had worked out, — she whispered, her voice trembling, — if it hadn’t been ectopic?

His hand slid onto her head, fingers combing through her hair:

— I’ll ask you just one question, — he whispered, — would you have had an abortion?

She opened her eyes, gazing into the distance, at the city stretching out before her.

— No, — she whispered, — he was our child, Evren. I couldn’t have done it. I would have panicked, yes. I would have been terrified, yes. But abortion — no.

He smiled, and she answered him with a faint smile of her own, not even realizing it. Either way, she would have chosen life.

— Bahar, — he gently tilted her back, his hands cupping her face, — I would have learned every single day how to be a father, — he said, looking into her eyes. — I would have carried her in my arms, not knowing how to swaddle. I don’t know how to do any of it, but I would have tried, do you understand? For the first time in my life, I wanted something more, and I wanted it with you. I would have learned from you what it means to be a parent.

Tears welled in her eyes as she clung tightly to his shoulders.

— And I would have still been afraid, — she whispered, sobbing without truly crying. — I would have tried to be perfect. I would have hidden behind medical protocols, to-do lists, schedules, — suddenly she pressed herself to him so tightly, as if afraid he might push her away, and if he did, she would break. — When it was gone, — she confessed in a voice barely audible, — I wasn’t even scared, no. I was in some kind of emptiness, — her eyes stared past his shoulder, toward the life still moving in the city — because we didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye to that possibility. I never spoke about it, not to you, not even to myself.

— We both gave up that chance, — Evren pulled her closer, his eyes closing, — not because we didn’t want it, but because we didn’t know how to hold on.

They fell silent, wrapped in each other’s arms. Neither of them pulled away. Neither of them wanted to run anymore. Nothing was hidden now, though neither of them knew what would come next.

— You know what’s strange, — Bahar traced patterns on his back with her fingertips, — today Çağla got her chance. We took a blastocyst from the tube, retrieved it, cultivated it, transferred it into her uterus. Now all that’s left is to wait. If her hCG rises, she’ll be pregnant.

— I know it sounds unbelievable, but it’s possible, because you made it possible, — Evren smiled. — And what if we gave ourselves a chance? — he asked carefully. — Us… would you dare?

She stayed quiet for a long time, still drawing shapes on his back. Evren barely breathed, waiting, and only exhaled when he finally heard her answer.

— Only if you take your turn swaddling, helping with the feedings, — she finally said, — and I won’t run, even if I get scared.

He turned, his lips brushing her cheek.

— I love you, — he whispered.

— And I love you, — Bahar breathed, then shuddered.

— What is it? — he caught her tension immediately.

— How’s Cem? Have you spoken to him? — she stirred, pulling back slightly in his arms only to look into his eyes. — What happens next?

— It’s fine, — his lips touched her forehead, — don’t worry. It’s my business, I’ll handle it.

Her brows arched faintly, as if she were considering something, then she slipped carefully out of his embrace, and he let her go.

— Don’t do that, — she said softly. — Don’t make my mistakes. I kept shielding you from my troubles so many times that in the end we only grew apart, — she sighed, squeezing his hand.

Evren frowned slightly, taking in her words.

— I just don’t want to drag you into it, — there was hesitation in his voice.

— We’re either in this together or we’re not, Evren. There’s no middle ground, — she let go of his hand, turned, and walked away.

Bahar didn’t pressure him, didn’t plead. She left him the space to decide. For the first time, neither of them demanded anything; for the first time, they simply spoke about what they wanted, what they feared.

Evren drew a sharp breath and followed her. Slowly, giving her the chance to walk ahead — but not letting her drift away. She had already stepped off the terrace and into the corridor. For a moment, she turned back. Their eyes met through the glass — in hers, no reproach, no pleading, only expectation. Evren gave a barely perceptible nod. She almost smiled… and kept walking.

***

…They could finally move on, the report was ready.

Ahu almost burst into the office, clutching the folder to her chest like a trophy:

— So… — she exhaled, barely catching her breath as she placed the folder on the desk, — the operation is officially considered satisfactory? — her voice trembled, but there was hope in it. — We made it?

Rengin didn’t lift her eyes right away. She leafed through the documents in silence, and the quiet between them grew almost tangible.

— “Satisfactory”… — she said at last, still not looking up. — A word usually used to cover up an expected failure, — her voice was restrained as she closed the folder.

The hope in Ahu’s eyes faltered. Seeing no reaction on Rengin’s face only made her more nervous. Everything she couldn’t understand always threw her off balance.

Her fingers tapped nervously against the table, then she stood and moved to the window. She couldn’t tell whether to rejoice or despair. Rengin opened the window and drew in a deep breath.

Ahu watched her closely, silent, waiting for an answer.

— We managed… but at what cost, — Rengin finally breathed out.

— The department will keep functioning? — Ahu decided to press. — Will Professor Evren be allowed to operate? We have Professor Jennifer in the hospital, — Ahu reminded, — she might persuade him to go back to America.

Rengin slowly turned toward her. For some reason, Jennifer was the last of her concerns at that moment.

— Professor Evren… — Rengin said thoughtfully, frowning slightly. — He has his department, his patients. I don’t think so.

She could have told Ahu that as long as Evren was entangled with Bahar — and Bahar with him — no one would be able to influence him. But she couldn’t say it out loud.

— Phew… — Ahu exhaled and finally let herself sink into the couch. For the first time, her legs couldn’t hold her; it felt like she had just survived an unfair fight. — I thought it would be worse, — she admitted.

Rengin just looked at her, and Ahu stiffened. She leapt to her feet again.

— What? — she mouthed silently.

— We’ve just opened the next door, — Rengin crossed her arms over her chest.

Ahu immediately turned on her tablet. She was ready to throw herself into any task, as long as one was given — but she still didn’t know what exactly was required of her.

— What exactly? — impatience slipped into Ahu’s voice. — Another inspector? An audit? More reports? What?

— A curator, — Rengin replied.

Ahu turned off her tablet and lowered her hands.

— Did I hear you right? — she looked at her intently. — Not an observer, not an advisor, but someone who will… — she hesitated, as if afraid to say it — take over? — she added more quietly.

— Yes. Temporarily, — Rengin held her gaze. — Temporarily, — she repeated, — but you know how it goes: “temporary” can drag on for a very long time.

Ahu’s fingers trembled slightly as she ran through the possibilities in her mind. Accepting the inevitable, she finally asked:

— Who is he?

Rengin fell silent for a moment, as though repeating the name to herself first.

— Sert… Kaya, — she said slowly, as if the very name carried weight.

Ahu frowned, blinking, trying to recall.

— Never heard of him, — she admitted.

Rengin shrugged lightly.

— Maybe that’s for the best, — she turned her gaze aside, though her fingers clenched involuntarily around the armrest. — But people like him are usually sent when the goal is to throw everyone off balance.

— A test of strength? — Ahu quickly picked up.

She straightened, staring ahead.

— Because of the “excessive emotionality of the doctors,” they’ve appointed a temporary… curator, — Rengin turned back toward the window. — Officially, “a temporary overseer of the treatment process.” In practice… — she sighed, — someone who will interfere in every single decision we make.

— And do you think he… — Ahu trailed off.

— After today, I’m not sure of anything, — Rengin confessed, moving closer to the window. — I have a feeling this man isn’t coming here only to work.

Ahu caught something else in her tone — as though behind this name lay more than they knew. She lowered her head in silence. She burned with the urge to leave the office and start digging for information, but she couldn’t leave without permission. She couldn’t leave Rengin alone.

***

…She hadn’t left his side since the operation. Gülçiçek sat by her husband’s bed, guarding his sleep… except that a faint half-smile lingered on his lips. She shook her head from her chair and chuckled. Clearly, he was dreaming of something.

And in his dream he was in uniform — a sharp jacket, white shirt, belt, badge. Inspector Reha stood in the middle of a pier, staring at Gülçiçek. She held an oversized hat in her hands, pretending not to notice him.

— You are under arrest, madam, — his voice was deep, a little hoarse.

She turned to him with a dramatic gasp, lifting her hands and waving the hat.

— On what grounds? — she protested theatrically, but her eyes sparkled.

— On the grounds that you’ve disobeyed both your husband and your doctor, — he stepped closer, — I’ll have to place you in isolation.

— And where exactly will you… isolate me? — her brows arched.

— On a deserted island, — Reha smirked. — No witnesses. Just you, me… and handcuffs.

— That’s abuse of authority, — she barely held back a laugh, fanning herself with the big hat.

— It’s family therapy, — he countered, snatching the hat and tossing it aside. Then he clicked the cuffs shut, fastening them gently around her wrists.

He was clearly dreaming of something interesting. Gülçiçek laughed softly, watching him. Reha shifted slightly in his sleep as if about to dance, mumbling something.

— And what are you dreaming about, professor? — she whispered, stroking his hand as she bent closer.

— Inspector. For you, I’m Inspector Reha, madam, — Reha blinked awake, focusing on her.

He smiled. Smiled so sincerely that tears welled in her eyes.

— A dream, — he muttered. — But, — he winked, — we could always… well… reenact it.

— Reha! — she burst out laughing, shaking her head, but her eyes lit up. She leaned close. — Want me to wear the red nightgown?

At that moment, the door opened slightly, and Bahar appeared on the threshold. She froze, realizing she had interrupted them.

— I… uh… may I? — she asked carefully, hesitating at the door.

Gülçiçek straightened immediately, fussing with her hair, while Reha cleared his throat, putting on a mask of professional seriousness.

— Of course, come in, — he said, but shot his wife a quick glance, as though silently promising to bring that dream to life.

Bahar stepped closer.

— You’re looking in excellent shape today, professor, — she smiled, unaware of the blush rising to her cheeks.

— Just keeping the standard high, — he replied innocently.

Gülçiçek couldn’t help a quiet laugh behind her hand. Bahar, sensing it was better not to know what exactly he meant, chose not to ask. A warmth spread through her — so much that it seemed even the machines were beeping more cheerfully. She decided to retreat quickly, not to disturb them. As she slipped out, she thought that perhaps she should learn that kind of lightness from them…

***

And yet, that lightness stayed with her. Bahar was smiling as she walked down the corridor. She turned a corner and saw Jennifer.

She was standing by Bahar’s office, her shoulder against the wall, staring at a single point without blinking.

Bahar’s steps faltered. They hadn’t spoken in months — not since the day of her almost-wedding to Evren, and then his departure for America. Their separation had everything to do with Jennifer’s name.