The anesthesiologist nodded. The assistants rushed into motion, someone was taking samples. Uraz didn’t catch the details. To him, there was only one thing: the fetus was gone, the mother was the priority. As if it was Bahar herself being diagnosed. He wasn’t waiting to hear “we’ll stabilize her,” he wanted to hear “we saved her.”

— Patient to the ICU, — Bahar stepped back from the table. — Vitals monitored every hour. Transplantologist on watch!

Bahar pulled off her gloves and cap, tossing them into the bin for used materials. She tried not to look at her son. She could feel his panic crawling under her skin, and she walked out of the operating room, slipping off her sterile gown.

The moment she stepped into the corridor, the patient’s husband lunged toward her. With a trembling hand, he grabbed her by the elbow, forcing Bahar to flinch back.

— What’s with my wife? What? — he towered over her, almost pressing her back.

— The baby is gone, — her voice was steady, even, despite her heavy breathing. — We lost him. Right now our only priority is your wife.

— She’s alive? — he screamed. — My wife is alive?

He gripped her shoulders, nearly shoving her into the wall.

— Careful, — Uraz, barely out of the OR, rushed toward them. — Let her go! Your wife is alive!

The man unclenched his hands, and Bahar stepped a little aside, wincing slightly.

— And the baby? — he seemed unable to process. — He’s gone, you took him out, didn’t you?

— No, — Bahar gave a faint shake of her head. — We’re stabilizing your wife. Not yet, the risk of bleeding is too high.

— Take him out! Now! You must… you’re obliged to get the baby out! — the man shouted.

— We can’t right now, — she tried to keep her tone calm.

Uraz stayed close, making sure the man couldn’t touch Bahar.

— But he’s still inside! You have to remove him! Now! He’ll kill her, — the man clutched his hair. — He’ll kill her, kill her. How…, — he took a step toward Bahar, and she moved back, — how can she, — his eyes locked on hers, — how can she carry him inside, dead?

— This is always how it’s done, — Bahar kept her hands close to her chest, almost like in prayer, trying to explain. — We need to stabilize her. Blood pressure, liver function, bloodwork, — she exhaled. — When it’s safe, we’ll induce labor. Not today, — she shook her head, — tomorrow. One day. We have no right to risk her life now.

— A whole day… with a dead baby… inside…, — he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

— It’s the only chance for her to survive, — Bahar said, turned, and walked away.

The man covered his face with his hands, leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. Uraz himself struggled to breathe, watching Bahar leave. It was as if he were in that man’s place… as if it were her… Bahar in the ICU, with a dead baby inside her, as if they were trying to stabilize her… everything was repeating, only worse…

***

Why was it so hard to accept death. No, she couldn’t say she had failed… on the contrary, she had done everything she could. Bahar brushed her hand across her face in a familiar motion, not noticing her fingers were trembling. The bright white light of the corridor burned her eyes. The woman lived, but her child… the child remained inside, a dead weight in the mother’s womb.

For a moment, Bahar touched the wall, slowed down, leaning slightly forward. Just for a moment, then she exhaled and straightened slowly. Inside, everything was churning, but her gaze stayed collected, her face devoid of any emotion. Taking a few more steps, she noticed him.

Sert Kaya stood by the wall, as if just waiting for someone or simply passing by. His hands were down, his look calm, even indifferent, but far too fixed, too sharp to be accidental.

Bahar’s eyes skimmed over him, quickly, almost indifferently, as she would over any other colleague. She slid her hands into the pockets of her coat and walked past. She didn’t even want to think what he might have seen: her trembling, her turmoil, her pain or exhaustion. She simply walked past him, and he remained by the wall, not moving an inch, as if he had already become an unseen, inseparable part of this corridor… of the hospital.

***

Evren, making sure Mert’s breathing had evened out, stepped into the corridor, leaving Siren in the nursery. He smiled, ran a hand through his hair, as if shaking off a light wave of bliss. Siren and Uraz’s children, Bahar’s grandchildren, affected him in a strange way. He had never imagined how sweet being around little ones could feel, even though Mert wasn’t feeling too well.

Evren walked past Bahar’s bedroom, but didn’t go in — he didn’t want to be there without her. He drew in a sharp breath, and memories of the night flooded him at once. Everything that had happened behind those closed doors still stirred his mind, making him long for the moment when they would once again vanish behind them together. But for now, it was only a desire — Bahar was still at work… and he caught himself realizing he already missed her. He longed to hold her, kiss her, and he rolled his shoulders as if to shrug off the spell.

Evren went downstairs with brisk steps and saw Umay in the living room. She was holding Leyla, and the girl, noticing him, immediately reached her arms out to him. Evren broke into a wide smile and moved closer, but before he could take her, the vibration of his phone in his pocket stopped him.

Evren pulled out his phone. Glancing at the screen, he hesitated for a couple of seconds, then answered.

— Cem? — he said quietly, and Umay flinched, looking at him.

Evren turned away at once, realizing his mistake, but it was too late. Umay had heard and understood who was calling him.

— You live with her now, don’t you? With them? — Cem blurted instead of greeting. — You’ve got a new family now, right? You told me you’d stay with me, but you left, you sent that guy for your suitcase! You abandoned me, Evren! You left me all alone! You promised you’d help me!

Evren turned back, met Umay’s gaze, and clenched his teeth. How could he have been so careless?

— I said I’d be there for you, — Evren replied quietly, stepping a little farther away, though Umay instinctively followed, holding Leyla in her arms.

— There for me?! — Cem’s voice erupted from the phone. — Where are you right now? You’re with her, with them, not with me! You should’ve stopped me! You’re my big brother! You should’ve!

— I’m not your father, Cem, — Evren’s voice was firm. — You hacked the system, you made that choice yourself, no one forced you, — he reminded him, struggling to keep calm, aware that Umay was right behind him. — Those were your actions, and you’ll answer for them yourself.

Cem said nothing, only his heavy breathing came through the line.

— So you did abandon me! — he shouted.

— No, — Evren answered softly. — If you want me to stay by your side, stop blaming others for your mistakes. Start thinking.

Cem hung up, and the busy signal hummed in Evren’s ear. He exhaled, slipped the phone back into his pocket, and turned around. Leyla blinked sleepily but was still reaching for him with curiosity.

— May I? — Evren asked quietly.

Umay nodded and handed him the little girl. He pulled Leyla close, her warm breath brushing his neck. Something flipped inside him — he had never held his own child like this… would he never? His eyes turned red, and he looked at Umay. Her eyes, too, were shimmering with tears. He knew she had heard the whole conversation.

— He yelled at you, — she whispered, clearing her throat.

Evren nodded, holding Leyla tighter against his chest.

— He called out for you, — she went on, wiping a tear from her cheek.

Evren flinched at her words. For the first time he saw how much Bahar’s daughter had grown. Just yesterday she was a teenager, and now a young woman stood before him — her gaze filled with jealousy, pain, disappointment, and yet still the tenderness she felt for Cem, as well as the bitter understanding that it all already belonged to the past.

— Strange, isn’t it, — she suddenly smiled, — he calls for you, and here you are, holding another man’s daughter like she’s your own.

Evren wanted to say something, but no words came, so he just pressed Leyla tighter to his chest. Umay turned away, sobbed softly, for the first time letting it show — how much it hurt her. Evren wanted to reach for her, to hold her, but it was too late — she had already disappeared into the living room…

***

She wanted to disappear from everyone. Bahar stepped into her office, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it with her back, eyes shut. She stood like that for several minutes, then walked over to the chair and sank into it, as if she no longer had the strength to stand. Bahar covered her face with her hands, her shoulders trembling slightly, her breath uneven.

Two children… two children in one day. And now Mert was ill. She pulled her hands away, her gaze freezing in place. She stared at a single point. Her own words still rang in her ears — the mother is the priority — as if she had given up, as if she had stopped fighting for life itself. A shiver ran through her body, her chest tightened so much she could hardly breathe.

A child… what if it were me lying there… what if right now I were in the ICU… and our child was already dead? And Evren was waiting patiently, stabilizing me, only to later induce labor. She shut her eyes, turned her head slightly, and pressed her palm over her mouth, as if to stop a silent scream. She didn’t want to imagine it… but she couldn’t help it, images flashed before her one after another — the horror that would crush everyone she loved.

I am a mother. I am a grandmother. I have two grown children, I should be thinking of them… but why am I still thinking of another child? Could I really still give birth? No.

Bahar rose from the chair and walked to the sink. She turned on the water but didn’t move. She just watched as it spiraled down the drain, standing there, breathing. Then slowly she lifted her head and looked into the mirror. Red eyes, tense shoulders, dark shadows beneath them.

Uraz will ask… of course he will ask. And I will have to answer. What will I tell him? That I want a child from a man he refuses to accept? That I’m once again thinking of being a mother… but what responsibility is that, what kind of example am I setting… if I myself act so irresponsibly?

Bahar scooped up water in her hands and splashed it onto her face, once, twice, again. The water steadied her a little — her pallor remained, her breathing still uneven, but at least she could stand, still gripping the sink. Once more she met her own eyes in the mirror. Her hand trembled as she lifted it, fingertips brushing her temple, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She traced her cheek lightly, as if checking whether she had gone mad.

Will this be the end of me, of Evren, of my children, of all of us?

She stared into her reflection, the rush of water drowning out the pounding in her ears. Her heart tightened, her chest constricted, and still she couldn’t look away — as if her reflection could answer all her questions. Bahar shut her eyes, breaking the contact. She refused to look at the madness that sometimes flickered in her gaze.

— Enough, — she whispered, exhaled, opened her eyes again. Pressing her hand to her chest, she tried to quiet the ache. Bahar turned off the water and returned to her desk, sinking back into the chair. — Enough, — she repeated, as if ordering herself not to think anymore.

The office fell into silence, her thoughts swirling in fevered chaos, bewilderment shadowing her face… and only a knock at the door forced her to transform at once. She straightened, adjusted her coat, her face wiped clean of all emotion, her eyes calm as she looked toward the door.

— Come in, — even her voice gave nothing away of the storm inside her.

***

Inside, the room was filled with soft light. On the nightstand sat a glass of water and a magazine. Reha, propped up slightly on the pillows, sat in bed. He was just about to reach for his notebook and pen when Gülçiçek caught his hand.

— Not now, — she asked quietly, — listen to the doctor first.

Serhat checked his pulse, then leaned in, pressed the stethoscope to the professor’s chest, and listened to his heart. He stayed silent for a few seconds, focusing on the rhythm, then straightened and nodded.

— Blood pressure is stable, rhythm steady, — he exhaled. — The stitches are clean, healing without signs of infection. No swelling.

Reha narrowed his eyes slightly, and Gülçiçek looked ready to smack him with the newspaper she was holding.

— That means the main work is done, — Serhat nodded. — Your heart is coping. — He took the tablet and checked the readings. — In a couple of days, we’ll be able to discharge you.

— A couple of days? — Reha frowned slightly. — Why not tomorrow? — he waved his hand. — I feel better than my assistants after an exam.

— You just had heart surgery, Reha, — Gülçiçek squeezed his hand. — Please, listen to the doctor.

— I am listening, — he smiled, lifting his brows. — He said “a couple of days,” I’m just suggesting we round down.

— And I suggest we stick to the classic version, — Serhat tried not to smile. — The body needs time to adapt, the load on the heart needs to distribute, and the stitches should heal in peace. We don’t want to test all that at home right away, professor, do we?

— Exactly, — Gülçiçek jumped in, leaning closer to her husband. — He said a couple of days, so a couple of days it is.

— So that’s marriage…, — Reha sighed theatrically, — now I’ve got two professors — one in medicine, the other in family life.

— And both want you alive and well, — Gülçiçek cut him off, but her voice carried tenderness.

— Then I surrender, — he smiled, squeezing her hand. — Alright, professor, I’ll listen to the doctor.

— That’s more like it, — Serhat nodded. — The main condition for discharge is not only stable vitals, but also the patient’s willingness to cooperate.

— Two against one, — Reha grumbled anyway, and Gülçiçek smacked his hand to silence him.

— So listen, — she smiled at Serhat, and he almost burst out laughing. He was beginning to recognize someone in her. — Stop arguing with doctors!

Serhat finally laughed, shook his head, and left. Now he was certain of where Bahar had inherited some of her traits.

Gülçiçek smiled with satisfaction, glad the last word had been hers. Reha huffed theatrically, but his eyes shone with warmth…

***

— Where are you dragging me? — Umay sniffled, wiping her eyes.

— Quiet, — Parla whispered, tugging her along. — Come on, or we’ll miss it.

— Miss what? — Umay pressed, but still followed her sister.

— Look, — Parla peeked around the corner, then quickly ducked back. — Careful, — she warned.

On tiptoe, Umay slipped past her and glanced around the corner. Nevra was sneaking toward the gate, moving slowly, glancing over her shoulder. She waved her hands as if she had forgotten something, then fanned her face as though trying to steady herself, but the smile on her lips never left.

— See that? — Parla tried to peek over Umay’s shoulder. — Where’s she sneaking off to, all dressed up like that? — she whispered.

— Quiet, you, — Umay hissed this time, elbowing her in the side.

The thought of Cem flew from her mind the moment Parla pulled her into the little adventure. Together, they leaned out again. Nevra scanned her surroundings, but didn’t notice them, and slipped out of the yard. The girls dashed to the gate and stopped just short of it. Catching their breath, they peeked carefully outside.

Nevra slid toward a parked car a little way down the street. Black, big, tinted windows. The door swung open from the inside, and she darted into the front seat. The girls exchanged a look, then crouched and crept closer to the car.

Ismail was behind the wheel. Nevra threw her hands up and clasped them to her chest.

— I wanted to bring… — he faltered, turned more toward her, — ice cream, — he paused, then went on. — Dondurma. With pistachio, you said you liked it, but it’s too hot, it would’ve melted before I got here, — he explained almost apologetically. — I just thought… maybe you’d want something sweet.

Nevra lit up at his words, her eyes falling to the box on his lap, then lifting back to him.

— You’re like a boy, — she whispered, glancing nervously back toward the house.

— And you’re like a girl sneaking out, — Ismail replied.

Nevra blushed, lowering her gaze.

— I don’t know if this is right, — she murmured, twisting her hands in her lap. — Times are so heavy… and Mert is sick.

Ismail reached for her hand at once, his palm covering hers.

— And I barely convinced you to see me, — he said softly. — I’m still afraid you won’t come next time.

She stayed quiet, squeezing his hand.

— At the hospital… — he remembered suddenly, — there’ll be changes. The board wants to revise the protocols, — he told her. — I thought you should know…

Catching her eyes, he faltered.

— Sorry, — he added. — I forget everything when you’re near.

Nevra lowered her head, smiling faintly.

— Sometimes… that’s not such a bad thing, — she whispered, meeting his gaze, not looking away. — I just don’t know if it’s right… for us to meet.

— What’s right is that you came, — he answered at once, his voice rising slightly. — I already feel better just seeing you.

— And I want something sweet, — Nevra murmured, giving him a meaningful look.

Ismail’s eyes widened slightly, his breath heavy, then he came to himself, picked up the box and offered it to her.

— Today — with rose water, — his voice roughened.

Nevra took the box from his hands and opened it: lokum dusted with powdered sugar. She picked a piece, brought it to her lips, closed her eyes as she savored the taste, then licked her lips and the tips of her fingers. Their eyes met — they laughed, then suddenly grew quiet, just staring at one another.

— How long are we going to keep being afraid of each other? — he blurted.

— What if this is wrong? — she lowered her head again, ashamed.

— Maybe it’s exactly right, — he said quietly. — Because if you wait for the “right time,” it’ll never come.

Nevra looked at him, anxiety swirling in her eyes.

— Ismail… — she whispered. — We’re not children.

— Exactly, — he answered. — Which means we have less time than children.

They fell silent again, breathing in the scent of rose water and sugar.

— Who’s she with? — Umay whispered, unable to make out the figures in the car.

— A man? — Parla leaned against her shoulder.

— Yes, — Umay turned to her. — It’s definitely a secret date, — she whispered, her eyes gleaming.

— She’s a grown-up, — Parla countered. — You think she doesn’t care about dates? — doubt lingered in her voice.

— Well clearly she does, — Umay scoffed. — Look.

Again they leaned toward the car window, peeking, trying to see. They couldn’t hear the words, only saw their hands reaching for each other, then pulling away again…

***

The corridor stretched out like a long white ribbon. Bahar walked slowly, as if her legs refused to obey her.

— Come on, — Rengin touched her elbow lightly, urging her forward.

— I still have protocols… — Bahar began automatically.

— Protocols can wait, — Rengin cut her off gently. — Right now, something else matters more.

Bahar sighed, knowing she was right. She had nearly forgotten what was important… and this was greater than her own turmoil. Yet something else gnawed at her: she had been avoiding Cagla’s questions all day, and now it felt like she was being led to the scaffold — straight into her room. As if on cue, Cagla immediately sat up higher against the pillows when they entered. And Rengin closed the door behind them, cutting off any escape.

— Just in time, — Cagla placed her book on the nightstand. — The results will be here soon.

Bahar, running on autopilot, took the chart, opened her tablet, not noticing the glance exchanged between Cagla and Rengin. Cagla gave the faintest nod, silently asking, and Rengin shook her head. Bahar ignored them, eyes fixed on the data.

— Bahar, — Rengin touched her shoulder, — you’re the reason Cagla is here now, with hope. Don’t forget that.

Bahar set the tablet aside and nodded. She avoided Cagla’s gaze, but Cagla gestured, patting the bed.

— Come here, my little bird, come, come, — she coaxed, eyes narrowing playfully.

— Please, — Bahar pleaded, — I beg you, — she waved her hands, as if that could shut the conversation down. — Let’s just wait for the results. — She shoved her hands into her coat pockets but didn’t sit on the bed.

— Fine, — Cagla nodded. — If you’d rather stand, so be it.

Bahar flushed, gesturing helplessly.

— Well, out with it, how did it happen? — Cagla looked at her with a smile.

— How did what happen? — Bahar pretended not to understand what they wanted from her.

— Don’t play dumb, — Rengin nudged her with her shoulder. — That ring on your finger didn’t just appear by itself.

At once Bahar hid her hand in her pocket.

— God, you’re like children, — she muttered, then fell silent. — How it happened, how it happened… — she repeated more quietly.

— Come on, — Cagla laughed. — You’re a bride again. Tell us how you rewound everything back to the proposal moment. I want every detail, — she folded her arms. — Did Evren get down on one knee again?

— Cagla! — Bahar blushed furiously.

— Alright, alright, — she waved a hand. — You haven’t registered yet, have you? It wasn’t like “sign here and put on the ring,” was it?

Rengin burst into laughter. Bahar froze, struck dumb, glancing from one to the other.

— I wouldn’t be surprised, — Cagla went on. — That’s exactly Evren’s style.

— I’m not discussing this! — Bahar’s voice trembled.

— Fine, — Cagla dragged out the word. — Then tell me this — what’s next? Where are you two going to live?

— You have a house, he has an apartment, — Rengin teased, nudging Bahar again.

— What makes you think we’re even living together? — Bahar snapped.

— So, at your place, then, — Cagla smiled, eyes fixed on her friend.

— That doesn’t mean anything! — Bahar’s cheeks flushed crimson.

— Oh, it means something, — Cagla nodded. — The ring says it all. — She smirked. — And the bedroom too — or is our professor still sulking and sleeping on the couch?

— You’re impossible! — Bahar covered her face with her hands.

— No, we’re just curious, — Rengin shrugged. — Are you happy now?

— Happy? — Bahar’s voice rose, trembling. — Happy? — she began pacing the room. — Happy that my children look at me as if I’m committing a crime?

Cagla and Rengin exchanged a glance, but stayed silent. They had achieved their goal — Bahar was finally talking.

— Uraz looks like a thundercloud, Umay’s still keeping quiet, Siren keeps sighing, Nevra… — Bahar faltered, spreading her hands. — Even the grandkids, — she gestured toward the window, — they can’t even speak yet, but they look at me like they understand everything. Everything! How am I supposed to even walk into the house, when Evren leads me to the bedroom in front of everyone, and he doesn’t know how to be quiet and—? — She flushed, pressed her palms to her cheeks, stopped by the window and fell silent, staring out at the outline of the city. — And I haven’t even gone to see my mother yet, — she finished.

— Well, Mama Gülçiçek certainly won’t judge you, — Cagla spoke up.

Bahar flinched and turned toward them.

— You have the right to love, Bahar, — Cagla said softly, calmly, and Bahar’s breathing slowly steadied.

— I know! — the words tore out of Bahar. — But I feel like it’s written across my forehead — she chose Evren again.

— But you did choose him, — Rengin touched her shoulder.

— I… — Bahar’s voice broke. — God, — she sank onto a chair. — I don’t even know what I want, and Evren… he started talking about a child. He wants one, and I… I don’t even know how to go back home, — she confessed.

— You’re just afraid, — Cagla tried to rise, but Rengin lifted her hand, stopping her.

— Fear is part of choosing too, — Rengin said.

Bahar brushed her fingertips at the corners of her eyes, wiping away the tears that had welled up, her lips trembling into the faintest smile.

— You two are impossible, — she whispered, her voice caught between laughter and tears, and she exhaled.

— No, you’re incredible, my little bird, — Cagla stretched out her hand, and Bahar rose and came closer. — You’re the one who gave me hope, this miracle is yours, Bahar, — she placed Bahar’s hand over her belly.

The door cracked open, and an assistant brought in a paper. Rengin took it and passed it to Bahar. Cagla froze in anticipation. Bahar glanced down and closed her eyes.

— It doubled, — she breathed, opening them again.

Tears welled in Cagla’s eyes. Rengin smiled. Bahar bent over, pressing her cheek gently against Cagla’s belly, careful not to push too hard.

— And by the way, Bahar, I want details, — Cagla broke the silence. — I’ve earned the right, I’m officially pregnant. You can’t deny me.

Bahar didn’t move, too comforted by the sound of her friend’s breathing.

— We’re adults, calm down, — Bahar muttered.

— Adults kiss too, — Cagla teased. — Stop being a walking protocol!

— I don’t know what to tell you! — Bahar straightened, her voice cracking. — I don’t even understand what comes next!

— Let’s see, patient: Evren, — Cagla lifted her hand and started counting on her fingers. — Complaints: jealous, stubborn, demands constant attention.

— Enough! — Bahar shot to her feet.

— Now that’s more like the real Bahar! — Rengin quipped.

— You’re in cahoots! — Bahar exclaimed.

— Of course, — Rengin moved closer, keeping Cagla from rising at all. — Let’s be honest, you do want to be with him?

— I do, — Bahar admitted, her shoulders dropping. — And I’m afraid I can’t give him what he wants, — she paused. — He wants a child.

— You can be afraid together, — Cagla adjusted her pillow. — Just talk to him about it.

Bahar flinched, turned toward Cagla. She stared at her for a long time before answering:

— That’s all I do, talk and talk and talk, — she confessed. — Maybe that’s enough interrogation. — She crossed her arms in silent plea. — You’ve turned this into a council and an audit of my life — stop it, please. — She lifted her hand with the ring. — This doesn’t solve everything, it’s just a step.

— Of course not, — Cagla smiled. — It just means he’ll start chasing after you again, like before.

Bahar froze; Cagla’s words tugged at something tender inside her, but Rengin’s added with a sly grin:

— Bringing you breakfast trays in bed.

Bahar threw up her hands and stared at them. Cagla and Rengin exchanged a look.

— Please stop, — Bahar begged.

— No, you stop hiding, — Rengin said softly.

Bahar looked at her, still refusing to let herself even smile.

— By the way, — Cagla’s brows arched — I feel great, my HCG is rising, so why the long faces? One miracle inside me, — she placed her hands on her belly and looked at Bahar, — and another on your finger. Excellent statistics, Doctor Bahar.

— We are happy, darling, — Bahar managed a smile. — Just a little tired.

— I wonder, — Cagla stroked her stomach, — who else will add to my statistics?

Bahar tensed instantly, Rengin paled.

— Honestly, Bahar, you’re so unfair, — Cagla pouted. — You’ve denied me every detail. I know how romantic Evren can be, and you tell me nothing!

Bahar rolled her eyes. Again, the conversation circled back to her and Evren.

— You two act like teenagers, — she muttered.

— And you act like you’re not even a woman, — Rengin pouted, — let us dream a little, that after forty you can still wear a ring again.

They laughed, and Bahar laughed with them — for the first time that day, her laughter was light, real. She seemed to forget about loss, as if life itself insisted on moving forward.

— I’m a little nervous, though, — Cagla admitted, and Bahar exhaled with relief that, for once, the question wasn’t about her. — Will I manage on my own?

— I raised Parla alone, — Rengin sat on a chair. — It’s possible. Not easy, not simple, but possible.

— But Bahar’s the one who has it “by the book”: husband, family, children, grandchildren, and now a professor at her side, — Cagla looked at her warmly.

— Cagla, please, stop. Nothing about my life is right. I’m terrified of everything. Stop. — This time there was no joke in her voice.

— You know what I’d wish for? — Cagla asked quietly. — That all three of us had bellies. That we gave birth together, and our children grew up together.

Rengin went pale again. Bahar grew serious, withdrawing, her gaze dimming.

— Three pregnant women? — her voice carried hesitation. — But not all of us are meant to give birth.

The room fell silent. Cagla reached for Bahar’s hand and squeezed it. Rengin came closer and embraced her. For a while, they stayed that way in silence — each with her own story, her own fears. And in that moment, none of them tried to wear a mask. They were simply together, three women who understood one another without words.

***

The house was full of women, but the kitchen was occupied by Evren. He sliced bread with movements too neat, too surgical. The tablecloth was crooked, and he straightened it automatically — as if it, too, were an operating table.