The sun had set, and the air had grown thicker, cooler. Bahar wanted to walk over to the chair and grab the blanket to throw it over her shoulders, but she just stood there, watching Evren, knowing the conversation was inevitable. Evren was pacing the yard with quick, nervous steps.

— You knew… — he began, — you knew that Meryem was already here! You saw her! — Evren stopped two steps away from her, as if he didn’t want to come closer, as if he were deliberately keeping his distance. — You knew, and you didn’t tell me!

Bahar wrapped her arms around herself and sighed.

— Do you tell me everything? — a hint of reproach flashed in her eyes.

— That’s completely different, — Evren blinked, jerking his head as if she had struck him.

— Everything is different with you, Evren, — she took a step toward him. — Turns out you have another brother, — she added right away. — A nephew. An aunt. America. A posting — she listed, yet didn’t move any closer.

Evren lifted his hand as if to reach for her palm, his fingers trembling… and Bahar stepped back. His expression changed instantly. That was enough — she’d avoided his touch. Evren clenched his fingers into a fist before lowering his hand.

— I didn’t invite them here! — his voice nearly cracked; he was barely keeping control.

— You’re the one who started the research!

— Yes, — Bahar raised her chin, looking him straight in the eyes, — but you said in front of everyone that you would’ve approved my proposal, — she reminded him.

Evren took a step toward her and froze, stopping just a few centimeters away.

— Yes, — he forced through his teeth, — but not like this, not with her right there, — he turned, looking toward the house where Meryem was staying. — Do you even realize what she did? She… — Evren didn’t finish.

— And now she’s here, — Bahar cut him off. — Your aunt lives right next door. So what now, Evren? You don’t have to talk to her. If you don’t want to — don’t!

— You don’t understand, — Evren shouted. — You didn’t tell me!

— And when, Evren?! — she stepped closer, but he recoiled. — When we were eating kebab? Or when I was torturing you with lemons? Or when you turned the morning into a zoo?! When?

— Don’t turn everything into a joke, — Evren snapped.

— I wasn’t trying to joke! — Bahar grabbed the blanket from the chair and threw it over her shoulders. — Your aunt is here, your new brother, your nephew — all of them within three houses! And on top of that, it turns out that Reha is your brother’s father! Carter Özkan’s father is Reha!

— I didn’t know that! — Evren yelled. — And I didn’t call them here!

— Then go and tell them that! Why are you asking me? — Bahar pressed forward. — This is your family!

— No! — Evren cried out. — They betrayed me. Do you even understand what that means? She abandoned me and my sister!

— And do you understand that I’m a person too?! — she stepped forward and pressed her hand against his chest.

— You don’t understand, — Evren began.

His gaze dropped to her belly; he stepped forward, reaching for her hand.

— Don’t touch me like that, — Bahar cried out, stepping away. — I understand you very well. You don’t see me right now. At all! You’re not looking at me — you’re looking at the baby.

— I just… I’m worried. I don’t want to cause any harm, — Evren paled, recoiling as if she’d struck him.

— And do you understand that I’m a living person! — Bahar cut him off. — I’m not your patient, not your project, not… — she faltered, then inhaled, — I’m not a vessel, Evren! I’m not a risk zone!

Evren’s face drained of color. His gaze dropped to her belly again, then climbed back to her eyes.

— I don’t see you like that, — his voice trembled.

— You do! — Bahar said firmly. — You look at me and check if I’m breathing normally, if I’m worried or not. You keep touching my belly as if I’ve stopped existing for you!

Evren stepped toward her immediately, but as if hitting an invisible wall, stopped short.

— I bought toys for you, — he burst out, not understanding her accusations.

— You bought them for the baby! — she struggled to keep her voice steady. — I didn’t ask for them!

— Do you have to ask me? — Evren exploded. — Am I not allowed to buy something on my own for my woman who’s carrying my child? Do I have to ask your permission for everything, Bahar? — He glared at her from under his brows. — Do I need your approval for everything now?

Bahar fell silent, breathing heavily, staring into his eyes.

— You knew about Meryem, and you stayed silent, Bahar, — Evren shook his head. — That’s my wound, my childhood, my past!

— And who am I, then? — Bahar snapped. — Just a surgeon who isn’t allowed to know your past? Or the woman you love? Or just the one carrying your child?

— Don’t say that, — Evren flinched. — I’m just scared for you!

— And am I allowed to be scared? — Bahar asked. — Or is my job to soothe your past, your secrets, your anger, your guilt?

Evren reached out, intending to touch her shoulder, but she caught his wrist.

— Don’t touch me right now! — she looked straight into his eyes.

— Then tell me… what do you want? — pain and anger churned in his eyes, and he couldn’t decide which one to surrender to.

Taking advantage of his confusion, Bahar stepped aside.

— I want you to see me, not just the baby, — she whispered.

— You’re being unfair, Bahar, — Evren started.

— What? — she interrupted him.

— You… — Evren didn’t finish; the sudden ringing of his phone cut him off.

They both flinched as if struck by lightning. Evren pulled out his phone, glanced at the screen. His face changed instantly.

— Don’t answer, not now, — Bahar asked quietly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.

Evren looked at her, and she already saw his decision in his eyes. Bahar closed her eyes for a moment; she already knew what he would say… she herself would have answered the same way, but right now she wanted only one thing — for him to stay with her, just stay by her side, just hold her, even though she didn’t want it a moment ago, just to calm her.

— I’m a doctor, — she heard exactly what she expected.

— And I’m not? — she asked quietly, opening her eyes.

— But they’re not calling you, — Evren still held the phone, not answering.

— But you’re the chief physician now, — she almost smirked, stepping back into the shadow of the house.

— Starting tomorrow, — Evren frowned.

— And today? — she asked softly, leaning against the wall of the house as if she needed the support. — Today can you still stay with me? — she didn’t say with us.

The call ended. Evren swallowed hard and looked at Bahar… for a couple of seconds they just stood there in silence… he almost stepped toward her, but the phone rang again. Persistent, loud, like a verdict. Evren glanced at the screen, then at Bahar, then back at the phone. He tapped the screen to accept the call and turned away from her.

Bahar watched his back, pulling the blanket tighter around herself; she saw how his shoulders tensed, how his spine grew even straighter. She heard fragments — numbers, bad, transplant, prepare the OR… and that final on my way nearly knocked the ground from under her feet, but she stayed standing. Evren hung up and turned to her. They looked each other in the eyes. She was pale as a wall. He was barely holding himself together, balancing on the edge.

— I have to go, — he said in a voice stripped of all emotion.

— You always leave, — Bahar whispered. — You run.

— It’s surgery, Bahar, an urgent one, — Evren shoved the phone into his pocket. — A liver transplant. I can’t…

— You can, — Bahar cut him off. — You’re very good at running, Evren. At leaving me exactly where it hurts you the most.

— And what do you expect to solve right now?! — Evren stepped toward her.

— How we’re supposed to live next to all these people! Your family suddenly decided to settle in our town! — she reminded him. — Your brother is Reha’s son. We can’t ignore all this, Evren! Reha is my mother’s husband, — she repeated, as if he could have forgotten. — And I have no idea what’s going on with them now, after your aunt kissed Reha right in front of my mother! — Bahar shook herself back to their fight, but Evren’s next words pulled her in again.

— Nothing. I don’t want to see them, hear them, know them. I won’t talk to them! — he said sharply. — This concerns the professor, not me! It’s his life!

— But they’re already here, Evren, — Bahar wouldn’t let it go. — They’re near us, we’re going to meet them whether you want it or not, — she said in one breath. — You’re running from the problem again, just like you ran from me, flew to America, — she added barely audibly.

— And what do you want me to say?! — Evren flinched as if struck, turning to her. — That I’m happy Meryem is here? That I should drop a surgery for the sake of a conversation that will end with your “you’re not listening to me” anyway?!

— Because you don’t! — Bahar insisted. — You slam the door, you leave, you disappear, you hide in the OR! You… — she didn’t finish.

— No, — Evren cut her off, — you’re the one who never chooses me! — he declared. — Everyone else first, then me!

Her breath hitched. Her hand dropped to her belly. Evren’s expression changed; she immediately pulled her hand away, not wanting to play or manipulate with the pregnancy… and he, instinctively, had already taken a step toward her, then stopped, afraid to hurt her with words.

— You’re always touching my belly, — her voice cracked, — as if I don’t exist.

— You’re the only one in my life, Bahar, — Evren pointed toward where Meryem lived, — and she is not my aunt! I didn’t choose my family! She left us. Me, my sister, my mother. I don’t want them in my life!

— Do you think I met with Meryem just to hurt you? — Bahar almost dropped the blanket but caught it in time — and managed to recoil when Evren tried to help her with it. — I just wanted to help my patients become parents. And now, yes, — Bahar lifted her chin stubbornly, — now I want to know what happened between you, why she did what she did.

— Are you a doctor? — Evren stepped closer, — or the detective of my family?

— I’m a doctor! — Bahar wasn’t backing down. — And I’m your woman!

— A good woman would’ve told me where she was going and when! — Evren kept pressing.

— A good man would’ve told me about his brother! — she stepped toward him.

— He’s not my brother! — Evren leaned toward her, the distance between them almost gone.

— And your aunt’s son? — Bahar asked stubbornly.

— She’s not my aunt! — Evren snapped.

— You’re going to stay silent all your life, Evren? — she threw the words right into his eyes.

— Me?! — he laughed without joy. — You stayed silent about the pregnancy! — he reminded her.

— I’m not obligated to tell you in the first second, — she whispered, growing pale; her hands trembled, and she almost dropped the blanket. — I’m not obligated…

— And I am? — he stepped closer. — I’m obligated to say everything? To guess everything?

— You’re obligated to be honest! — Bahar nearly pushed her palms into his chest but held back, stepping away from him.

— Me? Honest? — his voice broke. — You went to Meryem and said nothing.

— You knew about them and said nothing, — Bahar stepped back slowly.

— You hid the meeting, Bahar, — he followed her step for step.

— You hid your family! — she kept moving back, looking him in the eyes. — We don’t have to be perfect! — she almost shouted.

His face changed, but he didn’t have time to respond — Siren burst out of the house, Uraz behind her, and Yusuf bringing up the rear. They all stopped beside him, looking at him with questions in their eyes…

***

Watching him, she slowly stepped outside barefoot. Her hair was slightly disheveled, tears stood frozen in her eyes, but Gulchichek wasn’t crying… She raised her hands, holding the shotgun, the barrel pointed straight at Reha as she moved toward him.

The old shotgun, almost a symbol of their family by now, had become a weapon of revenge. She cocked it and stopped in front of Reha. She looked at his face, into his eyes, at his lips that were moving but unable to form a single sound… and at last he whispered:

— Gulchichek, — Reha shook his head.

She took a step, and the barrel pressed straight into his chest, into his heart. Her hands did not tremble.

— You broke my heart, Reha, — her gaze was at once cold and burning. — And don’t you dare say you didn’t. It’s over.

Reha moved closer, but the barrel dug harder into his chest, right where his heart was beating.

— Then take mine, Gulchichek, — Reha whispered. — I can’t live without you.

She could feel his breath, but he made no move to take the shotgun from her. He just stood there in front of her, and from the pocket of his shirt peeped an unused plane ticket, the very one Meryem had slipped in there.

— You have love, Reha, — her lips twitched into a tired, broken smile. — A family. Your woman is there. Your son. Your grandson. Your Meryem is waiting for you. Your whole life is there now.

— No, Gulchichek, no, don’t say that, — Reha shook his head. — She’s my past. You are my present, you’re my future. You’re my only one.

She lifted her head, her eyes flashing.

— I saw everything, Reha, what do I need these pretty words for? Who would believe them? What woman trusts a man’s words? Show me she should. — Her voice stayed even, but inside everything shook from the emotions she was barely holding back. — It was too much, Reha. You two were kissing in front of everyone, right outside my daughter’s house, Reha!

— She kissed me, — he spoke as if every word cost him an effort.

— And you didn’t mind, — Gulchichek let out a bitter little laugh.

— Gulchichek, please, — he closed his eyes for a second. — Let’s talk, — he pleaded.

— We have nothing left to talk about, Reha, — she answered, without lowering the shotgun.

Reha reached out as if to touch her, but she didn’t let him; she pressed the barrel harder.

— I didn’t know she’d given birth, that I had a son, Gulchichek, — Reha whispered. — I certainly didn’t know about a grandson. I… I… — he was so lost that for a moment the shotgun in her hands wavered, — I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, — he admitted.

Gulchichek studied him closely; she saw immediately that his breathing had grown heavier, that he’d gone pale, but she didn’t try to calm him down or feel sorry for him.

— There’s nothing left to do, Reha, — she shook her head. — No need to raise anyone now. You got the full set.

— A family I didn’t know and never looked for? — he honestly didn’t understand.

— But they’re yours now, Reha, your own flesh and blood! — her hands trembled again, and she slowly lowered the shotgun, uncocking it. — And who am I now? — She placed the gun between them like a barrier, a line he wasn’t allowed to cross. — You touched her, Reha. I saw it all.

Reha dropped his gaze; he was ashamed to look her in the eye.

— Where you were, what you did — I didn’t see and I don’t know, — Gulchichek went on, — but I can imagine.

— Don’t, — his voice went hoarse. — Nothing happened, — he raised his eyes to hers. — Nothing happened, Gulchichek.

— That’s what you say, Reha, — she whispered, and he lowered his head as if he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes.

Gulchichek flinched, as if something inside her had snapped, shattered. She lifted the shotgun and held it out to him, the barrel now turned toward herself. Reha blinked, not understanding what she wanted from him.

— Take it, — Gulchichek whispered, her voice shaking. — Take it, — she demanded. — Take it, Reha! — She pressed the family shotgun into his hands the way she had once placed her palm in his. — Kill me, Reha, — she looked straight into his eyes, the barrel pointed at herself. — Make it stop hurting, stop being shameful, stop being so terrifying, stop being so unbearably lonely!

— I didn’t come for that, Gulchichek, — Reha whispered, lowering the shotgun. — You’re my wife. I came to beg for forgiveness. Help me… please, Gulchichek.

— You have Meryem, — she lifted a hand as if to block his words. — She’s your woman, your love, the mother of your son!

— Gulchichek, — Reha took a step, and his hand found hers; he squeezed her cold fingers. — Help me, I don’t know how to live from now on, — he confessed. — Help me with my son, with my grandson. I don’t know how to go to them, — he barely forced the words out. — I’m not going to hide them, I won’t lie to you. They exist, they’re in Istanbul, I found out today, Gulchichek. My son is over forty, and I’m only now finding out about him, — panic crept into his voice.

Gulchichek turned away, trying to free her hand, but he only tightened his grip.

— Your son has a mother, your grandson has a grandmother, you have someone to ask, — she said, without looking at him.

— Gulchichek, and you are my wife, — he lifted his hand and his fingers brushed her cheek. — You’re my wife, for better or worse, — he reminded her.

— And she’s your love! — she looked at him, tears glinting in her eyes.

— Past love, — he shook his head. — All of that is in the past. You’re the only one I love.

— But you kissed her, — she reminded him.

— How do I prove it to you? — he asked simply.

She slowly shook her head and gave him a look that killed without words.

— I don’t believe you anymore, Reha, — she whispered. — I don’t, — Gulchichek slowly turned and walked away.

She entered the house so quietly, as if she didn’t want to disturb even the walls. She closed the door softly, almost gently, so no one would hear it but her. She walked with a slight sway, like someone who had been holding on too long, hiding from others a pain that was tearing her apart from the inside.

By habit she made her way to the kitchen, to the place that smelled of tea and bread, where you could always hide behind chores, behind the motion of your hands… but now nothing could save her. She braced her palms against the table, bowed her head and closed her eyes.

The first sob came out quiet, almost soundless, as if she herself was afraid to hear it. The second was deeper; it came from her chest, and she bit her lip not to break down in tears… the third sob shattered her… cracked her open, and she sank onto the chair — her legs could no longer hold her. From outside, cold light from the streetlamp fell in through the windows, and that cold seeped into her to the bone.

— Why did you… — she whispered into the silence, — why did you do this to me…

She didn’t finish; she covered her face with trembling hands. Life had taught her to hold herself together, she was not a weak woman, but this blow had hit the mark. Right where there was no protection… right where she loved with all her heart. For the first time in many years she felt truly ashamed… not of what she had done… but of the fact that she had believed. She cried soundlessly, biting her lips until they bled… so that no one would hear her weeping, so that no one would ever know about her pain.

He stood by the door, stood without moving, as if he were still holding the shotgun pointed straight at her heart. The useless, heavy shotgun he was now leaning on. Reha couldn’t feel his fingers, couldn’t feel the cold, only that pinching, crushing tightness in his chest that made it hard to breathe.

He stared at the door — the same door she had just closed in his face. It was so close, and yet unapproachable, like a fortress he himself had destroyed from the inside.

— Gulchichek, — Reha breathed barely audibly, as if saying a prayer, but she didn’t hear, and he didn’t dare knock.

Reha sat down on the step and set the shotgun beside him. He ran a hand over his face, realizing that no excuses, no words, no gestures had any meaning now.

A man who had made it through years of practice, through surgeries, through bloody shifts, through a string of dying patients… was lost because of one woman… not just any woman… but his woman, that one. The one with whom he could be himself, with whom he could joke — and only she understood all his jokes. He leaned forward, lowered his head, and around him silence descended — so dense it felt like the whole world had frozen, just as he had.

Somewhere out there, beyond the gate, life went on, and he sat on the step — the very step where she had paused, turning back to look at him.

— Please, — Reha whispered, — believe me, Gulchichek.

He lifted his head and looked at the dark windows, at the place where his life was, his heart, his woman — but he had no access to her. From under the door came a barely audible sound… or maybe he only imagined it… imagined that a woman was crying inside… so quietly that no one could hear… and his chest was pierced, his heart squeezed as if in a vise.

Reha barely managed to hold himself back from bursting into the house, from falling to his knees before her, from begging her forgiveness for a kiss he hadn’t wanted, hadn’t asked for… He could have walked into her house, but he had no right. Not tonight.

***

Maybe he did have the right to refuse. Evren could have asked another doctor to perform the surgery, but he kept choosing work, almost hiding behind it, unable to face the problem at home. One emotion after another flickered across his face, and Bahar knew him too well — she saw the moment he closed off, pulled himself together, all his tenderness and softness vanished… before her stood Professor Evren Yalkın.

— Professor, — Siren threw on a light jacket as she walked, — may I join you? I was called in too, — she said.

Uraz hurried behind her, flinching nervously.

— Evren, — he began and faltered, — professor, may I come with you as well? — he asked uncertainly.

— And me, professor, — Yusuf added impatiently, searching his eyes. — This is my first transplant. You’ll let me into the operating room, won’t you?

All three of them looked at him, fully ready for a night shift, and behind them, wrapped in a blanket, stood Bahar.

— No one called me, — she said thoughtfully. — Or have you already removed me from all night calls? — she threw at him, meeting his gaze. — What’s next, Evren? You’ll lock me up at home until I give birth?

Evren frowned, clenched his teeth, glanced at Siren and nodded to her, and she stepped away toward the car, choosing not to interfere in Bahar and Evren’s argument. Uraz and Yusuf exchanged impatient looks — only Evren could decide their participation in the surgery. Everything depended on his word.

Evren kept staring into Bahar’s eyes, and her breathing had changed. They stood only a few steps apart… but he was already mentally in the operating room. Bahar leaned her shoulder against the wall, as if trying with the last of her strength to hold together the peace of this home, its everyday life, where her grandchildren Mert and Leyla slept in their cribs, and behind her, Umay appeared.

— None of you are allowed to go, — Evren forced out. — This isn’t a game.

— It’s not a game, professor, — Uraz immediately echoed, his eyes lighting up, as if he felt a spark of excitement. — It’s a night surgery. I have to be there. Siren was called in, — he pointed to his wife near Evren’s car. — And if you take Yusuf, that’s unfair — you don’t even know if he’s your son or not, yet you’re already giving him special treatment!

Evren turned sharply to him.

— And the children? — he asked harshly. — Siren was called in! — he confirmed. — And who will stay with your kids?!

— Well, mom’s at home, — Uraz stammered. — She— he began.

— Mom?! — Evren’s voice cracked. — You mean Bahar? — he snapped with anger, taking a step toward him. — She’s not your default babysitter.

— Evren, — Bahar tried to intervene, but he didn’t even hear her.

— Bahar is not your safety net, Aziz Uraz! — Evren said firmly. — If you want her help, go and ask her! Like a man — not like a son who keeps waiting for his mother to fix all his problems. If you lived separately, Uraz, how would you handle this?

Bahar pressed a hand to her chest — her heart tightened painfully. She knew he was right in everything he said, but the weight of knowing he was leaving — taking everyone else with him — only made it heavier, as did the fact that they still hadn’t resolved their own issues.

Siren held her breath. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at Evren. Everything she had tried to explain to her husband — Evren had said it for her. She approached him, her hand resting on his shoulder, her lips brushing his cheek.

— Thank you, Evren, — she whispered and stepped back.

— If you need her help — you will go and ask Bahar yourself, — Evren continued just as firmly, not softening in the slightest. — With respect, without any of that “she’s at home anyway” nonsense!

Uraz lowered his head, guilt shadowing his face.

— Mom, — he said so quietly it sounded painful. — Could you… — he cleared his throat — stay with Leyla and Mert? — his voice trembled, and he looked up. — I’d like to be present at the surgery, if the professor allows it. Please.

Bahar’s eyes filled with tears, her lips trembling, and she nodded.

— Yes, my son, — she whispered, clutching the blanket tighter.

Uraz flashed a triumphant smile and glanced at Evren. Evren clenched his jaw, tilted his head slightly, and reluctantly nodded. Yusuf was still searching his face, and when he got the signal, he nearly jumped with excitement.

Bahar’s heart tightened… they were all leaving. Siren, Uraz, Yusuf… Evren — and she stayed. As a doctor, she understood everything, but as a woman, she was torn apart by bitterness and grief. And Evren — he stood between her as a doctor and her as a woman. He reached out, nearly touched her cheek, but stopped at the last second.

— I’ll come back, — he whispered, as though giving her a vow, but it sounded like an apology, looked like yet another escape from their unresolved problems.

Bahar nodded, smiled faintly; her heart was collapsing in despair, but she wouldn’t let herself fall.

— Uh… — a voice came from behind Evren, and he turned.

Siren had taken the front seat, Uraz climbed in after her, and Yusuf, opening the door and spotting a child seat, froze.

— Congratulations, Yusuf, — Uraz said with a soft laugh, — you’re nearly Evren’s son already. They even prepared a seat for you.

Yusuf flushed, grabbed the seat, and rushed into the house. Siren closed her eyes and shook her head.

— Bahar… — Evren stepped closer. — Tomorrow you’ll come to work on—, — he glanced at Yusuf’s car.

— I’ll decide myself how I’m getting there, professor, — she replied evenly, her tone colder than usual. — Taxis haven’t gone extinct yet!

Her words sounded like a silent scream: don’t worry about me, I’ll manage on my own! Evren clenched his fingers until his knuckles whitened.

— Bahar…, — he tried to soften her at least a little.

— Go, — she cut him off. — People are waiting. You have a surgery!

— We’ll talk later, I promise, — Evren whispered, trying to catch her eyes, but she stubbornly looked away.

— Evren, — Bahar sighed and finally met his gaze, — later might never come.

He flinched as if struck. Evren lingered for a moment, memorizing her — standing on the threshold, blanket over her shoulders, slightly lost yet composed. She wasn’t crying, but her eyes were red. He wanted to hold her, but his phone vibrated again, reminding him of the patient who needed him. Evren turned, got into the car, and shut the door. The engine hummed, the car moved, and left the yard.

He drove off, disappeared around the corner into his proper and necessary duty, important for others… and Bahar, wrapped in her blanket, stayed home with Umay and the two sleeping babies.

— Mom, — Umay called softly, — is everything alright? — she asked carefully.

— Of course, sweetheart, — Bahar sighed and turned toward the house. — Come on.

They went inside, closing the door gently behind them… and the house embraced them with its warmth.

***

She had given him her embrace, her tenderness — and he had stayed silent when she was humiliated. The car moved very quietly, and inside it was just as quiet, as if Ismail feared that even a single sound might scare her away, disturb that fragile feeling that had just begun to grow… but that feeling could be trampled, crushed at any moment.

Nevra sat beside him, barely touching the seat with her back. She stared ahead, her face pale, her lips tight, her shoulders tense. She didn’t speak until he turned, and she saw the old teahouse garden where the lanterns grew sparse and the street grew darker.

— Stop the car, — Nevra demanded.

It wasn’t a plea, not a shout. It was calm despair — full of acknowledgment and acceptance.

— Nevra, — Ismail glanced at her, confused.

— Stop the car, — she repeated.

Ismail obeyed, hitting the brakes too sharply, and she lurched forward, the belt digging painfully into her chest to hold her in place. Nevra quickly unfastened the seatbelt, opened the door, and stepped out. She took one step, then another — and staggered. Ismail rushed to her, catching her by the elbow.

— Nevra, careful, — he exclaimed.

— Don’t touch me, — she pressed her hand against his chest. — You had no right to grab me, shove me into a car, and drive me away! No right, Ismail! — her voice trembled. — I’m not an object! Not a mistake, not someone you suddenly remembered! I’m nothing to you, Ismail!

He reached toward her, but she stepped back, recoiling almost in disgust… though not at him — more at herself.

— Let’s sit down for a moment, — he asked quietly, seeing she could barely stand.

— You’re so caring, Ismail, — Nevra smirked. — Do you really think you know how to save people? — she threw at him without looking, but finally turned his way.

They walked toward a small tea table under an awning and sat down. Nevra picked up a napkin and crushed it in her hands.

— Go on then, Ismail. Save me, — she looked him straight in the eyes.

Ismail sat in silence across from her, more lost than he had ever been. For the first time, he saw her like this — without even a trace of flirtation, without the playful glint in her eyes.

— Two teas, — Nevra lifted her hand with an almost flirtatiously confident gesture toward the teahouse boy, but even that hint of confidence couldn’t hide the trembling in her fingers.

The boy left. Nevra crumpled the napkin and tossed it onto the table, as if in one moment all the masks she had worn for years simply fell away — masks so familiar they had become her second self.

— You want to talk? — she asked, resting her elbows on the table. — About what? — she tilted her head slightly. — Ismail, you didn’t defend me.

— Nevra, I— he began, but didn’t finish.

— Meryem walked into your house and crushed me with a single look! A single one, — her voice softened. — And you just stood there. Silent. You let her humiliate me in front of you! — Nevra closed her eyes. — Didn’t you see I couldn’t take it anymore? That all I needed was one word from you — “enough”?

His breathing grew heavier, a shadow fell across his face, but he stayed silent, not knowing what to say.

— I was married to Aziz, — Nevra whispered. — You know that. Aziz was your friend. You all came to our house. You spent nights working, planning your research. Remember?

Ismail flinched, his face paling.

— You brought the Keskins into my home! You settled them there, — her voice cracked. — And I was there the whole time, but no one saw me. You were all too busy doing great things, — she flicked her hands in a bitter gesture. — And you came to our house, but you never saw me. None of you did. I only brought and served you drinks, sandwiches. You turned me into a servant — a shadow!

Ismail clenched his fingers tighter. Nevra gave a bitter smile, took a napkin, and pressed it to her mouth as if trying to hold back a scream rising from somewhere deep inside.

— Beautiful, isn’t it? A woman who doesn’t exist, — she shrugged. — There were only you and them. Leyla and Meryem.

— Nevra, please, — Ismail swallowed hard.

— No, I’ll say it. You wanted to talk — so let’s talk, — she stared straight at him. — You all decided to run an experiment, right? — she leaned slightly closer, her eyes locked on his. — But that wasn’t his only experiment, — she whispered, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

— What? — Ismail frowned, not understanding.

— Aziz believed in himself so much that he didn’t take me to the hospital when I started bleeding, — Nevra continued, looking straight at him, though she no longer saw him — she saw their living room, the table in the center, her husband in a white coat. — He couldn’t handle it, Ismail, and he removed my uterus.

— What? — Ismail nearly toppled from his chair.

— Right there. In the living room. On the same table where you later operated on Evren’s mother… the same table where he operated on Evren’s sister. That cursed table took the lives of three women, Ismail. Three! Only they are dead — and I’m still alive, like a mockery, like punishment! Alive, but the woman in me is dead. He killed her. He wanted to test a method… — she laughed bitterly. — Can you imagine? Test a method. I was just a method to him — an experiment. He said he saved my life, that he simply removed what was dangerous to me. Imagine — a uterus that could “threaten” me! — she lowered her gaze to her fingers squeezing the napkin. — And then he blamed me. Blamed me for not being able to give him a child, for failing him.

Ismail closed his eyes, as if the blow had landed on him.

— Something broke inside me, — Nevra continued, diving deeper into that past she had spent years avoiding, hiding behind arrogance and sarcasm. — That’s why I couldn’t let him go. We were tied together. That’s why I didn’t want to become his caretaker — because I had already spent my whole life standing in his shadow. That’s why I wanted to hand him over. And Bahar… — she closed her eyes, taking a new napkin and pressing it to her face — she said she would look after him. She did what I couldn’t.

Nevra fell silent. They watched the boy set the teapot and cups on the table, fill their glasses with tea, and step away.

— You talk about “us,” — Nevra wrapped both hands around the cup, watching the steam rise. — Ismail, I lived in the shadows. In yours too… and this morning, you sent me right back into that same shadow in your house after our night together, — she lifted her eyes — after our first intimacy. How can you speak of trust? How am I supposed to trust you?

Her lips trembled, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears — yet she sat straight-backed, staring at him without flinching.

— Yes, I gave Evren to the orphanage because I was terrified. Yes, I hid behind sarcasm and arrogance, — tears streamed down her cheeks. — I manipulated, I tried to make sure no one saw or learned that inside I was empty, — she struck her chest with her fist, — that I wasn’t someone who could be loved!

— You’re not empty, Nevra, — Ismail said quietly, barely processing everything she had revealed.

— I’m nobody, Ismail, — she cut him off. — Not a wife, not a mother, not a lover, — she took a deep breath, long resigned to it — I’m not even part of their family, Ismail, yet I still live in their house, still look Evren in the eye. I’ve been alone my whole life, — a bitter smile touched her lips, — and when I finally believed, even a little, you couldn’t defend me, Ismail. You failed, — she shrugged.

He tried to speak, but she lifted her hand, silently stopping him.

— Take me back where you found me, — Nevra rose slowly, never taking a sip of tea. — To the Gülçiçek house.

— Nevra, we’re not done, — Ismail tried to stop her.

— We never started, Ismail, — she looked at him sidelong, standing half-turned. — That’s the truth. It’s already too late for us, Ismail. Let’s go.

Ismail suddenly understood… she wasn’t asking. She was saying goodbye. And suddenly he felt so small next to this woman he had always thought convenient — yet so fragile — and now he saw her strength and how she had lived all her life on the edge of her suffering, completely alone, with her head held high. Yes, she had made mistakes — they all had.

Ismail stepped toward her, wanting to touch her shoulder, but she stepped back, refusing him.

— No, — the word slipped from her lips, just one — short, honest — more powerful than any scream, and it knocked the breath out of him.

She walked toward his car first. Walked without looking back, knowing he would follow. She expected no words from him anymore.

Ismail watched her back, the line of her shoulders — and for the first time in his life, he felt like a man who failed to protect… a man who failed to save his woman.

***

They had come to save a patient who needed a transplant, but instead they walked into an ER buzzing like a disturbed beehive, filled with the smell of blood, metal, and wet asphalt.

Evren entered first. He walked fast, assessing the situation on the move. Uraz stayed close, tense inside, knowing that with two critical patients, Evren could easily leave him in the ER. Yusuf followed behind. He kept glancing around, instinctively searching for Bahar, even while knowing she was at home — she simply couldn’t be here.

— Two critical, — Siren had already grabbed a tablet, — one with a spleen rupture, two moderate, and one… — she glanced at the screen. — Male, about fifty, complaining of leg pain. Walk-in, no ambulance. Looks like strain or sciatica.

— I’m here, I’m here already, — Doruk burst into the ER.

Evren cast him a quick look.

— Doruk, abdominal trauma! I’m going to the criticals — ICU! Siren, prepare the OR, — he turned. — Uraz, you’re with me. We need to be ready in ten minutes; I’ll pull together teams for the critical cases. And you, — Evren looked at Yusuf, who straightened instantly, waiting for instructions, — you’re taking that man, — he pointed at the patient.

— Him? — all of Yusuf’s enthusiasm vanished. — The leg guy? — he said in disappointment.

— He’s your patient, Yusuf! — Evren ordered.

— But I wanted to be in the surgery, — Yusuf tried. — A leg injury? He’s fine, — he dismissed the patient without even looking. — I can go with you.

— No! — Evren said just one word.

It didn’t sound like a prohibition — more like “not yet,” and that hurt him even more.

— Why him? — Yusuf whispered. — Why Uraz? — he didn’t even try to hide his bitterness. — Why did you choose him?

— Uraz is a surgeon! — Evren’s gaze hardened. — Siren is too! — he stared right into Yusuf’s eyes. — I’m taking the people I can put at the table right now, so I don’t lose a patient!

Yusuf paled. Uraz turned toward him, confused, feeling guilty without knowing why.

— And me? — Yusuf finally breathed out. — What’s wrong with me? — the color drained from his face completely.

— You’re an intern, — Evren took a step toward him.

— You let me come with you, — Yusuf reminded him.

— I didn’t say I’d take you into the OR, — Evren’s voice stayed firm.

— But you didn’t even give me a chance! — Yusuf’s voice broke. — You didn’t even look at me. You don’t trust me! — he clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened.

— No, — Evren answered quietly, — I have no right to gamble with your life or anyone else’s! — he said, and Yusuf dropped his head. — There are no family ties here, Yusuf. No “mine” or “not mine.” There are only patients and operating rooms! I don’t choose. I save.

— But you did choose! — Yusuf’s eyes flashed. — You didn’t choose me!

— Professor, — Ferdi approached them, — the leg patient says he’s feeling worse.

Evren and Yusuf locked eyes for a moment.

— I’ll handle it, — Yusuf said sharply, too sharply.

And they both turned away from each other. Evren grabbed gloves and headed toward the ICU, as if he hadn’t even noticed Yusuf’s hurt.

Yusuf looked pale. He turned, staring at Evren’s back, and the pain hit harder… Yes, on one hand he was glad he’d been given a patient… but such a simple case, not even moderate… and Evren had chosen not him… he had chosen Bahar’s son, pushing Yusuf aside, placing him behind his back, not letting him participate — as if he didn’t trust him…

***

She didn’t allow him to walk her inside… and still Ismail followed, only stopping near the small table in the yard when he saw Reha sitting on the steps.

Nevra walked past him, entered the house and, without taking off her coat, headed straight to the kitchen.

— You’re back? — Gülçiçek slowly raised her head, holding herself together with the last of her strength.

Nevra stopped in the doorway of the kitchen.

— I came back, — she said simply. — Where else would I go?

Gülçiçek nodded.

— Sit down, — she whispered and stood up.

She turned on the stove and put the kettle on. The hiss of gas, like a weak growl, filled the kitchen. Nevra sat down, her posture too straight, as if bracing herself for another slap from fate. While the water boiled, they sat in silence. A silence in which they could feel each other without words. Then Gülçiçek poured the tea — thick, strong, almost black — into two glasses. She handed one to Nevra and stood by the window, careful not to intrude on her space.

— Drink, — Gülçiçek broke the silence. — You’re very pale.

Nevra wrapped her trembling fingers around the glass, took a small sip, and blinked as the scalding tea burned her throat.

— Your husband— she began, but her voice cracked.

— Don’t talk to me about Reha right now, — Gülçiçek asked quietly. — We’ll deal with him ourselves, — she added tiredly. — Tell me about you, — she asked softly.

— What is there to tell, — Nevra answered too sharply, as if defending herself, and then a thin smile touched her lips — one that hurt her more than anyone else. — That all my confidence and arrogance were decorations I kept raising so no one would see that I’m— She fell silent and took another burning sip.

— That you’re what? — Gülçiçek asked.

Nevra stared at the tea as though her whole past was swirling inside the glass.

— Empty, — she finally said. — Aziz made me that way.

Gülçiçek exhaled and, for the first time, looked at Nevra differently. For the first time, she saw that Nevra could feel pain.

— He operated on me at home, — this time the words were not as terrifying to speak. — At home, Gülçiçek, as if I were a plastic doll, — she let out a small bitter laugh. — He saved my life, and I couldn’t give birth, — she stared into the dark tea. — He made me guilty for my own body — the one he mutilated.

Gülçiçek slowly closed her eyes, then opened them again.

— I was always in the shadow while he lived, serving tea like you are now, — Nevra’s voice faltered. — And none of you ever asked why I held on to Aziz so tightly. Why didn’t anyone ask why no one saw I was in pain? Was I supposed to scream? — she lifted her head and looked at Gülçiçek.

— Nevra, you weren’t supposed to scream, — she whispered and sat down beside her. — You should have been heard without your scream.

— No one heard me, — Nevra smiled faintly. — Not even Ismail.

— Do you love him? — Gülçiçek asked carefully.

— I wanted… to try, — Nevra confessed. — He was the first person in years with whom I felt like someone… not just furniture, — she closed her eyes as a tear slid down her cheek. — And today… I realized I’m unwanted again.

Gülçiçek leaned toward her slightly, but Nevra looked away. Gülçiçek placed her palms flat on the table.

— You matter, — she whispered.

— To whom? — Nevra lifted her eyes — tired, burned through like old silk. — To whom do I matter? — she asked. — I’m not a wife. Not a mother. Not even part of the family, especially now that she’s back, — a faint smile touched her lips.

— You matter first of all to yourself, — Gülçiçek murmured.

It sounded simple. Nevra flinched and turned away.

— I’m so tired, — she whispered. — If only I could atone, if only I could fix what I’ve done, — she sobbed quietly. — If only I hadn’t given Evren to the orphanage.

— Stop, — Gülçiçek whispered. — Just breathe, — she asked gently.

Nevra slowly leaned in and rested her head on her shoulder. They sat in silence, the cold streetlamp light spilling into the kitchen. Gülçiçek knew Reha was behind the door — that he hadn’t left… and most likely Ismail hadn’t either. The night grew deeper. The tea cooled, and the two women — so different, yet so lonely — sat together for the first time in years, not as rivals, not as accusers, but as people who had finally seen each other’s wounds without masks…

***

Evren opened the window in his office… still his office for now… tomorrow he was supposed to move into the chief physician’s. The hospital felt different tonight — endless, half-dark, cold, and the night itself stretched like a thick, dragging thread.

He took a sip of coffee that had long lost its taste, but he drank it anyway — to stay upright, to avoid giving himself even a moment of weakness.

His phone blinked with a message. Evren opened it — “How are you?” He immediately dialed her number.

— I’m listening, — Bahar answered at once.

He felt such relief hearing her tired voice — quiet, alive.

— I’m at the hospital, — he said.

— I know, — she sighed, hugging the goose he had brought, though she never told him that it somehow made her feel better. — You wouldn’t have called first, — Bahar whispered.

— How are you? — Evren forced himself not to respond to the jab.

— Bad, — she admitted. — I feel nauseous, I can’t sleep.

— Did you eat? — he asked carefully.

— No, — she answered curtly.

— Bahar! — Evren immediately stood up and paced across the office.

— Don’t scold me, — she whispered. — I can’t, I feel sick. Mert woke up three times. Leyla, too. I barely convinced Umay to go to bed. My mom doesn’t pick up — she texted that everything’s fine, don’t worry. How am I not supposed to worry, Evren? Do you even understand what’s happening?

— You shouldn’t think about everyone else, — he took a breath, trying to control himself. — You need to think about yourself.

— What’s the point of thinking about myself, — she paused, choosing her words, — when everyone depends on me? My mom. The kids. Umay. Uraz. Siren, — she sighed. — Even you.

— I depend on you? — he repeated.

— You call me when you’re unwell. When you’re scared. When you want to operate. When you want to sit in silence…, — she listed, then stopped, and continued. — But never when you’re alright. Never.

— Bahar…, — Evren exhaled, rubbing his temple.

— What? — her voice held no emotion.

— I want to know how you are, — he said softly.

— You’re asking about the baby, — she reacted instantly.

— That’s unfair, — he replied.

— You say “be careful,” “don’t worry,” “eat,” — she buried her face in the goose’s neck. — And I want to hear: “How are you, Bahar?”

He closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face.

— Fine, — he gave in. — How are you, Bahar?

Silence. Evren even checked the screen — had the call dropped?

— Bad, — she finally said.

She said it so quietly, as if confessing a weakness no one had ever seen in her.

— I’ll come…, — he whispered immediately.

— Don’t, — she cut him off. — Why? It’ll be morning soon. You have a hard day ahead. You need to rest.

— Don’t say it like that, — Evren pleaded.

— Like what? — her voice softened, dangerously soft. — You can’t drop everything and come, can you?

Evren stayed silent, because he truly couldn’t — he had to check on the crash patients, check on Yusuf’s patient.

— See? — she continued calmly.

Evren wanted to explain, but at that moment someone knocked on the door.

— Professor Yalkın! — Ferdi’s voice was tense. — Emergency call! The leg patient is back. Critical condition.

— Bahar, — Evren frowned.

— Go, — she pressed the goose tighter.

— It’s Yusuf’s patient, — he tried to explain. — We’ll talk later.

— We never have time to talk, — she replied.

— Bahar, — Evren stood frozen in the middle of the office.

— Go, Evren, your patient is waiting, — she reminded him and ended the call.

Evren didn’t even manage to say anything — didn’t manage to say he would call back, didn’t manage to hear her say — don’t. He slipped the phone into his coat pocket and left the office.

He walked down the empty corridor, his footsteps echoing against the walls, and with each step he quickened his pace. His heart tightened for some reason, a lump rose in his chest… Yusuf’s patient… the leg patient… ischemia… cold sweat broke across his skin, and Evren started running… running to fix a mistake, knowing precious time had already been lost, knowing it was already too late…

***

Late… or early — Cem still couldn’t tell what time it was. The sterile hospital smell mixed with the frozen silence of the early morning. Cem was mopping the floor — a punishment he carried out too diligently, too quietly, too guiltily. Sert Kaya noticed him from afar. His eyes narrowed slightly, like someone who had found a convenient toy. He would have walked past him if he hadn’t noticed the man sitting near the chief physician’s office.

— Cem, — he approached him.

Even though his voice was soft, there was something slightly dangerous in his appearance — but Cem didn’t seem to notice that, reacting only to the softness he mistook for warmth.

— Yes, — he flinched, leaning on the mop. — I’m finishing up, just a little left, I’ll leave right away, — he said quickly, without raising his head.

— Good boy, — Sert tilted his head slightly, glanced at Kamil unnoticed, then spoke a bit louder. — You understood that sometimes, — he deliberately paused, — it’s better to forget what you saw in Doctor Bahar Özden’s operating room.

Sert Kaya watched Cem closely, though with the corner of his eye he saw Kamil turn toward them, rise, but not approach.

— Yes…, — Cem lowered his head. — It was a mistake.

— Of course, — Sert Kaya smiled. — Watching surgical footage is always a mistake, — he leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice just enough for Kamil to hear. — Especially that video. With the baby.

Cem frowned, looking up at him in confusion.

— Yes, — he replied shortly, — I deleted it.

— Deleted it? — Sert repeated. — But you remember what you saw, don’t you?

His question sounded gentle, almost caring — just enough for Kamil to take several steps toward them. He didn’t interfere; he simply stood nearby.

Sert turned slightly in his direction — deliberately, as if making sure Kamil would hear every word he was about to say.

— It’s good that you deleted what could have led to serious consequences for many people, — he pretended to search for a phrase, — especially for Doctor Bahar Özden.

— I really… — Cem shook his head, — I never meant any harm. Bahar— he began, then fell silent.

— What about her? — Sert asked. — What scares you so much, Cem? What did you see in Doctor Bahar’s operating room?

— I’m not a doctor, — Cem stepped back. — I don’t understand… — he admitted.

— Tell me what you saw, — Sert insisted, keeping Kamil within view.

— That she pulled out the baby, — Cem said, looking at Sert from under his brows.

He clearly didn’t like this conversation.

— A baby, — Sert sighed and shook his head.

— Alive, — Cem suddenly added, as if remembering, — the baby was alive. It squeaked. — You did the right thing deleting that video, Cem, — Sert placed a hand on his shoulder. — You can’t let something like that spread. It could destroy people’s lives.

Kamil couldn’t breathe. He pressed his back against the wall. Bahar Özden killed a living baby. She was a murderer. She had done it once — she would do it again and again… he had to stop her. Had to. Kamil looked at Sert — looked at him as if he were the one who could help. He clutched the folder of collected documents to his chest. He would go to the end… all the way to the very end… and nothing would remain of Bahar Özden…

***

Morning in her house began not with noise, but with that rare, unsettling silence that lingers after a night when no one has managed to sleep. A silence in which everyone listens — to footsteps, to sounds behind doors, to someone else’s breathing.

Gülçiçek stood before the mirror for a long time — not because she doubted herself, but because she tried to remember what face a woman should have when she is easy to wound, yet still must look as if nothing in this world could break her.

She slowly arranged her hair, very carefully, as though every curl gave back a piece of her dignity. She applied the lipstick she liked — that exact shade. She put on her blouse, and it settled gently on her shoulders. She wasn’t dressing up. She was regaining her balance.

Nevra was already waiting for her in the kitchen, outwardly calm, but in her eyes lived the same sleepless night — the kind that no powder and no perfect hairstyle could hide.

The two women exchanged a glance for just a brief moment, but it was enough to know they were both holding themselves together by the thinnest thread.

— We’re taking Çağla to her appointment, — Gülçiçek whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

— The two of us, — Nevra agreed. — Together.

— Yes, — Gülçiçek smoothed her blouse. — We shouldn't be late.

They understood that by going to the hospital, they were inevitably approaching the men who had upended their world with their actions. They stepped outside together — and Gülçiçek immediately came face to face with Reha.

He froze, not expecting to see her like this. She wasn’t hiding the signs of a sleepless night, but she wasn’t displaying them either. She simply stood before him: beautiful, composed, steady — a woman who had lived through too much to let herself fall apart. And on Reha’s face flickered that familiar, endless confusion.

— Gülçiçek, you look especially beautiful today, — he said softly, like a confession rather than a compliment, looking at her with awe.

Gülçiçek met his gaze calmly, but in a way that made something inside him tremble and collapse.

Reha looked at her. He noticed her hair, the blouse, the soft shine on her lips, the even skin, the straight posture. And everything flashed across his face at once: surprise, pain, guilt, pride… and… jealousy. Yes. A grown man’s sharp, burning jealousy. He even instinctively took a step closer.

— You… look wonderful, — he breathed, but silently asked the question — for whom… for whom did you dress like this.

He wanted to say something else. Something completely different. He wanted to confess, to ask, to reach out — with his hand, with his gaze — but he didn’t take a single step closer.

— It’s an important day for all of us, — she said, tightening her grip on her purse. — We’re accompanying Çağla today, — Gülçiçek added, hiding nothing from him.

Ismail watched Nevra with worry, approached cautiously, not knowing what to do with his hands.

— I can drive you, — he offered, barely breathing.

Nevra didn’t even lift an eyebrow.

— No, Ismail, thank you, — she said evenly, though her voice carried a deep distrust. — You need to go to the board meeting, and you need to change, — she noted. — You shouldn’t have watched the sunrise in someone else’s yard.

His shoulders dropped — he received the refusal he expected, knew she would say it, but it hurt anyway.

— We’ll drive you, — Reha frowned. — It’s better that way.

— No, Reha, — Gülçiçek looked at him. — You’ll go home. Clean yourself up and go to work. You have a research meeting, — she reminded him. — And Meryem Özkan! She’ll be there today!

He tensed — the words struck exactly where she aimed — but he didn’t argue. Especially after the next sentence.

— Reha, for once in your life do everything right, — Gülçiçek finished and walked past him without stopping for even a second. — Don’t make me more afraid.

As she walked past, Reha instinctively tried to breathe deeper — to catch the scent of her perfume.

— We should go, — Nevra stepped around Ismail.

Ismail almost touched her hand, but she avoided his touch skillfully — the one she had craved so desperately just yesterday.

— Nevra, — Ismail followed her slowly.

— Don’t, Ismail, — she whispered without turning around. — We’re both too tired, — she paused, then turned for a brief moment, their eyes meeting. — Or maybe everything was too much, — she finished and walked on.

Reha and Ismail stepped out of the yard after them. Both watched as the women got into the taxi, as it pulled away, turning the corner. Both women were gone… and there were no winners here, no losers… only pain, tearing the soul apart…

***

Her soul ached, while the hospital hummed with a deep, heavy sound. Bahar walked quickly—faster than she needed to. She clutched Evren’s suit, holding it so tightly as if it weren’t fabric, but the last chance to regain control over something.

Almost at the entrance, she ran into Rengin. She immediately noticed the pallor of her face, the shadows under her eyes, and something off in her gait—as if she were forcing her pace, as if her legs kept searching for balance.

— How are you? — Rengin asked first, trying to smile.

It was her first day working as an ordinary doctor, no longer the chief.

— On and off, — Bahar replied tiredly.

They entered together, crossed the hospital lobby together, and reached the elevators. Right near the elevator doors, Rengin’s whole body flinched.

— Careful, — Bahar caught her by the elbow.

Rengin wanted to say she was fine, but for a moment her face twisted with pain—barely visible, yet Bahar saw it.

— What’s wrong? — they stepped into the elevator together.

— Just… pulling, — Rengin admitted. — Lower abdomen since last night, — she added, placing her hand on her stomach, as if trying to shield herself. — Manageable, — she added.

— Manageable means bad, — Bahar replied with a slight frown, feeling worry rise in her chest. — Tell me honestly.

— Like a thread inside is pulled tight, — Rengin confessed, — tightening more and more.

Bahar froze for a second. Her hand holding the suit trembled, as if Rengin had touched something very personal.

— Did you tell Serhat? — Bahar asked quietly.

— No, — she answered too quickly.

— Why not? — Bahar studied her closely.

— He’s caught up with Esra, — she shrugged. — He has surgeries, and his daughter. And his granddaughter, — she fell silent. — I don’t want to be another worry.

The elevator gave a soft jolt and stopped. The doors opened, and they stepped out.

— You’re in a hospital, — Bahar said as they walked down the hallway, — and your abdomen hurts. — Bahar took her by the elbow and turned her to face her. — You know what you should do.

— I’m scared, — Rengin whispered. — You understand that?

— I do, — Bahar agreed. — All too well.

They continued down the long corridor, where the lights seemed brighter than usual this morning. Their footsteps echoed faintly in the still-empty hall. Each step felt like the beginning of a countdown.

— The results are today, — Bahar reminded her. — You’ll come, right?

— I’ll come, — Rengin exhaled.

— It’s going to be a hard day, but we’ll manage, — Bahar smiled and squeezed her arm. — We’ll handle everything. Believe that, Rengin!

They reached the corner where they parted ways. Bahar headed toward Evren’s office, and Rengin hurried to Esra’s room…

***

The door to the office was ajar. Bahar stopped for a moment in the hallway to fix Evren’s suit, which she held pressed to her chest, but a voice caught her attention, and she paused at the entrance.

Yusuf was speaking quickly, stumbling over his words — like someone desperately trying to rewind time.

— …a man, type-two diabetes, fifty years old, — he spoke very fast, — complaints of pain in the calf.

— What kind of pain? — Evren asked quietly, his voice completely stripped of emotion.

— Pulling, aching, and also numbness, — Yusuf muttered. — He said he’d walked a lot, that maybe the muscle cramped.

— Did you check his blood pressure? — Evren’s voice was low, steady.

— Yes. One-thirty over eighty… pulse… ninety-two, — Yusuf swallowed. — Temperature normal.

— Did you examine him properly? — Evren leaned forward slightly.

— I did… — Yusuf faltered, as if trying to reconstruct his steps. — I asked him to roll up his pant leg, checked the skin color… yeah… paler than the other leg, but I thought it was because the ER was cold. To the touch… yes, colder.

— Pulse? — Evren asked. — Specifically. Where did you palpate?

— I tried on the foot… — Yusuf rubbed the bridge of his nose. — It was hard to feel. But… it was there. I think it was there, — he fell silent. — I didn’t compare it to the other leg, — he admitted.

The chair creaked as Evren leaned even farther forward.

— You didn’t compare, — he repeated quietly. — On a diabetic. With unilateral leg pain. With a cold, pale limb.

— I… thought it might be ischemia, — Yusuf squeezed his eyes shut. — Or a muscle spasm…

— You thought? — Evren’s tone grew colder. — Or did you want it to be ischemia because that was easier?

Bahar hugged Evren’s suit tighter against herself and leaned back against the wall. The silence that fell inside the office weighed on her chest.

— Did you check sensation? — Evren continued. — Tickled, pinprick?

— I asked if it was numb, — Yusuf exhaled. — He said the leg felt like cotton… I thought it was from fatigue.

— Did you do a Doppler? Ultrasound of the arteries? — Evren didn’t relent.

— No, — Yusuf’s voice cracked.

— Did you call a vascular surgeon? — Evren asked as if reading from a checklist.

— No…, — Yusuf lowered his head.

— Did you start heparin? Any anticoagulant? — Evren still wasn’t raising his voice — which made it even worse.

— No… — Yusuf’s voice broke completely. — I gave NSAIDs and sent him home with rest instructions.

Evren leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers along his jawline. Inside, everything was boiling, but outwardly he looked composed, cold, detached — and only Bahar standing at the door understood what he was truly feeling. He was reliving Yusuf’s mistake as his own, again and again… but Yusuf didn’t understand that. He thought Evren was simply reprimanding him.

— Now tell me, — Evren said, — what happened when they brought him back the second time.

Yusuf grabbed the edge of the table, as if it were his final anchor.

— He… couldn’t feel the leg. At all. The color… gray. Cold. No pulse. I called the trauma surgeon, — Yusuf’s breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest. — He said it was acute ischemia, popliteal artery thrombosis. Straight to vascular… but…, — the words stuck in his throat.

— Necrosis, — Evren finished for him. Calmly. Without emotion. — Amputation of the middle third of the lower leg.

— Yes, — Yusuf nodded. His face turned ashen.

At the door, Bahar instinctively pressed the suit closer to herself, like a shield. Every exchange between them cut her like a blade.

— Now let’s go through it again, — Evren said. — Slowly.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

— Male patient. Diabetes. Unilateral leg pain. Cold skin. Pallor. Feels like cotton. Weak pulse, — Yusuf recited automatically.

Bahar closed her eyes — knowing this had been going on for a long time already, and it was neither the beginning nor the end.

— Classic, Yusuf, — Evren held his gaze. — Acute arterial occlusion. The window is four to six hours. And you send him home. No tests. No consult. No anticoagulation.

— I… — Yusuf tried to speak, but his throat was tightening like a vise. — I… wanted to manage on my own…

— You wanted to prove you were grown, — Evren said, his tone firm but even. — That you didn’t need help. That you could work alone while I was in the OR, and so you rushed to join me there, — he didn’t raise his voice, and that made it worse. — Emotions, — Evren continued. — Pride. Hurt. You put all of that above the patient, — he paused. — And the result is an amputation.

— You’re talking like I wanted to harm him! — Yusuf burst out. — Like I ignored things on purpose! — his eyes reddened.

— I’m telling you how it will look in the protocol, — Evren cut him off. — And how it will sound at the committee. — He clasped his hands. — You had no right to be alone with that patient if you weren’t confident.

— You left me there! — Yusuf reminded him. — You left me alone with that simple patient!

— You should have called, — Evren met his eyes. — Said: “I’m not sure.” But you stayed silent. Do you know why?

Behind the door, Bahar covered her mouth with her hand, realizing they had reached the breaking point… and indeed, something inside Yusuf snapped. He exploded.

— Because you already decided I wasn’t ready! — he shouted. — Because from the very beginning you chose not me!

The office seemed to flinch. Evren froze.

— What are you talking about right now? — his voice turned dangerously quiet.

— About last night! — Yusuf was no longer holding back the tears blurring his eyes, or the anger swallowing him whole. — About that damn night when you went to the transplant with Uraz and Siren, and left me with the “simple” patient! — he braced his hands against the desk, barely containing himself. — You didn’t even look at me!

— Are we discussing clinical tactics or your wounded pride? — Evren narrowed his eyes slightly.

— We’re talking about you not choosing me! — Yusuf threw back, meeting his gaze. — Just like twenty years ago!

— Yusuf, — Evren slowly rose from his chair.

— You walked away then, — Yusuf breathed heavily. — And you walked away tonight, — he straightened and pressed his fingers to his temples. — You took Bahar’s son with you. And me… you left me by the doorway. You decided I could handle something simple, — a bitter smile flickered on his lips. — And I didn’t, Professor Evren Yalkın. So go on, execute me, — he said very quietly, almost without emotion.

Evren stayed silent. For a fraction of a second something too raw, too human, too painful flashed across his face. He lowered his gaze to the desk, then looked at Yusuf again.

— Last night, — Evren said quietly, — I wasn’t choosing between you. I was choosing whom I could place at the operating table, — his voice had grown hoarse. — It was medical logic. Not paternal. Not emotional. Medical.

— And then… that man came in. I was alone, — Yusuf could barely stay on his feet. — You had already decided I wouldn’t cope. I wanted to prove you wrong.

— And you did, — Evren’s voice turned icy again. — At the cost of someone’s leg.

Yusuf squeezed his eyes shut, as if a scalpel had sliced straight through him.

— I know, — he whispered. — I know it better than you do.

He was collapsing right before his eyes. Yusuf trembled, tears gathering. And at that moment the door creaked softly. Bahar could no longer stay outside. She entered without asking.

— Enough, — she said quietly.

Yusuf almost fell, and she, dropping Evren’s suit onto the desk, immediately wrapped her arms around him. She held him so tightly, while looking Evren straight in the eyes — silently asking why he hadn’t done this first. Why he hadn’t shown even a moment of humanity before the reprimand… yes, she understood why, but he still could have calmed the boy first, explained after.

— Bahar, — Evren’s stare clung to her, while she gently stroked Yusuf’s hair, his back.

— Are you finished? — she asked, looking at him as if she saw not only the doctor she loved, but also the man who — without realizing it — was breaking the boy in front of him.

Yusuf clung to her tightly, unable to let go, pressing himself even closer.

— We’re not… — Evren began.

— You’ve said the essential, — she cut him off gently but firmly. — He made a mistake. He understands it. Now you don’t crush him, Evren — you pull him out.

— Did you hear what he missed? — he muttered through clenched teeth.

— I heard, — Bahar said. — Him. And you.

She leaned back slightly, adjusting Yusuf’s hair. Her heart ached at what the night had done to this boy — always so balanced, so reasonable — now shattered, stripped of any support, as if all light had drained from his eyes.

— Come on, — she whispered, finding his hand and squeezing it. — We’ll step out. You’ll breathe. — She gave him a soft smile. — And then we’ll go through everything together. Not now.

Yusuf looked at her the way a drowning man looks at shore.

— I’m sorry, Professor, — he managed to say calmly, as if Bahar’s presence had given him back the very ground he had lost. — I’ll speak later.

They walked toward the door, almost leaving, but Bahar paused and turned back, meeting Evren’s eyes.

— You brought me my suit, — he said, the line sounding almost absurd in the context of the conversation.

— Yes, — she nodded slightly, trying to smile. — So you at least look like you’re in control of your life.

— Bahar, — he stepped out from behind the desk, — we need to talk.

— Later, — she whispered, tightening her grip on Yusuf’s fingers.

— And what if… — he hesitated, — what if there is no ‘later’, — he echoed her own words.

— Right now Yusuf matters more, — she answered. — And your patient without a leg does too, — her shoulders trembled slightly. — And Alya, and your position. Not everything revolves around the two of us, Evren.

She closed her eyes for a second — and at that moment Ahu’s head appeared in the doorway.

— Professor, Sert Kaya is waiting for you, — she announced. — He’s ready to discuss Alya’s discharge. The journalists will arrive soon.

— They’re waiting for you, — Bahar said softly, letting her gaze fall on the suit she had ironed that morning.

Evren exhaled slowly. Two worlds collided inside him: the fragile private one… and the polished public one.

— Go, — Bahar whispered, — the city loves its heroes.

— But I’m not a hero, Bahar, — Evren murmured.

— You’re my hero, — her hand lowered to her belly, — ours. And it’s alright that we’re “later”.

With that, she closed the door, and she and Yusuf walked down the hallway together. Evren remained in the office, staring at the suit on the desk, thinking of Yusuf’s mistake, the man without a leg, the press, and the woman who once again chose “later,” while their fragile world strained at every seam…

***

The machines in Esra’s room crackled softly, cutting through the suffocating silence. It was no longer the calm kind of silence — it had become thick, heavy, tense. Esra lay on her side, her face pale, her breathing fast and shallow, as she greedily tried to draw air into her lungs.

The monitor tracking her heart rhythm emitted short, uneasy beeps — not yet critical, but worrying enough.

Doruk stood by the bed, entering the readings. The oxygen saturation was dropping, the blood pressure drifting, the pulse jumping up and then crashing down… all of it dangerously unstable for a pregnant woman.

— Esra, sweetheart, — he murmured softly, — breathe steadily… okay? — There was such tenderness and care in his voice that he didn’t even realize it.

The girl barely nodded, her fingers clutching the sheet. The door swung open, and Serhat entered.

— What’s wrong with her? — he demanded immediately, not taking his eyes off the monitor.

— Her vitals aren’t stable, — Doruk reported, feeling fear rising in his chest. — Stress is provoking tachycardia, her heart is struggling.

Their eyes met. Serhat paled, swayed — his eyes filled with tears. He shook his head in denial.

— No, — he whispered. — No, don’t say that, don’t you dare.

And that was exactly what Rengin heard as she walked into the room. She moved slowly — the pain low in her abdomen had become pulsing, stopping for a moment only to return again. She came to talk to him… but she froze in the middle of the room. Her gaze fell on Esra. The pale face. The trembling fingers wrinkling the sheet. The monitor blinking yellow warnings.

— Doruk, give me the cuff, — she said instantly, forgetting her own pain.

— Already, — he handed it to her.

Rengin slipped the cuff on and took the sphygmomanometer. Her hands worked quickly, confidently — but inside, she felt ice forming. Behind her, Serhat stood stiff, barely breathing as he held onto the wall.

— Esra… your father is here… you hear him? — Rengin leaned close. — Do you hear, sweetheart? Just breathe, don’t give up, not now, not when we’re so close to— Her voice faltered.

They had no donor for her. Even if they took her into surgery right now, even if they delivered the baby together with Bahar, they had no heart for Esra. They could save the child — but not Esra.

— Why… why is she worse? — she asked Doruk.

— The heart is overloaded, — he explained calmly. — You know — stress, arrhythmia… and the baby is pressing up on the diaphragm. Breathing is difficult.

Doruk lifted his head, staring at the ceiling as if begging for an answer.

— We need to stabilize her. Right now, — Rengin stroked Esra’s hair. — Where’s Evren? — she asked Doruk sharply.

— He’s not here, — Doruk lowered his eyes.

— Not here? — Rengin didn’t understand. — Who’s managing Esra? Who’s monitoring her heart? What is happening, Doruk?

Doruk glanced at Serhat, then at Rengin again.

— Sert Kaya gave the order, — he finally said. — That Professor Evren Yalkın… — he exhaled before finishing, — is handling only administrative duties. Not clinical.

His words hung in the air… then settled like ash. Serhat didn’t even understand immediately. He blinked, as if the meaning couldn’t make its way through his mind.

— Evren is her doctor! — he stared at Rengin. — He’s managing her! — his voice cracked. — She’s my daughter. He gave me his word!

— I know, but I have my orders, — Doruk said quietly, head bowed, as if apologizing for decisions that weren’t his. — With the committee today, the press, the intern’s mistake… Sert Kaya wants Professor Evren away from patients and operating rooms until everything is clarified.

The words reached Serhat slowly, like arrows launched one by one — each one hitting straight into his chest.

— This is… — he couldn’t find the words, inhaled through pain. — I’ll find him.

— Don’t, — Rengin said softly as she checked Esra’s temperature. Even she didn’t notice that her fingers were trembling. — If she worsens, he’ll come, Serhat. Even if Sert Kaya stands at the door. Even if cameras are pointed at him. Evren will come, Serhat.

Serhat looked at her for the first time. Their eyes met for a brief second. In his look was everything: fear for his daughter, worry for the woman before him, an unspoken “you wanted to talk?” and the silent “not now.” Rengin lowered her eyes first.

— Right now the priority is Esra, — she said softly. — Everything else comes after.

Serhat nodded. Each breath felt like stepping on cracking ice… and in that exact moment, as he steadied his breathing, Esra began gasping faster, gulping at the air.

— Dad… — she whispered. — I… feel bad.

For the first time she said it aloud. For the first time she didn’t hide behind a smile. For the first time she seemed to lose all her strength. Doruk turned to the window, gripping his tablet so tightly his knuckles went white.

— I’m here, my girl, — Serhat bent over her. — I’m here, you hear me? Just breathe. Look at me. We’re with you. Rengin is here, Doruk is here — you’re not alone. Esra, please, not now, we still haven’t found your heart. Please, just a little longer, we need more time, give it to us, I’m begging you, — he sank to his knees by her bed.

He lowered his forehead to her hand, gripping her cold fingers. Rengin brushed away the tears rolling down her cheeks.

— Esra, can you hear me? — Rengin whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed, taking her other hand. — Let’s do it together. Inhale… exhale… small breaths, — she glanced at Doruk. — Call anesthesia. Now, — she whispered. — Inhale, sweetheart, exhale, slowly, don’t rush.

Serhat held his daughter’s fingers tightly, as though giving her his strength. The monitor’s tone dropped — the beeps sharper, more alarming. Rengin looked at Esra’s belly, her pale lips, her trembling eyelashes — and felt fear coil inside her, the same fear pulling downward where her own pain had been throbbing. She inhaled, trying not to show it. She understood — Esra was on the edge. Serhat too. And she herself… was on the edge of her own confession. Too many cracks today. Too much pain. And too little time.

— Hold on, sweetheart, — Rengin whispered, — hold on. Breathe with me. In… out…

— I’m trying… — Esra exhaled. — Just… scared…

And in that moment Serhat, for the first time in a very long while, looked like his heart, too, needed a transplant…

***

He needed to speak to him. It was important. Kamil spotted Sert Kaya stepping out of the elevator and rushed toward him.

— Sir, — Kamil caught up with him, his voice sounding rougher than he intended.

Sert lifted his gaze, assessing him instantly: poor condition, sharp eyes, clenched jaw.

— I’m listening, — he turned off his phone. — I was informed you were here again. How can I help you? — He didn’t stop walking; Kamil was forced to keep pace beside him.

— They told me… the chief physician is someone else, — he stammered.

Sert smiled slightly — professionally, with that polite sympathy that meant nothing.

— Yes, — he slipped his phone into his pocket. — Today Professor Evren Yalkın has assumed the position. He is now the chief physician of our hospital.

— Chief… physician? Him? — Kamil stumbled, hearing that name. — But he didn’t even come… to my wife…

There was no shouting in his voice anymore — just a quiet, crushing pain that was slowly sharpening into rage. Sert tilted his head a little, as if trying to understand, to empathize.

— Every tragedy is its own story, — he said gently. — I cannot comment on medical decisions made by previous shifts, — he paused. — But of course… some things must be said at the right moment.

Kamil tensed, his fingers tightening until they cracked. Sert kept walking — fast, like a man with neither time nor interest. That haste only pressed heavier on Kamil’s chest.

— Unfortunately, today time is short, — Sert continued. — The TV crew has already arrived, — he added casually. — Official coverage. Live broadcast. A patient being discharged after a double transplant. A big event.

Kamil stopped. Froze. Stared at Sert’s back. Sert took two more steps — then also stopped, as if only now realizing he’d lost his companion.

— TV…? — Kamil whispered.

— Of course, — Sert turned toward him. He spoke softly, without pressure, almost confiding. — Live coverage on national channels. The press, — he paused. — The chief physician will be giving comments.

Kamil froze. His face changed painfully.

— He… will speak… in front of cameras? — he repeated.

— Yes, — Sert exhaled lightly and made a show of preparing to walk on. — And if someone has questions… accusations… — he paused again, as if choosing his words. — A live broadcast is the best place to be heard.

He said it evenly, professionally, without looking directly at him, without even a hint of provocation — and yet in a way that made the message unmistakably clear.

With that, Sert continued down the hall, leaving Kamil standing there with the folder of documents no one had yet reviewed. No one had spoken to him. Around him people rushed back and forth, voices overlapping — TV, coverage… Evren Yalkın… Dr. Bahar Özden… pregnant.

Kamil turned pale. Bahar Özden was pregnant. She, too, after a liver transplant — was pregnant — and Professor Evren Yalkın never left her side… cared for her… while he ignored Ayşe.

His fingers clenched violently, his shoulders tightened, the veins on his neck standing out. He heard exactly what Sert Kaya wanted him to hear.

The chief physician is Evren Yalkın. The very doctor who never came. And that doctor will be live on air. And there, in front of everyone… the truth can be spoken.

The corridor buzzed around him, but for Kamil the sound became hollow. He stared at Sert’s back as he walked away — fast, confident, without looking back…

***

The corridor hummed like a live wire under tension. People hurried past them, rushing somewhere with purpose… and only they, meeting in the center of that chaos, froze for a heartbeat, then began walking again — all at once.

Bahar held Yusuf’s hand. His eyes were still red, his face pale, and he clutched the envelope to his chest as if afraid it held the last trace of hope. Rengin walked beside them, moving slower than usual; each step sent pain through her lower abdomen. Serhat was so tense it seemed a single spark would set him ablaze. Evren tugged at the collar of his shirt, suffocating under the knot of the tie — he wore suits often enough, but he had never learned to live inside them.

— Where were you? — Serhat asked, his voice low and frayed.

— I wasn’t called, — Evren answered curtly.

— Not called? — Serhat almost grabbed him by the shoulders. — Are you serious right now? Or did you receive an order and decided to obey it blindly? Did they forbid you to set foot in the ward? In her room? What are you waiting for, Evren? A crisis? Cardiac arrest? Her oxygen dropping even further?

— You know perfectly well that— began Evren.

— I know one thing, — Serhat nearly shoved him, — my daughter needed you, and you weren’t there! — he jabbed a finger into Evren’s chest. — She needed YOU! Not an administrator, not a chief physician, not a man dressed nicely for the cameras — the doctor who knows better than anyone else how to treat her!

— I am treating her! — Evren fought to keep control. — I know her heart. I know Doruq stabilized her. I’m monitoring everything!

— You’re not monitoring! — Serhat snapped. — You’re hiding behind protocols in your office — his breath came hard and shallow. — You gave me your word, — he added more quietly. — You gave me your word that my daughter would live. But you weren’t there.

— Don’t you dare tell me I abandoned her, — Evren’s voice dropped to a deadly softness.

Bahar felt Yusuf tremble beside her. He almost dropped the envelope.

Rengin let out a faint gasp, her hand sliding to her abdomen.

— Careful. You need to sit down, — Bahar turned to her at once.

— I’m fine… — Rengin whispered, though her voice cracked. — It just… pulls…

— Stay with me for a moment, — Bahar murmured, gripping her hand. — Stay with me, all right?

The men did not hear them. Did not see them.

— You’re a doctor, Evren! — Serhat stared straight into his eyes. — And if my daughter’s heart stops, you’ll be the first one I look at.

— It won’t stop, — Evren hissed through his teeth.

— Why? — Serhat’s fists clenched. — Because you said so? Because you believe her heart will wait for you?

Evren didn’t reply — just held his gaze.

— Exactly, — Serhat continued, seizing the moment. — You weren’t in her room during the crisis! She is my daughter, Evren — not just another patient!

— If they had called me, — Evren stepped closer, — I would’ve been there in two minutes.

— Then say that to the doctor who’ll be counting her heartbeats, — Serhat threw back. — You rely on protocols now. I’m relying on a miracle. — He leaned in. — And you know what’s worse? Miracles come. And the doctor isn’t there.

Bahar felt her own pulse hammer — sharp, painful. Her head spun. She braced one hand against the wall.

— Bahar, what’s wrong? — Yusuf noticed instantly.

— I’m fine… — she took a breath too sharp. — I just… — She didn’t finish. Instead, she gave him a faint smile. — Ironic, isn’t it? We came for you, and I’m the one about to faint.

Yusuf instantly wrapped his arms around her. Tight. Real.

— Don’t fall. Not you, — he whispered.

Her lashes trembled — the first moment all day anyone thought of her as a person and not as a woman carrying a child. Evren saw them. He stepped toward her — but Serhat blocked his path.

— You’re not going anywhere, — he said quietly. — Not until you answer me.

— Serhat… enough, I can’t— Evren tried to move past him.

— What can you do?! — Serhat exploded. — Follow orders?! Sign discharge papers?! Smile for the cameras?!

His words struck like blows — precise, cutting, stripping Evren down to the bone — and Bahar realized something irreversible was about to happen if they didn’t stop.

She stepped forward, still holding Yusuf’s hand:

— Enough, please, — she said. — We’re here because of Yusuf, — she reminded them. — Not because of your fight.

— Because of me? — Yusuf inhaled sharply. — No… please… don’t fight because of me…

He looked seconds away from ripping the envelope in half — his nerves stretched to breaking. Bahar clasped his hand, pressing the envelope with it.

— Wait, — she whispered.

— I can’t anymore… — Yusuf breathed. — Even now… it’s like I’m… nobody. Like none of them care…

— Yusuf, — Bahar met his eyes, — I’m here. I’m with you.

And he stilled.

He opened the envelope with trembling fingers. Bahar held her breath. Rengin sank onto a small couch; she could no longer stand. Yusuf read the paper — his face drained of blood, tears gathering instantly. He didn’t look at the men. He turned to Bahar and pulled her into a fierce embrace.

— I’m his son, — Yusuf whispered, — do you understand? His.

Evren’s back hit the wall. He closed his eyes.

— What does it say? — Rengin asked in a whisper, leaning forward as though it might ease her pain.

Serhat watched from beneath his brows — detached now, consumed entirely by Esra’s condition.

— I’m his son. His, — Yusuf repeated, clutching Bahar. — Evren Yalkın is my father.

Serhat exhaled — but there was no relief in it. Only bitterness and the stale weight of everything that had happened.

Evren didn’t even manage a step. All it would have taken was one movement — one — to pull them both into his arms. Bahar and Yusuf. His grown son. Just as Bahar had asked him earlier in his office… and just as he still hadn’t done.

— Professor Evren! — Ahu rushed around the corner. — Everyone is waiting for you!

She grabbed his sleeve and practically dragged him away. He turned, meeting Bahar’s gaze — she held Yusuf close, looking at him over the young man’s shoulder.

— Bahar… — he breathed.

— Later, — she mouthed silently.

His expression changed — as if everything in him screamed: what if there is no later…?

He didn’t leave because he wanted to. He left because the system was swallowing him whole… slowly, like a tumor with spreading claws, pulling him away from the people he loved, refusing to let him stay beside them…

***

They were with her. Someone was always beside her, and he couldn’t go near her. Couldn’t say anything. Bahar Ozden stood with them, holding the young man’s hand. Her face was pale, a little tired, yet filled with care — all her attention given to those around her. To everyone… except his Ayşe.

Kamil watched her from afar. From a distance. He watched the woman who had stolen his entire world.

Everything about her irritated him. Her calmness. Her voice. Her gentle hand resting on someone’s shoulder… she was alive. She was needed. She was loved. She was listened to. She was trusted. She was protected. Even now, the young man embraced her right in front of him… while his Ayşe lay in the cold, damp earth.

Blood pulsed hotly at his temples. Loneliness clenched around his throat.

Bahar smiled softly, brushing the young man’s hair.

— You’re not alone. I’m here. I’m always here.

He read it on her lips, and that here struck Kamil like a blow. His pulse quickened. His body trembled, though his face remained stone… and he realized he had to get to the truth, to show everyone who she really was… and then he saw him — the one person who could help him do it.

Jem walked by with a bucket and mop. When he saw Bahar hugging Yusuf, his face changed, and he quickly turned away, disappearing into the stairwell. Kamil followed immediately. His steps were measured, steady — no panic. Only certainty in his own rightness drove him, as if he had already calculated everything. Kamil didn’t even realize he had already crossed a line when he pushed the door open and stepped into the stairwell.

— Hey, boy, — Kamil called, forcing him to stop and turn around.

— Yes? — Jem asked. — Do you need something?

Kamil slowly descended the steps, coming close.

— I need the video, — he said, staring straight into Jem’s eyes.

— What video? — Jem stammered. — I don’t— he began.

— That one, — Kamil cut him off sharply. — From the operating room! Get it.

— It’s deleted, — Jem stepped back. — I don’t keep things like that. And I’m not allowed to.

— Lies! — Kamil shouted.

— No! — Jem even tried to smile nervously. — I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Kamil grabbed his forearm.

— Show me, — Kamil demanded. — Show me how she pulled out a living baby and killed it! — he reached for Jem’s phone.

Jem jerked back. The phone slipped from his hand and clattered onto the floor. Kamil lunged for the phone, releasing Jem — in that split second Jem’s heel slipped. His arms flailed as he tried to grab onto Kamil, but Kamil leaned away, giving him a slight push in the chest — as if the boy was simply in his way. In his way of seeing that damned video.

And Jem tipped backward. His body pulled down by gravity, falling… his head struck the edge of the concrete step — a crack, like an apple breaking clean in half. Jem twitched… and went still. His eyes were open, empty, his body instantly limp.

Kamil glanced down. The boy was breathing — his chest rose and fell faintly. Kamil bent over and snatched the phone.

— Hey, you alive? — he nudged the boy’s leg. Jem didn’t respond. — Hey, get up, — he leaned closer, but Jem’s pupils didn’t react… Kamil recoiled, clutching the phone, and hurried down the stairs, taking them two at a time. His whole body shook — the boy was dead.

Kamil stopped, steadied his breath, and pressed the phone’s button… but the screen was locked. It didn’t respond. In anger, he threw it to the floor. It hit hard — the screen cracked.

— Hey! — a guard called from above, drawn by the loud noise. He came onto the stairwell to check. — What’s going on here? — he climbed down a few steps and saw Kamil.

Kamil flinched, paling. He turned, and his gaze caught the edge of Jem’s unmoving leg sticking out on the steps. His hands curled into fists. He didn’t think anymore. The guard reached for his radio, and Kamil moved — he struck him the way he knew how. The guard fell, hitting his temple on the step, losing consciousness for a moment. Kamil didn’t hesitate — he opened the guard’s holster, grabbed the gun.

— Hey… — the guard blinked, beginning to regain consciousness.

Kamil raised his arm and struck him again, a precise blow to the temple. Then he straightened, the gun fitting neatly into his hand. He looked at it — at his hand holding it — and a smile slowly stretched across his lips.

The media. The TV. Kamil slid the gun into his jacket pocket… he already knew what he would do. Since no one had time for him, he would make time for himself. He would force them to see him. Dr. Bahar Ozden would answer for everything. Kamil pushed open the door and stepped into the corridor…

***

They stepped into the hospital and walked straight into a hive. Cameras flashed at the entrance. Reporters pushed and jostled, and the three of them — Gülçiçek, Nevra, and Çağla — moved through the chaos together. Between the two women, Çağla looked like a girl accidentally caught in the eye of a storm.

Gülçiçek and Nevra tried to keep their expressions neutral, yet they couldn’t hide their exhaustion. Çağla kept a hand on her belly, no longer complaining, resigned to being under their care.

They headed toward the elevators — and froze when they saw Meryem standing there. Meryem pressed the button; the light fell on her as if she were under a spotlight, standing out against the crowd. They did not want to see her. She had brought too much pain into their lives. And yet they couldn’t avoid her.

Nevra held her breath. Gülçiçek exhaled. Çağla wished only one thing — to give her samples and leave the hospital as fast as possible.

The elevator doors slid open and she stepped inside. From the other elevator, İsmail came out, with Reha behind him. A few seconds less — and they would have crossed paths. But the women saw everything. Meryem had come to the hospital. She would be near them now. Near İsmail and Reha.

— Nevra, — İsmail noticed them first and headed toward her.

He had already changed clothes, shaved… as if that sleepless night in Gülçiçek’s yard had never happened. He looked at Nevra as though he had just found something he once lost.

— Please, don’t! — Nevra lifted her hand, stopping him. — Not here. Not now.

He wanted to answer, but no words came. Nevra turned and walked forward; he followed helplessly.

— You’re in the hospital? — Reha, worried, approached his wife. — There are so many doctors in white coats here, — he began, and she immediately shot him a tense look, — I mean… you know… I…

— Don’t start, — Gülçiçek cut off his attempt at humor.

Seizing the moment while they were distracted by the men, Çağla slipped around the corner — and immediately collided with a tall, broad figure. She gasped, and he steadied her, holding her as though she were precious.

— Are you all right? — she heard a familiar voice and looked up. — Your baby? — Carter panicked, already reaching as if to lift her in his arms, which only frightened Çağla more.

— I’m fine, you almost just knocked me over, — she tried to push him away, but the more she struggled, the tighter he held her, instinctively shielding her from the rushing crowd.

— Easy, — Carter nearly lifted her and carried her out of the stream of people, setting her by the wall and standing beside her. — You’re not carrying a cat with you, are you? — he asked, leaning back against the wall.

— And have you already tested all the trees in the area for sturdiness? — Çağla couldn’t resist.

They looked at each other — and both smiled. For a brief moment, the sounds in the lobby faded, becoming impossibly quiet for a buzzing hospital… and then everything crashed back with full force.

Çağla saw Reha reaching out, trying to touch his wife, but she instinctively leaned away.

— Gülçiçek… I don’t want you to think… that what happened… that it means anything, — he whispered, trying not to let her walk away, keeping pace with her.

— I know exactly what it means, — her voice was flat, like a flatlined monitor. — You haven’t forgotten. And I — remember.

— You’re the most important thing in my life, — Reha said quietly; not an excuse, but a desperate attempt to keep something from slipping away. — You are my present. Gülçiçek, what do I have to do for you to believe me?

She didn’t seem to hear — or refused to — and nearly caught up with Nevra.

— Stop following me, — Nevra stopped abruptly, and İsmail nearly ran into her. — You didn’t protect me. Meryem accused me, and you just stood there and watched.

— I tried— — İsmail began.

— You didn’t try, — Nevra cut him off. — You just stared! You have your meeting, the press… İsmail, leave me alone.

And she walked on without looking back. İsmail stood motionless for a moment, then shuddered and followed — as if he simply couldn’t let her go. Not this time.

Gülçiçek quickened her pace and unintentionally caught up with Ferdi walking ahead of her.

— Yeah, I saw it myself. Professor Evren did Bahar’s ultrasound. They’re having a baby. But those two won’t calm down, — he rattled into his phone in his usual manner. — What do you think they’ll pull this time?

— What? — Gülçiçek stopped, and Reha literally crashed into her, almost knocking her over. — Bahar is pregnant? — She turned to Reha. — Where is she? — Her hand went to her chest. — Where is my girl?

She gripped her husband’s wrist for a moment, leaning on him. Tears flickered in her eyes — and Reha smiled at her… but she had already let go, rushing forward, forgetting everything else. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest — she needed to see her daughter, now…

***

She saw him the moment she entered. Sert stood in the middle of the office like a man held together by a single emotion — one that was eating him alive from the inside.

Meryem, on the other hand, stepped in quietly, almost gliding, like someone long accustomed to carrying pain under her skin without showing it. Every movement of hers carried exhaustion — not outward, but deep, the kind that grows with the knowledge that one’s days are numbered. Cancer was devouring her lungs, but it hadn’t touched her will. If anything, it had sharpened her gaze — clearer, steadier, sharper.

She looked straight into Sert’s eyes and saw not a cold administrator, but a man who had hidden behind perfect posture for years — while his eyes remained far too alive, too heated for such a facade… and then he smiled, as if a crack had opened inside him and fire had burst out.

— Finally, — he said, his voice trembling like a taut string. — Finally I can say it to your face.

Meryem’s frown was slight. Not fear — more like tired surprise. She had seen too much in her life to tremble before someone’s rage.

— Say what? — she asked calmly, almost indifferently.

Sert took a step forward. His movements were nervous yet sure, like a man who had rehearsed this monologue for years — painfully long.

— I dreamed of revenge for so many years. You have no idea… how many, — he approached her, his breathing growing fast, heavy. — You took her from me. Leyla. You shattered my family. You crushed my life until nothing was left, — and with one sweep he knocked everything off his desk.

Meryem didn’t flinch or look away. She stayed still, poised, only bracing herself lightly on the table, as if she needed a small anchor.

— Me? I destroyed your family? — she almost smiled, observing the shifting storm on his face.

— Don’t pretend! — Sert nearly shouted. — You told her to leave. You whispered to her that I wasn’t good enough! That I wasn’t worthy of her! You took her away from me. You took everything — even the child we wanted so much!

Meryem’s brows lifted slightly. Sert spoke like a man who had been silent too long and now couldn’t stop.

— I waited for this day, — he struck his chest with his hand. — And now I’ll destroy your life the same way you destroyed mine. I’ll take everything from you!

Meryem stood firm, like an old tree trunk that had survived countless storms.

— And what exactly will you do? — she coughed, but didn’t take out a handkerchief.

Sert paced the office quickly, as if arranging invisible chess pieces.

— First, I’ll take everything from your nephew. Everything he has, — he stopped in the center of the room and turned to her. — Every support. Every illusion, — his eyes gleamed. — Starting with Bahar. His love. His air.

— Bahar? — she repeated quietly.

— Yes, Bahar, — Sert confirmed. — She won’t rise again. I’ll make her the kind of doctor patients hate. Complaints after complaints, mistakes after mistakes. I’ll destroy her name, her reputation. And when she falls, you’ll remember this moment — this very conversation! — he leaned closer and continued in a whisper. — I will ruin this hospital the same way you all ruined my life.

He stopped, inhaled deeply, bowing his head almost solemnly, like before his own sentence.

— And in the end, I’ll strike the final blow! — he laughed softly. — Against Evren himself. Your precious nephew. Your first triumph!

The silence in the room grew so dense one could almost hear Sert’s heartbeat.

— Sert… do you even understand whom you’re trying to destroy? — Meryem asked quietly.

— I understand perfectly! — he lifted his chin. — The Yavozoglu family. All of you. Nothing will remain. Not your name, not your nephew’s reputation — Bahar will be forgotten like a nightmare, Rengin will never rise! Nothing will remain of the Yavozoglus! Nothing! — he sliced the air with his hand like an executioner’s blade.

— You men are strange, Sert, — Meryem replied softly. — You shout, you beat your chests, but you do nothing to win back your women. Leyla left, yes, — she agreed.

— She had an abortion! — Sert screamed. — She killed our child! She betrayed our love!

— Leyla gave birth to your child. She was frightened and gave her son to her brother, — Meryem said calmly, delivering the blow. — Timur Yavozoglu is your son.

Sert went pale. His lips trembled but no sound came. His hands shook, his breath caught. Everything — the rage, the plans, the revenge — turned to ash in an instant, collapsing into nothing.

Meryem looked at him the way a doctor looks when pronouncing a diagnosis.

— You’re taking revenge on Bahar — the mother of your grandchildren. Uraz and Umay are your grandchildren. You attacked Rengin — the mother of your granddaughter Parla. Whom are you punishing, Sert? The women who brought your grandchildren into this world? You’re destroying your own family. Not me. Your own blood. Your own continuation.

He staggered back, shivering as if struck. Leyla’s face flashed before his eyes. Her smile. The sun in her gaze. Timur — the boy he had never held. The grandchildren he didn’t even know… and he was standing in the ruins he himself had built.

— We began that research together, — Meryem continued. — We made so many mistakes… maybe enough already, Sert? — she asked softly. — You never lived your love with Leyla. You were married. You stayed married until your family died in that car crash. Leyla flew to Istanbul many times, but you never showed any desire to meet her or change anything in your life. So tell me — who’s truly to blame? — she looked into his eyes. — Your family? As if they were the ones preventing you? You couldn’t decide. Leyla gave you a thousand chances — you didn’t take a single one.

— Why should I believe you? — doubt flickered in his eyes.

— Don’t. Go and destroy more, — Meryem whispered.

Sert didn’t say another word. He simply turned and left. The hallway greeted him with noise, flashing cameras, journalists’ voices — but he heard none of it. He walked quickly, almost running, stumbling now and then as if the ground disappeared under his feet.

Meryem remained in the office, holding onto the table.

The pain that escaped wasn’t physical — it was the kind that had been gathering for decades. She gripped the tabletop harder. Her head spun. She shut her eyes, steadied her breath, then lifted her head…

Now she could walk. She had to. She left the office and moved down the corridor slowly, every step requiring enormous strength — strength she barely had left…

***

The hospital corridors made their own kind of noise — muffled, swelling, like the heartbeat of a city that could no longer digest the amount of pain trapped inside its walls. People moved fast, nervously, no one hearing or seeing anyone else. In this restless stream, lives collided, destinies crossed, sins surfaced, secrets spilled — everything that had been accumulating for years suddenly found its escape.

Gulchichek walked too fast, almost running, and Reha barely kept up.

— Wait… please… — he reached for her hand, but she jerked it away each time, refusing his touch.

— Go to her, — she threw over her shoulder. — You came back to work for her, didn’t you? For that research? For your precious Meryem. Now you’ll be together, finally happy!

Her voice was level, but the metal in it cut Reha deeper than any blow.

— That’s not true, — he whispered, following her, overwhelmed by a guilt that suddenly felt like his own.

Not far from them, Nevra and Ismail argued in low, tense voices. He had managed to grab her hand and now held it tightly, refusing to let go.

— Nevra, let me explain, — he pleaded.

— Ismail, why do I need a man who can’t protect his woman? — she asked again.

They all moved toward the conference hall, where journalists had already gathered, equipment humming, flashes bursting here and there. The hall buzzed like a hive. Evren stepped onto the podium, a white coat thrown over his perfectly pressed suit. Ahu whispered something into his ear and placed documents into his hands. He listened — but his gaze drifted across the room until he found her. Bahar stood off to the side, in the shadows, a safe distance from him. He watched her breath until his own shoulders loosened a fraction.

That distance between them, and the night spent apart, and the ache of unspoken words, and the ache of words spoken too sharply — there was always too much of everything… always this “later,” always postponed, always hanging between them. They looked at each other, though neither had the right to come closer.

Meryem stopped at the entrance, unable to move farther. Evren’s expression changed when he saw her — and she looked back at him as though no one else existed. She swayed slightly, bracing her back against the wall. Evren flinched and clutched the documents so hard they nearly crumpled.

When Gulchichek spotted Meryem, she involuntarily tensed.

— Go to her, — she snapped, pushing her husband forward. — Go on, since you can’t take your eyes off her.

Reha looked toward Rengin… she stood on the same side, a bit farther. He saw the color drain from her face first, saw her stagger and grab Serhat’s arm, and he rushed toward her…

…but Gulchichek saw something else — she saw Meryem’s knees buckle, saw her husband move as if to help her.

— Serhat… — Rengin’s voice broke. Darkness clouded her vision, her hand dropped to her belly, the pain slicing so sharply she nearly collapsed.

— Rengin? — Serhat caught her. — What’s happening?

— I… I’m pregnant… — she whispered. — And I… feel wrong… something is very wrong, Serhat… — and then her body went limp in his arms.

— What? How? — he understood the words but couldn’t process them.

“Room 333. Immediately. Professor Evren Yalkyn,”

the speakers roared at that exact moment.

Serhat held Rengin, staring at Evren — who was staring only at Meryem.

And Serhat suddenly understood: both his children were in danger.

He didn’t want to lose either of them.

He didn’t know what to hold onto when everything was collapsing.

He didn’t know where to run.

Whom to save first.

Whom he might lose first.

Siren, hearing the call, didn’t even wait for the elevator — she sprinted to the stairs and nearly tripped over a leg.

— Jem?.. JEM! — she dropped to her knees beside him, her hands shaking. — Can you hear me… please… — she whispered, realizing he was beyond her reach already. — Jeeeeeem!

The hall fell silent at that moment; flashes flickered.

Evren tried to begin his speech, but the words wouldn’t come — his throat tightened, he could barely breathe… nothing about this was right.

His heart was in Esra’s room — so why was he standing before cameras?

Why was he supposed to speak?

His hands trembled.

Bahar looked at him from the back of the hall — she had already turned halfway, ready to leave. If he couldn’t go, she would. One brief look — that was all it took.

And in the strange hush, when everyone waited for Evren’s official statement, Kamil’s voice tore through the room:

— Doctor Bahar Ozden is responsible for the death of my wife and my son!

He stepped inside — and a collective gasp rippled through the room as everyone moved aside, seeing the gun in his hand.

He saw no one but her.

She stood almost directly in front of him — because she had already turned to leave, already moving toward Esra’s room.

Kamil raised the gun and aimed it straight at Bahar.

— Guilty! — he declared, delivering his verdict as time folded in on itself… stilled… froze…

— No, — Gulchichek cried. She reacted first, rushing forward, placing herself between him and her daughter.

— Gulchichek! — Reha shouted… and the gunshot rang out.

It sounded like a heart tearing open… and then a dull thud… and blood spilled across the floor. Someone screamed.

— Guilty! — Kamil stepped forward.

— No! — Nevra shoved Ismail aside and lunged from the opposite side, and he ran after her.

— Nevra! — Ismail screamed… and the second gunshot exploded.

Evren dropped the documents, vaulted over the table in a single motion.

Yusuf ran from the other end of the hall.

— Yusuf, NO! — Evren shouted, reaching out as if he could stop him. — Stop!

“Room 333. Immediately. Professor Evren Yalkyn,”

the speakers blared again.

— Serhat… — Rengin whispered — and fainted.

— Evren! — Serhat screamed, kneeling with her, holding her limp body.

— Doctor Bahar Ozden, you killed my wife, — Kamil nearly reached her, pointing the gun directly at her chest. She looked him straight in the eyes. — Guilty! — he said and pulled the trigger.

— BAHAAAAR! — Evren’s scream tore through the hall.