Yusuf was nothing but a bundle of raw nerves. Evren opened the door to his office.

— Come in, — Evren said, trying to keep his voice calm and even. — Have a seat.

Evren was nervous himself, not knowing how to start, or what to say at all.

— Thank you, professor, I’ll stand, — Yusuf refused and moved to the corner of the room.

He looked anywhere but at Evren. He kept his distance, avoiding even the slightest closeness. Evren took a few steps forward, but when he saw Yusuf back away toward the wall, he stopped.

— Yusuf, — he leaned against the back of a chair, as if that might help him stay upright through this conversation, — please, let’s just talk.

— About work? — Yusuf’s eyebrow lifted slightly as he opened his notebook. — Which patient’s data are we discussing? Aliya? Esra? — he waited patiently for an answer without looking up. — Or are you going to scold me for disobeying your instructions and interfering with the treatment process?

— Yusuf, — Evren frowned slightly, — you know perfectly well that’s not what I want to talk about.

— Then what? — Yusuf looked him in the eye, closed his notebook, and crossed his arms. — You want to know what I feel? Or just make sure everything’s fine?

— I want, — Evren’s voice was quiet, — for us to at least try to clear things up.

— Clear things up? — Yusuf gave a bitter laugh. — Why bother? You could’ve done that years ago. All those years. You knew! — he paused, his eyes locked on Evren’s, then continued, — or at least suspected. You and Professor Serhat both. — Yusuf involuntarily took a step closer, then froze. — You just didn’t want to know for sure — it was easier that way. So why now?

— Because you deserve to know that you have a father, — Evren said almost in a whisper.

— That doesn’t change anything! I’ve always known I had a father. I even knew his name, — Yusuf’s bitter smile didn’t fade, — but then suddenly it turns out it’s not him. Or maybe it is. Or maybe it’s you. Or someone else. — He stared straight into Evren’s eyes. — I grew up without a father, professor. What use do I have for one now?

Evren flinched. It hurt to hear Yusuf’s words.

— Don’t call me that, — he exhaled, clenching his fists.

— What then? — Yusuf asked calmly, almost mockingly, stepping closer. — You said it yourself. We’re at work, aren’t we?

— It’s not that simple, — Evren closed his eyes for a second, struggling to keep control.

— I don’t want it to be simple, — Yusuf turned away, picked up a pen from the table, then set it back down, as if testing his own restraint.

— Don’t hate me, — Evren pleaded.

Yusuf stepped even closer.

— You can’t even blame me, can you? — he whispered. — You have no right to.

— You don’t understand, — Evren tried to defend himself.

— I do, — Yusuf cut him off. — You’re just used to everyone forgiving you. Patients. Women. Fate itself.

— Watch your words, — Evren flared, his chin lifting.

— Are you and Bahar together? — Yusuf’s voice trembled with anger.

— Yusuf! — Evren’s face changed.

— Are you ready to share Bahar with someone? — Yusuf didn’t stop; the pain was burning him from the inside, and he wanted Evren to feel it too. — Is it easy for you? Or is it just another game? A challenge? Who are you willing to share Bahar with? Which man?

Evren took a sharp step toward him, eyes blazing, fist raised—but he didn’t strike. Yusuf stood motionless, not even trying to defend himself.

— How is Bahar any different from my mother? — he said quietly.

The words hit Evren like a blow. His fist slammed down on the desk so hard that the folders jumped and a pen rolled to the floor.

— Yusuf, I… — he staggered, stepping back.

— Don’t answer, — Yusuf interrupted. — You couldn’t anyway.

Evren’s fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.

— My mother was a human being! — Yusuf’s voice trembled as he pushed further. — And you turned her into a toy! You laughed at her!

— I wasn’t playing, — Evren said dryly. — You have no right to—

— I’m the only one who does have that right, professor, — Yusuf’s eyes shone with tears of anger and helplessness.

— I made a mistake, — Evren whispered. — I’m guilty for not trying to find out sooner. I’m ashamed.

— Guilty? Ashamed? — Yusuf repeated. — You think that makes it any easier for me?

They fell silent, staring at each other. The conversation was going in circles. Evren took a deep breath, gathering himself, and spoke slowly, with resolve:

— Let’s do a test, — he said. — If I’m your father… I’ll stay.

Yusuf laughed — a hollow, bitter laugh.

— And if you’re not? Am I supposed to keep calling you “professor,” as if nothing happened? — He took another step closer. — You shared my mother with another man, professor. You think that can just be forgotten? Erased?

— I don’t want to hurt you, — Evren looked at him from under his brow. — I just… if you ever want to know… — He didn’t finish.

— Then you’re ready, huh? — Yusuf smirked, stepping back. — May I go, professor?

Evren wanted to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. Yusuf had already opened the door.

— Goodbye, professor, — he said from the doorway. — And yes, — he turned around, — I’ll call you that at home too.

He turned and left.

Evren remained alone. He stared at the door where the young man — perhaps his grown son — had just disappeared. For the first time in his life, he felt utterly lost and hollow. Evren sank into his chair and closed his eyes.

***

It felt like a cruel joke of fate when he saw them. At the end of the corridor, Yusuf caught sight of Serhat and Rengin. They were holding hands as they stepped down from the staircase landing. They walked so close that their shoulders nearly touched… just a few more steps, a brief glance between them — and their fingers slipped apart, as if they had suddenly realized what they were doing, breaking that fragile closeness that still lingered between them despite the distance. Now they walked side by side — not together, but it was already impossible to say they were apart either.

Yusuf shook his head, not fully grasping what he’d just seen or what it meant. Serhat and Rengin stopped when they noticed him. It was a shock — to see them together, and even more, to see how abruptly they broke contact. A sharp ache squeezed his chest. Everyone else went on with their lives — Evren, Serhat… Only his mother was gone.

He wanted to walk past, to pretend he hadn’t seen anything, but his legs wouldn’t move. He couldn’t stay indifferent, yet he couldn’t interfere either. Yusuf turned around, took a step to leave, when he heard footsteps behind him — quick, steady. Serhat caught up, laid a hand on his shoulder, and without slowing down, said his name softly but firmly:

— Yusuf. Please, stop.

Yusuf flinched but didn’t turn. His heart was pounding so hard he could barely make out Serhat’s voice through the ringing in his ears. He knew the talk was inevitable — another confrontation waiting for him. Just yesterday he thought Serhat Özer was his father. Today he suddenly had two fathers — or none at all.

— You don’t mind, do you? — Serhat asked carefully.

— It’s your floor, — Yusuf replied without turning. — Everything here is yours.

— I’d like to talk, — Serhat persisted, walking behind him.

— Don’t you think it’s a little late for that? — Yusuf shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

— You’re wrong, — Serhat tried to smile.

— Really? — Yusuf turned slowly, his gaze weary rather than defiant. — All those years, I was nothing to you. I didn’t exist. Even though you knew — you knew a child was born. And now suddenly you want to talk. Why? Because Esra is dying? Because you need someone to take her place?

— Don’t you dare say that, — Serhat snapped, lifting his head sharply.

— How else should I say it? — Yusuf took a step closer. — You think I don’t see it? You’re terrified of losing her, and suddenly you remember there’s maybe a son somewhere out there. You want to replace her with me?

— Esra’s alive, — Serhat’s voice broke. — She’ll live, do you hear me? She will! — He swallowed hard, forcing his voice down. — You’re wrong. I just… — he trailed off.

Yusuf looked at him for a long, searching moment.

— Don’t be late for her, professor, — he said finally. — You’re already too late for me. You never needed a son. Why now?

— I’m not trying to replace anyone, — Serhat forced out, then fell silent — Yusuf’s words had struck too close to the truth.

— Growing up, you both were always somewhere nearby, — Yusuf said, holding his gaze. — Two doctors, two names. And now suddenly you both want to be fathers. Why now? — he demanded, then, getting no answer, added quietly, — I’m not a replacement. And I’m not a reason for forgiveness.

Yusuf turned and walked away. Serhat couldn’t stop him. He couldn’t say a single word. He just stood there, hands hanging loosely at his sides, watching him go. For the first time, he simply had no words — not to stop, not to comfort, perhaps, his son.

***

She couldn’t comfort him — it was as if he had walled himself off behind his own thoughts. Gulçicek could tell that ever since Rengin’s phone call, Reha hadn’t been himself.

If it had been just about work, she would have understood. He would have taken a pencil, gone over some notes, scribbled something down. But now, Reha had even forgotten the newspaper he used to hide behind whenever her care became too persistent. Gulçicek decided not to bother him — she didn’t want to assume anything — but something was wrong. She could feel it as she stirred the soup, trying not to think.

Reha paced the living room. His fingers fidgeted with the collar of his shirt, his gaze kept drifting back to the window, as if the setting sun might offer answers. Sometimes, when their eyes met, he tried to smile — but the smile came out crooked. Gulçicek could clearly see how he struggled to hide whatever was troubling him. From time to time, he took off his glasses and cleaned them — though they were spotless — searching for a speck that wasn’t there.

— Dinner’s ready! — she called. — Come, before it gets cold, — her voice calm and even.

She stood in the doorway and saw him flinch, stop, as if she had caught him doing something shameful.

— Not now. I… — he blushed faintly. — Later, — he hesitated.

Gulçicek’s eyebrows lifted. She had expected anything but a simple later. Normally, he would grumble, but now he didn’t even seem to have the courage for that.

— You’re neither here nor there, — she said quietly. — What did Rengin tell you? — she finally asked, looking straight into his eyes.

Reha’s face changed — he went pale, as if she had touched on something he deeply wanted to avoid… something he didn’t want to remember. He came closer, trying to take her hand, but Gulçicek gently moved it away. She was still waiting for an answer.

— It was just a phone call, — he forced a fake smile. — Nothing important.

She met his gaze — without reproach.

— Does it have to do with a woman? — she asked softly, giving him the chance to be honest. — I heard part of the conversation. Is it only about work? — she wasn’t asking for excuses or silence, only for truth.

Reha faltered, stepping back. He might have wanted to explain, but the words tangled, refused to form a believable story. He didn’t want to lose her respect — not now, when they had just married.

— Don’t turn it into a tragedy, — he said irritably, waving his hand. — No need for assumptions! — he said it as if drawing a hard line.

Gulçicek smiled faintly — the knowing smile of a woman who had seen much.

— Everyone has a past, Reha, — she said softly. — And you have yours. I understand that. — Her eyes stayed on his. — But will you let that past shape our present? Our home? — her hand tightened on the door handle. — What we’ve only just begun to build?

There was so much quiet wisdom in those words that Reha froze for a moment, realizing how deeply she sensed what was happening inside him. She wasn’t accusing — she was letting him know she knew.

— I don’t want to argue, — he whispered. — I’m sorry if I sounded harsh, — he took a step toward her, but she moved away. — It’s just… difficult right now…

— You know, — she loosened her grip on the door handle, lowering it, — everything’s set on the table. You can eat alone.

She turned and disappeared into the bedroom. Reha stood there, stunned. For the first time, she didn’t try to persuade him, didn’t fuss over him, didn’t care whether he’d eat or not.

He flinched and hurried after her. When he opened the bedroom door, she was sitting in a chair, knitting. Her needles moved in steady rhythm — the motion itself seemed to calm her.

— Gulçicek, come have dinner, — he said, stepping closer. — I like it when you serve me, — he tried a smile.

— If you want me to take care of you, Reha, — she said, still knitting, — give me a reason to want to. Right now, I don’t want dinner. I don’t want tea. — She spoke without looking up. — I’m knitting socks for Mert and Leyla. If you want tea, make it yourself.

He didn’t know what to say. He just stood there, watching the light yarn take shape on the needles — socks for Mert and Leyla, for those who still knew nothing of grown-up complications.

Gulçicek’s lips moved, counting stitches under her breath… and Reha counted along with her, silently. He tried to take stock — how many years had passed since that moment when fear made him choose only work? Forty… forty-three… forty-five? Had he ever thought the past would catch up with him? That it would come knocking again? That one day he’d have to look her in the eyes…? Back then, when she left, it had been said it was forever…

And now, working with Bahar… she would surely ask questions. Would he be ready to answer them? What could he tell if they followed her protocols? And if they contacted her, would she reveal what they had done… would she come to Istanbul? What was the statute of limitations? Or had everyone already forgotten?

***

There was no way to just forget it now, to push it out of his mind — the child had become real. Except he wasn’t a child anymore — he was a grown man. Evren stood by the desk, not touching the chair, as if sitting down was something he’d forbidden himself to do.

Bahar knocked on the door and came in. She closed it gently behind her and looked at him. His face was unreadable — only the trembling of his fingers gave him away.

— Evren? — she came closer and set a folder on the table.

— He’s against the DNA test, — Evren said quietly. — Against me altogether.

Bahar sighed and stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder.

— Don’t pressure him, — she said softly, studying his profile. — He’s in pain. He needs time.

Evren nodded.

— I know, — he said, then turned to her, — but Yusuf shouldn’t affect us — what we want.

Bahar sighed again, running her fingers through his hair.

— Please don’t push Yusuf — you’re starting to push me, — she said, with a faint, weary smile. — You know, you’re an incredibly stubborn man, Evren Yalkın. You have to pressure someone, don’t you? Is that how you reassure yourself?

— You’re delaying the tests, the ultrasound, — Evren insisted. — You’ve lost your sense of taste, you’re in pain, you barely eat, you don’t drink enough water. How am I supposed to act with you? — his voice wavered. — How can I take care of you if you won’t let me? — for the first time, there was pain in his tone. — When will there be time for us, Bahar? Why does it have to be everyone else first, and me — and you — last?

Bahar closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his shoulder. Then she slowly pulled back, picked up the folder she’d brought, and handed it to him. Sitting down on the edge of the desk, she watched as Evren opened it and spread the papers out before him.

— Biochemistry, — he muttered, scanning the results. — AST, ALT — normal. Bilirubin’s clear. — He exhaled with relief. — No abnormalities.

— Everything’s fine, Evren, — she said with a small smile. — Honestly, I don’t want you to be my doctor, — she whispered. — It’s not good for us.

But Evren didn’t seem to hear. He ran his fingers along the lines of numbers as if verifying them by touch.

— AST forty-two… ALT thirty-six… — he murmured. — Creatinine looks fine. — Another sigh of relief. — Liver’s functioning, graft stable.

— I told you, — Bahar smiled. — My body’s coping.

She reached out and brushed her hand through his hair, as if trying to erase his worry.

— Is this the last control test? — he still held the sheets, his gaze shifting to the ultrasound images.

— Yes, two weeks ago, — Bahar replied, resting her hands on the table.

He lifted the film toward the light, squinting, tracing the outlines.

— Good. Parenchyma even, vessels clear… — he fell silent, then added in a lower voice, — but I’d like to check it myself.

— Evren, that’s really not necessary, — she raised her hands as if to stop him. — Everything’s stable.

— I need to be sure, — he said stubbornly, ignoring her protest. — Numbers are one thing, but seeing it for yourself — that’s different.

— You don’t trust me? — she asked quietly, still sitting on the desk.

— I’m just afraid, — he admitted, looking straight into her eyes.

Bahar held his gaze for a long moment before answering.

— All right, — she said at last, though she clearly didn’t want to. — But let’s wait a bit, okay? — she asked gently. — I did the ultrasound two weeks ago, remember?

— And two weeks ago you already had stomach pain, changes in taste, — he pressed on. — Bitterness in your mouth? Weakness? — Evren frowned. Weakness — he hadn’t noticed that in her. But that didn’t mean much; Bahar could easily hide it, and he knew that too. — Let’s take your temperature? — he suggested. — Any itching?

— Bahar rolled her eyes the moment he started listing all the symptoms.

— And that rusty taste in the tea, — she added.

Evren stared at her, not realizing right away that she was joking.

— Why don’t we add heaviness under the ribs in the mornings, too, — Bahar began to get angry and couldn’t stop.

— We’re not going to wait for a yellowish tint, are we? — he asked carefully.

She just looked at him, and Evren put the papers back into the folder and set it aside. Seeing that, Bahar exhaled slowly, trying to calm herself.

— You’ll do an ultrasound for me, Evren, — she reached out her hand to him, — but later. I don’t see any reason to repeat it when there’s no indication, — she wasn’t going to yield to him on this. — Please, just don’t panic, — she whispered when their fingers touched.

— If only you knew how hard it is not to panic when it’s about you, — Evren said quietly, stepping closer until his knees brushed against hers.

Bahar turned in alarm; her fingers gripped his shoulder, and she shook her head.

— Evren, the door’s open, — she whispered, her breath uneven, eyes dropping to his lips.

— I’m just checking your temperature by alternative methods, — a mischievous spark flashed in his eyes.

His hand rested on her thigh. Evren leaned in, pressing a little harder; his fingers tightened around her knee. His lips brushed her forehead.

— Convinced? — she asked, feeling how instantly her body responded.

— Mmm, — he murmured, shifting slightly.

His lips traced a path down her neck, forcing her to lean back a little, to part her legs slightly. She let him kiss her, though her hearing sharpened to every sound beyond the door.

— The door’s open, — she reminded him in a trembling voice, — someone could walk in, — she whispered, allowing him to come even closer.

— I love you, — his breath touched her lips, — love you so much it drives me insane.

She opened her eyes, and their gazes met—no awkwardness, only tenderness and love. Evren gently pulled her toward him, wrapped an arm around her waist, and kissed her. A deep, unhurried kiss, full of attention, as if he were trying to pour into it all the words he couldn’t say aloud.

His hand slid upward, pausing at her chest, feeling the wild rhythm of her heart. His fingers reached for the buttons of her blouse and—she caught his hand, didn’t push him away, only guided it behind her back, pressing closer. She kissed him back, promising more, while still alert to the sounds in the hallway.

Evren pressed forward, making her lean back again, his fingers brushing the waistband of her trousers. The button came undone easily; the zipper started to slide down… Bahar caught his hand, deftly guided his fingers to pull it back up. Without breaking the kiss, she clasped his wrist, fastening the button herself.

Then she drew his hands behind her once more, her palms settling on his chest. Her fingers slipped between the buttons of his shirt, touching his skin—silent promises of later, but not now. Her hand rested over his heart; she felt its fierce pounding… for a moment, a faint grimace flickered across her face. She regretted only one thing—that the door was still open. Reluctantly, she raised her hand, resting it on his shoulder, fingers sliding to the collar of his shirt, brushing the pulse at his neck. She could feel it hammering beneath her touch.

Evren’s hands slid down to her knees, slowly moved upward, and he stifled her moan with another kiss. Bahar caught his hands again, held them, guided them, pressing closer, drawing the line herself—and yet, controlling him, she couldn’t stop. Her lips found his ear.

Between kisses, they listened to each other’s breathing, to the racing of their hearts under their palms. Every touch became a promise: at home, later… not now. When he finally pulled away, they smiled, eyes locked, both struggling to catch their breath.

— Evren, — she traced her finger along his eyebrows, smoothing them, — I think, — she sighed, — that I actually do want to be your patient, — she admitted softly, — because I’m starting to like the way your checkups end.

Evren laughed, adjusting her coat, his hand lingering for a moment on her chest as if straightening a wrinkle in the fabric. Her brows lifted slightly, and he drew in a sharp breath before reluctantly moving his hand away. He helped her off the table, steadying her when she wavered.

— You know, — she rose on tiptoe, whispered in his ear, — I’m already imagining what your full examination might look like.

— Mmm, — Evren instantly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. — Your imagination inspires me. Maybe we should lock the door, and I’ll demonstrate? — he offered.

Bahar swallowed hard. Her eyes darted to the clock, and she groaned inwardly.

— Rengin, — she whispered. — I can’t right now, I have to finish the report, — she slipped out of his arms. — But next time— — she didn’t finish, already turning away.

At the sound of Rengin’s name, Evren tensed, so much that he didn’t even ask about the report.

— You know… — Bahar, holding onto the desk, moved around it, trying to put a little distance between them. — I feel really sorry for Rengin. The way Sert treated her… it’s not right, — she turned to him. — By the way, why did he call you in?

Evren paled, holding his breath for a second. The right answer stuck in his throat. To tell her now would open another pit—appointments, protocols, authority—all of it would come crashing down on her today, the same day she’d just lost her first patient.

— About the attack, — he chose half the truth. — About security. He wants daily reports, — Evren picked his words carefully. — And… rankings.

— Rankings, — she repeated, as if tasting the word. — So he’s going to keep pushing.

— He will, — he confirmed dryly.

— What else did he say? — she looked at him intently, as if reading between the lines.

— Bureaucracy, — Evren looked away.

She knew he was avoiding the question, and for a second she wanted to press him, to corner him with it—but stopped herself. Too much had already happened today.

Evren caught the flicker of emotion on her face, lowered his head, then looked back at Bahar. He opened his mouth to confess, but at that very moment the door burst open, and Rengin rushed in.

— Bahar, there you are! — she began from the doorway. — Have you checked the time? Is everything ready? If we don’t finish now, the new chief doctor starts Monday, and everything will get harder.

At the words new chief doctor, Evren instinctively took a step back.

— Yes, almost ready, — Bahar turned to her at once.

— What’s going on? — Evren brightened, exhaling as if a weight had lifted off his shoulders—but he knew it was only a temporary reprieve.

— Later, Evren, — Bahar waved him off. — I’ll explain everything at home. Come on.

She and Rengin hurried out of the office. Evren shook his head—she’d been standing here just seconds ago, asking questions—and now she was gone. He rushed after them. He had to know what was happening.

When he entered Bahar’s office, they had already printed out the documents. Rengin sat down in a chair, reading through the papers, double-checking the data.

— Bahar, I found the contact info for Meryem Özkan, — she said without looking up.

— Perfect, I’ll reach out to her today, — Bahar smiled, bracing her hands on the table.

— Meryem Özkan, — Evren muttered through his teeth, stepping back toward the door.

The color drained from his face. He stared at Bahar—through her, almost not seeing her at all. Bahar and Rengin both turned to him. At first, Bahar’s expression brightened even more.

— You know her? — she was already moving toward him. — Did you meet her in America? Talk to her? Evren, — she was about to throw her arms around him, — you’ll help me, won’t you?

Evren instinctively raised his hands, as if stopping her. He stepped back; panic and pain flashed in his eyes. That name—foreign to them—hit him like a blow to the chest.

— No, — he said quietly. — Don’t contact her. Don’t. — His voice softened into something almost childlike, pleading. — Anyone but her, Bahar. Please.

He suddenly came closer, looking at her but as if not truly seeing her.

— What do you mean, don’t contact her? — Bahar asked while Rengin was already signing the papers. — I need that contact, Evren. I have a study to complete. It’s the only option for my patient.

Evren took another step back, not touching her.

— Just don’t. Those are outdated methods, — the words escaped before he could stop them. — They don’t work anymore. They’ve been abandoned everywhere.

Bahar stepped toward him.

— Evren, what’s going on? What’s wrong with you? — she tried to reach him, to touch him. — Do you know Meryem Özkan personally? How do you know about her methods?

Evren backed away again, avoiding her eyes.

— No, but you don’t understand, — he recoiled. — You don’t understand anything. This could make everything worse. Don’t do it, Bahar! Don’t do it—for my sake, — he said, looking straight into her eyes.

— Evren, — Bahar raised her hand, touched his shoulder, her fingers almost brushing his cheek.

His cold fingers caught her wrist, stopping her.

— You’re scaring me, — Bahar admitted softly. — All right, I won’t contact her today, — she said, still confused by his behavior, — but I’ll file the research request. I’m sorry, it’s for my patients, — she added firmly.

They all stood in silence, staring at one another. Then Evren almost smiled, touched her hand, and squeezed it. He knew perfectly well how strange, even suspicious, his behavior must have seemed—and that realization frightened him even more. Inside him wasn’t just the fear of being found out; there was a name he’d spent his whole life avoiding. A name he hated with every fiber of his soul.

— I’ll wait for you at the entrance, — he said, and left her office, unable to hold himself together or keep pretending any longer.

Bahar and Rengin exchanged glances.

— What was that about? — Rengin asked, handing Bahar the documents.

— I don’t know, — Bahar admitted. — I really don’t.

— Send it quickly, — Rengin urged, deciding not to interfere. — I don’t think it’ll be a problem, — she added.

Bahar was still frowning, trying to understand what had just happened, what kind of reaction that had been from Evren… and she wasn’t entirely sure it wouldn’t become a problem. But she knew nothing—nothing at all about the name that had shaken him so deeply, or how Meryem Özkan could possibly be connected to Evren, when she’d left the country long before he was even born.

***

Before leaving his office, he pressed the print button. Sert sat at his desk. The silence in the room was so dense that even the ticking of the clock felt intrusive. The light from the desk lamp carved out a small island of brightness in the half-darkness — the table and the neatly stacked papers.

Sert reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulled out a key, unlocked the drawer, and slid it open. He took out a leather folder and removed a photograph.

For a long time, he stared at Leila’s smiling face — expressionless, as if trying to recall the day the picture had been taken. His gaze traced the line of her cheek, lingered on her eyes, on the spark in them that time had failed to dim… and something stirred deep inside him, somewhere beneath the skin, in a place he had long forgotten. He flinched, quickly slid the photo back into the folder.

— You left, — he said quietly. His voice sounded almost calm, but the air in the room grew colder.

Sert pulled the still-warm page from the printer. His eyes fixed on the headline: “When the Body Rejects Its Own Child”, by Meryem Özkan.

He leaned closer, running his fingers over the lines, realizing that this woman was still alive. He hadn’t spoken her name in years. A faint smile crossed his face.

— But I’ll reach you, — he whispered, his tone stripped of all emotion, as if he’d forbidden himself to feel. — You’ll answer for everything you’ve done! — He paused. — No, for what you didn’t do. For what you promised… and never kept!

He gave a short, humorless laugh, slid the page into the folder, then bent down and locked it away in the drawer. Rising from his chair, he straightened his jacket.

— You’ll come to Istanbul, — his eyes gleamed with triumph. — I’ll make sure of it. You won’t escape punishment this time.

The lamp on the desk flickered, as if reacting to his words, and the room fell silent once more. Sert switched off the light and walked out of the office.

***

Bahar stepped outside as if she’d just broken free. She took a deep breath — a full one — and it felt like the first real breath she’d had all day. A bag hung from her shoulder, a folder of documents clutched in her hand.

She spotted Evren immediately. He was standing by his motorcycle, holding two helmets. He hadn’t noticed her — hadn’t sensed her, as he usually did. He looked too serious, too lost in thought, staring upward as if trying to read the sky itself.

— Evren, — Bahar touched his arm gently, and even so, he flinched, clearly not expecting it.

Silently, he handed her a helmet.

— What was that back in the office? — she asked, taking it from him.

He was focused on the folder in her hands, trying to figure out how to secure it on the motorcycle.

— Why are you so against Meryem Özkan? — Bahar’s voice was calm, but her gaze stayed fixed on him.

— I’m not against her, — he answered too quickly, taking the folder from her. — I talked to Sert Kaya about the new measures, — he said, half-truthfully. — He wants daily reports, more oversight, bureaucracy, rankings. It could throw us off balance.

Evren’s lips thinned into a hard line. He couldn’t tell her the truth about the appointment — not now, not when their evening was just beginning. He didn’t want to lay that weight on her shoulders.

— Rankings? — Bahar repeated, frowning. — We already talked about this. You said he’d put pressure on us, — she said, confused, wondering why he was repeating himself, steering her so obviously away from the topic of Meryem Özkan.

— He will, — Evren confirmed curtly. — We just need time to set things right.

— Set what right, Evren? I don’t understand you, — she pressed.

She looked at him tensely… and then suddenly smiled, her expression softening. Evren exhaled, realizing she wouldn’t ask again — Bahar had let it go.

— Let’s go home, — he said softly, his tone warmer now. — I think it’s our first weekend together, isn’t it? — For the first time that day, there was something light in his voice — enthusiasm, even a trace of anticipation. — Let’s just be together, talk, take a breath.

Her face lit up for a moment — the thought of home, of peace, of his voice, his presence — it all felt so inviting, so tempting. But the feeling quickly faded. She remembered: they wouldn’t be alone. She had invited Rengin and Çağla. Her mother and Reha were coming too… There’d be no quiet time for just the two of them.

And Evren — he already looked like an excited boy, thrilled about their first weekend together. She hadn’t even realized he wanted it to be only them. Only the two of them… How could that happen, when the house would be full? She hid her disappointment as best she could. His words had sounded so tempting — her imagination had already run wild: just the two of them, no duties, no responsibilities, no noise.

— Evren, — she said, putting on her helmet, and he leaned in to fasten the strap for her. — I invited Rengin, — she confessed, and his expression immediately hardened. — She’s coming tomorrow. We’ll go over the research protocol, — she added quickly.

His expectations for a quiet weekend shattered at once. Confusion flickered on his face, followed by quiet disappointment.

— You want to work on the weekend? — Evren asked.

— I’d be happy if you took care of lunch, — she smiled. — You’re really good at it.

— You invited her? — his voice trembled slightly; he didn’t react to her attempt at humor. — Why… You knew I wanted… our first weekend.

— You wanted to spend it just with me? — she sighed. — I thought we both needed to get the paperwork in order. And Rengin can help with that. We’re not alone in that house, Evren, — she reminded him gently.

He bowed his head, silent, searching for words that would erase any suspicion once and for all. But instead of the truth about his appointment, he began talking about Cem.

— Cem… he’s just a pawn in Sert’s game. I don’t want him ending up on the streets, Bahar. Or the police getting involved— — He cut himself off. — Let’s just go home. Let’s try to forget everything tonight, — he said, his gaze lingering on her lips, then sliding lower, his eyes darkening. — This night belongs to us. You’re not taking that from me.

Bahar studied him carefully, her eyes narrowing slightly. Somewhere deep down, surprise flickered at his stubborn evasion of the real issue. She placed a hand on his forearm — a simple gesture that could have been comfort or quiet insistence. Right now, it was patience, an attempt to avoid a fight.

— Fine, — she agreed at last. — We’ll go home.

He nodded — but in that nod there was more resignation than joy. The motorcycle roared to life, drowning out the sounds of the street, and together they pulled away from the hospital courtyard…

***

He couldn’t bring himself to leave the hospital. Kamil sat on the bench by the entrance, clutching his phone as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. He stared at the glass doors of the lobby, at the people passing behind them — some hurrying, others deep in conversation — while he kept scrolling through articles, desperate to find some meaning in what was happening.

He stopped at a headline: “Bahar: The Miracles That Changed the Hospital.”

Beneath it was a photo — Bahar in her white coat, her expression both stern and gentle. He started scrolling again: success stories, lives saved, patients’ gratitude, comments calling her “the woman doctor who works miracles.”

Each word on the screen hit him like a blow to an open wound.

He wasn’t just seeing her achievements; he was seeing the widening gap between them — her name in headlines, the light in other people’s eyes when they spoke of her, and the silence of his own home, where no one was left to celebrate his victories. His fingers tightened around the phone until his nails dug into his palm. Something heavy grew inside his chest — not just grief, not just pain, but a wild, stupid envy: she had found purpose and recognition, while he was left with emptiness and solitude.

Kamil kept scrolling, and with every new line, the words cast longer shadows over his own life. It felt as if all those praises weren’t about her saving others, but about life itself leaving him behind.

Then he looked up — and saw them. Bahar, with her bag slung over her shoulder, and next to her, that same Professor Evren — the one who had never made it to his Ayşe. They climbed onto the motorcycle, exchanged a light, carefree glance. The engine roared, and Kamil felt something inside him snap.

The motorcycle sped off, the sound of its motor cutting through the night, jolting him awake. They disappeared into the darkness of the road, leaving him there — alone, on the bench in front of the hospital, a phone still clutched in his hand.

He sat there for a long moment, realizing that the world he’d known had shifted, its coordinates no longer the same. Evening was just evening again — cool, dim, and unbearably quiet.

***

The night had grown cool and dark, while the house glowed with warmth, light spilling softly from its windows. Yusuf stood in the yard. He could have moved out — he knew that — but somehow, the promise he’d made to Bahar held him there. He couldn’t let her down. He couldn’t leave without saying something… yet if he did leave, then what? What would really change? Go back to the garage, fix cars again, and forget the dream of becoming a doctor?

And if Professor Evren turned out to be his father — how was he supposed to live under the same roof with the man who’d once been part of his mother’s past? But what if it wasn’t him? What if it was Professor Serhat? Yusuf couldn’t make sense of anything that had happened today… and worst of all was the thought that maybe neither Serhat nor Evren was his father. Then who was? And who had his mother really been?

Yusuf took a shaky step forward, then another. He reached the door and pulled it open almost desperately, as though the light inside might save him from his own thoughts. Crossing the threshold, he realized he couldn’t leave — and couldn’t truly stay either. But leaving was impossible, and that alone felt like a decision. The promise he’d made to Bahar — that was the anchor holding him.

He shut the door and was immediately enveloped by the sounds of the house. The kettle whistling in the kitchen. A drawer closing in the living room. Footsteps upstairs. The house felt alive — there was family here — and, whether he liked it or not, he had become part of it.

Umay noticed him first. She came into the hallway.

— You look like you’re somewhere else, — she said, leaning her shoulder against the wall, arms crossed. — Did something happen?

Yusuf shrugged, said nothing, and walked past her into the kitchen — Bahar’s favorite room. He suddenly understood why: it was a place where thoughts came easier. Dim light, a small couch in the corner, the soft glow of the aquarium lamp.

Umay followed quietly, watching as Yusuf sat down, elbows on the table, chin resting on his hands.

— Something at the hospital? — she asked softly, sitting beside him.

— I don’t even know how to say it, — Yusuf murmured, biting his lip.

— Just say it, — she nudged his shoulder gently.

Uraz entered the kitchen with an empty mug, set it in the sink, and turned around.

— Say that the woman died, — he said flatly, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.

— Uraz! — Sirem snapped.

— What? Did I lie? — he shot back. — A woman, twenty-nine, twenty-four weeks pregnant — she died in Mom’s OR today! That’s a fact! What, you want to hide it? We’re all adults here, even Umay’s not a kid anymore!

Sirem stepped closer and shoved his shoulder.

— That wasn’t our Bahar, Uraz! — she said, slapping his cheek lightly, as if to snap him out of it. — You always exaggerate!

Parla appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

— You want Mom to be next, is that it? — Uraz exploded, pointing toward the living room.

Yusuf didn’t react to his outburst.

— That’s not the point, — he said calmly.

Everyone turned toward him at once. Sirem switched off the kettle.

— Professor Evren— — Yusuf began, then fell silent, lowering his head.

Shame and discomfort washed over him, as though someone had just thrown mud at him. He didn’t know how to say it, but silence wasn’t an option either.

— What about Professor Evren? — Umay asked quietly.

Uraz spread his arms wide, tilting his head, waiting — Come on, surprise us.

— Maybe… — Yusuf took a breath. — Maybe he’s my father.

Sirem, Umay, and Parla stared at him in shock. Only Uraz clapped his hands together.

— Well, that’s a twist! — he laughed hysterically. — So Mom can stop giving birth!

Yusuf went pale.

— Shut up! — Sirem shouted, losing patience with his sarcasm. — This isn’t a joke!

— Why not? — Uraz turned to her. — The professor moves into the house, and now his son’s here too. This place is turning into the Yalkın clan!

— Uraz, — Sirem grabbed his arm, trying to push him toward the door while glancing at Yusuf with silent sympathy. — You’re acting like a child! What happened with Bahar was medical, not your business! Handle your own life! — she demanded. — Yusuf, I’m sorry, — she added, pushing Uraz toward the hall.

— They need to know! — Uraz protested.

— Who needs to know what? — Sirem shouted back. — I was in that operating room — and it wasn’t Bahar! — she repeated over and over, like a mantra.

— Then it was her assistant. The professor’s son, — Uraz muttered, refusing to budge.

— We’re not at work, — Yusuf said quietly.

— And this isn’t your house, — Uraz sneered.

Umay glared at her brother, ready to jump up and give him a piece of her mind.

— Not yours either, — Sirem reminded him. — This is Bahar’s house. And you, Uraz, live in your mother’s house. You, your wife, and your kids!

Parla said nothing. Umay finally stood up, furious. Yusuf looked toward the window, unmoved by Uraz’s words. Sirem managed to shove Uraz out of the kitchen, and Umay helped her. Then Umay came back and sat beside Yusuf again.

— Yusuf, — she took his hand.

— Mom told me my father was Serhat Özer. But today I found out it might be Evren Yalkın, — Yusuf said, shoulders tense. — They both knew there was a child, but neither wanted me born. Neither wanted to know anything about me. And now suddenly, they both care. Strange, isn’t it? No fathers before, and now two at once.

Parla moved closer, sitting on his other side.

— My dad didn’t know about me either, — she said quietly.

— Yours didn’t know, — Yusuf looked at her. — They both did. That’s the difference.

All three fell silent for a moment.

— What does your mom say? — Umay asked softly.

— Bahar said it’ll all work out, — Yusuf gave a short, bitter laugh. — But how, or what that even means… I don’t know.

— You always said you knew who your father was, — Umay reminded him.

— I did, — he nodded, lowering his head. — But now it turns out Mom had… — he faltered, unable to say it aloud — two men. — He couldn’t bring himself to admit that he feared there might have been more.

Parla and Umay exchanged a look.

— They both knew about me, but neither wanted to take responsibility, — Yusuf went on. — And now suddenly, they’re interested. I don’t think that’s normal. And I don’t want anything from them.

Umay squeezed his hand gently, then wrapped her arms around him. Parla followed, embracing him from the other side.

And so the three of them sat there — on Bahar’s favorite little couch, bathed in the dim glow of the aquarium lamp, holding on to each other in the quiet hum of the house.

***

Bathed in the glow of the streetlight, they stood by the car. The warm night air carried the scent of salt and fried potatoes. Ismail held a paper bag, the aroma of fries and juicy burgers wafting from it.

— Since you compared us to teenagers, — he began instead of a greeting, — dinner should match the theme. — He set the bag on the hood of his car, pulling out a red carton of fries and two burger boxes. — I even brought ketchup, — he added, turning to Nevra. — Or do you prefer cheese sauce? — His voice faltered slightly. — Sorry, I didn’t even ask what you like.

Nevra laughed softly, leaning on his arm.

— I eat just about everything, — she said, smiling, — especially when it’s from your hands. — Her gaze dropped after she spoke.

Ismail grinned, straightening up, her words clearly lifting his spirits.

— Trying to seduce me with fries? — Nevra teased, her eyes glinting.

— What else could I use to tempt a woman who already knows everything about men? — he chuckled.

— Careful, they’re hot, — he warned, unwrapping a burger.

He stepped closer; his fingers brushed against hers.

— Let them be, — she murmured without pulling away. — Sometimes hot tastes better.

— Better usually means riskier, — he said, and his hand slid lightly down her arm.

— And napkins? — Nevra peeked into the bag. — We have to do this properly.

He immediately reached in and pulled out a few paper napkins. Setting up their impromptu picnic on the car hood, Ismail turned toward her with a pleased look. He was about to grab a fry, but Nevra beat him to it — she picked one up, blew on it, dipped it into ketchup, and held it to his lips.

Ismail’s fingers caught her wrist, and instead of taking the fry, he brushed his lips against her fingers.

— Careful, still hot, — she whispered, balancing on her toes, her free hand clutching his arm for support.

— I’m used to hot, — he smiled, that easy, boyish smile of his that always warmed her. — Especially when you’re around.

Nevra laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She seemed light, almost weightless — but he could feel the wild rhythm of her heart, her uneven breath, the tangle of her thoughts. Ismail was standing much too close.

— Ismail… — she turned slightly, his hand gliding along her shoulder, barely there.

— Don’t run, — he whispered, leaning closer. He took the fry she’d offered and bit into it. — I didn’t come for the burger.

She glanced up at him from under her lashes, her look trembling for just a second. Ismail held her gaze, then picked up a fry and brought it to her lips. Nevra licked them, then took it gently between her teeth.

— You’ve made up your mind? — she asked casually, her tone light, eyes turned away as if it didn’t matter.

— I have, — he nodded firmly. — Just like we discussed. — He opened a burger box. — He deserves it.

The line slipped between them and dissolved into their laughter, like salt into sauce, leaving only a trace of warmth. Nevra tilted her head, and he leaned in, kissing her quickly on the temple.

They ate fries, laughed, played with each other’s fingers — like two kids pretending the world didn’t exist beyond their small circle of light. He handed her a burger.

— You should eat too, — she smiled.

— Only if you take the first bite, — he said, holding it up to her lips. — That’s it, — he whispered when she bit in. — Teenagers don’t share dinner — they share the moment.

Nevra laughed quietly. Ismail slowly wrapped his arms around her, testing, waiting — and she let him. The packet of fries nearly slipped from her hand.

— Tonight it’s just burgers and us, — Ismail whispered, leaning closer.

They moved at the same time — just about to kiss — when the light of approaching headlights caught their silhouettes. The sound of a motorcycle engine faded. Evren and Bahar climbed off, pulling off their helmets.

Nevra stood in Ismail’s embrace, fries in one hand, a napkin in the other — caught in all the clumsy tenderness of their age.

— Ms. Nevra? — Bahar’s surprise slipped out before she could stop it. She took a step forward, handing her helmet to Evren. He caught her by the elbow, holding her back.

Nevra recoiled, her face draining of color. Embarrassment flickered into something like panic. She stepped away from Ismail, still clutching the fries in one hand and using the napkin in the other to discreetly wipe her lips.

Bahar stood there, flustered, unsure how to react — to smile, to turn away, to leave? Evren, placing the helmets on the seat, ran a reassuring hand along her back. He cleared his throat as if to say something — but didn’t.

For the first time, they had walked in on someone else — and not the other way around.

— Professor Evren. Doctor Bahar, — Ismail said in the same even tone he used at staff meetings when announcing decisions. — Lovely evening, isn’t it? — He smiled as though what they’d just witnessed were the most ordinary thing in the world.

Bahar blinked, unable to find her voice.

— Yes… warm, — Evren replied instead, his hand still firm on her elbow. — Let’s go.

He practically pulled her toward the house, and Bahar — stunned, embarrassed, caught off guard — let him. Evren thought he was rescuing her from an awkward moment, but he was only making it worse. Ms. Nevra and Mr. Ismail? — the idea didn’t fit in his mind.

— Evren, I can walk by myself… — Bahar whispered, glancing back just as Nevra came to her senses and stepped away from the car.

— What a date… — Nevra threw up her hands, and half the fries spilled onto the asphalt. — Go! Quickly! — she turned to Ismail, waving her hands so frantically that the rest of the fries flew out of the bag.

— And you? — he asked, amused, clearly entertained by the chaos. He looked utterly at ease, almost pleased — as if he’d wanted this moment of exposure all along.

— Later! — Nevra waved again and hurried after Bahar and Evren.

Bahar was already standing in the living room, speechless. Evren still held her by the elbow, leaning close to whisper:

— Just breathe, — his other hand tracing a calming line along her back.

Nevra burst into the room, breathless, clutching an empty fry bag.

— Bahar! — her voice came out far too loud. — Wait, I can explain!

For a moment, silence. Then Bahar laughed — first softly, then louder, until her laughter filled the room. Evren couldn’t help it; he started laughing too.

— There’s nothing to explain, — Bahar managed between tears and laughter.

— Bahar, it’s really just a misunderstanding — we were only talking— — Nevra stammered.

— Ms. Nevra, — Evren interrupted smoothly. — We’re all exhausted. — He cleared his throat. — Let’s just have dinner and rest.

At that moment, Uraz appeared on the stairs.

— We were waiting for you. We’re starving, — he said.

Bahar turned to her son and nodded, instinctively ready to move — the thousand-duties mode kicking in. She was already about to rush toward the kitchen when something in Evren seemed to snap.

He turned slowly to Uraz, his fingers tightening around Bahar’s arm.

— Waiting? — he repeated. — You were waiting for us? — His voice trembled — not quite a shout yet, but sharp as a blade.

— Evren— — Bahar tried to calm him, laying her hand over his.

— You prepared dinner, then? — his tone rose. — You set the table?

Umay, Parla, and Yusuf all peeked from the kitchen doorway. Yusuf’s eyes stayed fixed on Evren — tense, wary.

— Did any of you do anything, or were you just waiting? — Evren’s jaw clenched.

A heavy silence fell. Uraz froze mid-step on the stairs. From above, Sirem appeared. Umay, Parla, and Yusuf instinctively drew closer together.

— Why are you waiting for Bahar?! — Evren’s voice cut through the air. — Why does she always have to serve you?

— Evren — Bahar’s voice was quiet, pleading, but he didn’t look at her.

— She’s not a maid in this house! — he snapped. — She doesn’t owe you dinner, comfort, or solutions to all your problems! You, Uraz— — he turned to her son, eyes burning — you’re a father now. What have you done to take care of your own family’s meal tonight?

Sirem nearly wanted to hug him for that. His anger frightened her, but every word echoed what she herself had been unable to get through to Uraz.

Umay exchanged a helpless glance with Parla, and Parla almost ran back into the kitchen to turn on the light, to do something. For the first time, she felt embarrassed. Evren cast a quick glance toward Yusuf, confirming he was there, then turned back to Bahar.

— Bahar, — his voice softened slightly — your children are adults now. — He looked at her steadily. — Let them take care of you for once. Not with words — with action.

Bahar’s face went pale; she swayed slightly, but he caught her, steadying her with an arm around her shoulders.

— Evren, please— — she whispered.

— No, Bahar, — he said firmly, unwilling to accept the household order as it was. — Enough. — He tossed the motorcycle keys onto the side table. — Yusuf, bring the helmets inside. Park the bike, — he ordered.

Yusuf wanted to refuse, but he couldn’t. He’d never seen Evren like this — cold, severe, dangerous even. The kind of man who could hit, if pushed too far. The kind who could break the silence with sheer force.

— We’re leaving, — Evren announced.

— What? — Bahar blinked, confused. — Where?

— Let them feed themselves, — he said sharply, taking her hand.

— Evren… — she still didn’t understand what was happening, but she followed him.

— Evren, please— — Nevra tried to block their way, still clutching the empty fry bag. — Bahar— —

— Later, Ms. Nevra, — he said curtly, moving her gently aside. — You can finish your date. You were taken care of, weren’t you? — His tone turned biting. — You were fed dinner. But did anyone here think of Bahar? Did anyone— — his gaze swept the room — realize she spent the day in the operating room, worked until exhaustion, and then comes home to cook for all of you? Serve you? Clean up after you? Not anymore! I won’t allow it! Either you all do it together, or not at all. I’ll take Bahar out of this house if I have to!

Sirem came down the stairs.

— Bahar, stay, — she said quietly. — Don’t leave like this.

But Bahar didn’t hear her. Everything was happening too fast. She just let Evren lead her — and the door slammed behind them as they stepped out.

The echo carried through the house. Everyone turned to look at Uraz. He only shrugged, not understanding what they all expected him to say.

Silence fell over the living room — heavy and uneasy.