What Remains of Us - EsDil

Chapter 1 - The Man Who Lost Everything

The prison cell smelled of rust and pain.

Adil Koçari sat on the edge of his cot, elbows on his knees, head bowed. The walls were the same grey they had been yesterday. And the day before. And every single day since Serif Furtuna gave him the photo that had burned itself into Adil's soul.

The wedding picture.

Esme in white. Serif beside her. His arms around her.

Adil had never seen her in a wedding dress. Their vows had been whispered in secret, in a small mosque with only Allah as their witness. No flowers. No music. No family. Just her hand in his and the imam's quiet voice binding them together.

He had dreamed of giving her a real wedding one day. A celebration where he could look at her across a room full of people and claim her proudly. Where everyone would know that Esme belonged to him, and he to her.

Now she belonged to another man.

He closed his eyes, but the image remained. Esme smiling. Not at him. Never again at him.

Serif had come to deliver the news himself, like a hunter showing off a kill. We're going on our honeymoon. If Serif shooted him instead, it would have hurted less...

Adil got angry. Yelled at him. He even threw the table at him and wanted to strangle him with his bare hands. But now, alone with the darkness and the silence, instead of the anger, he let the pain consume him.

He pressed his fists against his eyes until he saw stars. It didn't help. Nothing helped. He still saw her.

Still felt her.

Still loved her.

Even after she left me, he thought. Even after she chose him.

The photograph lived inside his chest now, tucked somewhere between his ribs where his heart used to be.

-

Esme placed both hands on her growing belly and sighed.

"You are making me crazy," she whispered down at the small bump. "These hormones are not helping."

She was sitting on the edge of the bed in Serif's Istanbul apartment. It was a nice place. Comfortable. Safe. Everything Serif had promised her.

But it was not home. Home was a pair of arms that were not here. Home was a voice she could not hear. Home was a man sitting in a prison cell who probably hated her now.

She touched her stomach again. "I'm doing this for him," she told the baby. "For your father. Do you understand?"

The baby did not answer, but Esme imagined a small kick. She smiled despite herself.

Then the anger came again. Hot and sharp.

Hicran's face flashed in her mind. That photo. Adil with another woman. Before Esme. Before them. But still — he had never told her. He had let her believe she was his first, his only.

"Your father is an idiot," she said to her belly. "A handsome idiot. But an idiot."

She laughed a little, then shook her head. "The hormones," she told herself. "I blame the hormones."

A soft knock came at the door.

"Esme?" Serif's voice. Gentle. Careful. Always careful with her.

"Come in."

Serif entered with a tray of tea and some fruit. He set it on the small table and looked at her with warm eyes. A brother's eyes. That was all she saw in them.