"Madame Defne, do you love your husband?"
The judge's words blew her mind. Whatever she answers, truth or falsehood, everything will turn out to be a disaster in the end...
Omer watched his Defne's pretty face without breathing. Fright, confusion, inner struggle - emotions replaced each other with lightning speed. Omer read them like an open book. And prayed:
"Say ... my love, say ... please!!!"
"Yes," Defne answered barely audible and bowed her head.
Omer sucked in his nose noisily.
"Please, Madame Defne, repeat louder," the judge asked.
"I Love Him," Defne said loudly and clearly and looked into his eyes. - But it does not matter. I want to get a divorce.
"You are mistaken," he smiled with a kind, warm smile, and at one moment he turned from a strict guard of the law into a wise grandfather who always listens and gives the right advice to young and ardent grandchildren. - Love is the only thing that matters. Believe me, an old man who has been happily married for over forty years.
Mr. Iplikci," he turned to Omer," do you and your wife live in the same house? "
"No," Omer answered.
"This is bad," the old man shook his head disapprovingly. - Do not listen to the advice of a judge, but a man wise by experience - return to live under one roof. Only in this way you can understand your problems and mistakes. Never before has distance helped to reconcile quarreling spouses. To do this, you need a common house, a common table, and a common bed. And now, "the good-natured old man disappeared and the imperious judge returned to his place," the verdict of the court: I give you six months to settle your differences. If, after this period, you, Mrs. Defne, are still demanding a divorce, I will make a positive decision for you.
He hit the copper stand with the hammer and this noble sound seemed to draw a line to what was said - the decision was made and cannot be appealed. The judge stood up and full of majestic dignity left the office.
Lawyers and Omer rose after him. And only Defne was left to sit.
She rested her forehead on her palm and closed her eyes. Omer, realizing that to sort things out here in this room, would be big nonsense, nodded to his lawyer at the door and went out into the hallway. There he stopped and turned to him:
- Mr. Ryza, thank you. You are free now. Have a good day!
"Goodbye, Mr. Omer," the lawyer bowed his head and left with a confident step toward the exit of the building. And Omer leaned back against the wall and looked uncertainly at the closed door of the courtroom.
- Ah, Defne! - spoke Kerem, as soon as Omer and his lawyer closed the door. Defne did not move. She sat with her eyes closed, dropping her forehead into her palm. Kerem felt sorry for her and his tone softened: "If you told me everything openly, the verdict of the court could be different. I would have built your defense differently." He sighed in dismay.
-"But I understand you, and your desire to protect the innermost from prying eyes." And you know ... maybe the decision of the Judge is the only right one and you should listen to it. Your husband loves you, "bitterness sounded in his voice. "And you love him ..."
Defne's shoulders flinched. She raised her head and looked at the guy. There was so much pain in her eyes that Kerem choked on words.
- Sorry. In any case, I am always on your side. And not only as a lawyer but also as a friend.
"Thank you," Defne answered hoarsely.
Kerem nodded, awkwardly patted her shoulder and left the room.
He did not expect to meet Omer in the corridor, but, seeing him, stopped. He looked with cold dignity and said:
"You won the battle, but not the war."
"Does my wife know that you are in love with her?" – in response, Omer asked rigidly.
"And you're shrewd," Kerem said. "But you are wrong about the main thing. My feelings are not in love... Rather... love, but not as a woman... But as a human being, a friend. I will protect her interests whether you like it or not.
"Even if these her interests are a mistake and ruin her life?"
- Defne is a smart girl. She may be wrong, but in the end, she will make the right decision. And I will support it, "Kerem answered confidently. The tone of his voice changed. "All the best, Mr. Omer." I wish you not to miss the chance that His Honor today has so generously given you.
Defne's lawyer left. And again, Omer's attention was drawn to the door, or rather the girl behind it. His patience overflowed an already shallow bowl. But when the last drop fell, and Omer pulled away from the wall to return to the room, the door opened and Defne went out into the corridor. Cold, collected and unapproachable. The Iron Lady. But she can't deceive him anymore. He knew behind this shell is his Defne. Real, warm. And she loves him!
- Well, what took so long? - He tried to take her arm.
"Let's talk on the street," Defne said without looking at him and passed by. She strode along the long, gloomy corridor and heard measured steps behind. It burned between the shoulder blades.
"Tired muscles. My muscles are just tired," she repeated, like a mantra, but the treacherous heat burned the back of her head.
- Damn it! Defne shouted at her own body. "When will you learn to obey me and not respond to his eyes?"
Omer caught up with her on the street. Strongly, but carefully grabbed her wrist with long fingers and led to the square opposite the courthouse. There he sat her on a bench and sat down beside her. Defne released her hand from his fingers and, clasping her palms together, squeezed them between her knees.
But Omer was not going to retreat. He touched her shoulder, stroked lightly and suggested:
- Let's go to you right now, pack your things and transport them to our house.
- What? - She looked at him as if he had a second head grown on him.
"You heard what the judge said - to live in the same house," Omer explained patiently. He firmly decided to be meek and docile, and for no reason to quarrel with her. But Defne seemed to have very different intentions.
"That was advice, Omer!" Advice, not a prerequisite.
- But, admit, the advice is excellent!
- An excellent one? -she asked in amazement. - To live together? As if nothing had happened? It was as if there were no lies and those terrible months after the wedding ... the dark water of the Bosphorus ... Iz and your life in Marseille? - Omer opened his mouth to object, but Defne threw up her hand in a stopping gesture and continued to say: "As if you just did not humiliate me by exposing me as an accessible girl and publicly declaring that I surrendered to you before the wedding?"
Omer was confused. He never thought of their magical, fiery nights like that ... down to earth. And today he just wanted to prove that their marriage is real.
- Defne...
She interrupted him. With a bitter rebuke in her voice, looking straight into his soul with her piercing, amber eyes, she asked:
- Why are you doing this?
- Darling, but what difference it did happen before or after the wedding? We are adults, married, love each other. This is the main thing, not some stupid prejudices.
- For you, prejudice! -defensively objected Defne. "But not for me ... not for me." Before you, I had at least a good name. And now it is gone..." she sighed frantically and rose to her feet. - I have to go. I have to be in the office. Bye.
- Wait! - Omer followed but did not dare to hold her hand. "I'll give you a ride."
"No need," Defne objected.
"We have planned work on models," he insisted.
- Not today.
"We don't have much time," he insisted and understood this. But the fear that she would leave now and again disappear from his life was stronger.
- I know! - Defne's voice broke into a cry then switched to a whisper: - But not today ... not today ... I can't.
Pounding with her heels, she almost ran down the alley of the square. The light, chiffon scarf that held her hair flew off and fell like a blue cloud onto the gray concrete of the paving slabs. Defne did not even notice the loss. The wind caught the red curls, and they flashed in the rays of the midday sun with copper sparks.
Omer swallowed. It was bitter in his mouth. His eyes burned mercilessly and he wanted to scream. He gritted his teeth and walked over to the lost scarf. He picked it up and brought it to his face. Closing his eyes for a moment, he deeply inhaled the tenderness emanating from him. The knuckles on his clenched hand turned white, and the thin tissue was almost completely hidden in his large palm. But the next moment he opened his hand, carefully folded the finest chiffon and hid it in the inside pocket of his jacket. And then he threw back his head and looked into the sky. Bottomless and piercing blue.
How strange, he did not even notice that autumn had come to Istanbul.
***
Defne entered Denise Tranba's office and silently put a brown folder on the table. He also silently opened it, flipped through the document and stopped on the last page. A crooked smile appeared on his face. Yes! It happened! In the right column was a neat, similar to ornate, signature of Defne.
Denise grabbed a pretentious, expensive pen from the table and signed it. And then he got up and held out his hand. Without hesitation, she answered the handshake.
"You made the right choice, Defne." There was satisfaction in Tranba's voice.
"I hope so," she answered, and headed for the door.
- By the way, how did the trial end? Have you been divorced? -the boss asked with genuine interest.
Defne stopped. She looked around and with an impenetrable expression on her beautiful face, she answered shortly:
- Not.
She left the office, and Tranba leaned back in his chair and shook his head in amazement. Wow! Talented spouses Iplikci against each other on opposite sides of the barricades. It will be an unforgettable sight, and he, Denise Tranba, will not miss a single moment of this creative, and not only that - confrontation!
***
"Omer, what do you mean you will not appear in Passionis today?" - an annoyed Sinan shouted so that Omer had to take the phone away from his ear.
"It means that I will not appear in Passionis today," Omer answered calmly. "I have important things to do."
- What could be more important than a shoe festival ?! Omer, if you break the schedule, I ... I ... - the partner and friend hesitated, coming up with the worst punishment, but Omer stopped his threats.
- The schedule will not be disrupted and the drawings of the models will be ready by Friday. But today ... Sinan, today I really can't work.
Silence fell on the phone, and then, in a completely different, sympathetic tone, Sinan asked:
- Have you been divorced?
"No," Omer's voice sounded almost normal, but his friend's sensitive ear nevertheless caught melancholy notes in it.
"Then why are you upset?"
"I offended Defne again." Just don't ask how. I can't answer.
- Then do not answer. And do not waste time talking with me. Go and fix your mistake, "Sinan ordered.
- Thank you, brother.
Omer lowered his hand with the phone clamped in it and looked around. Near the exit from the park stood his Mercedes and Sukru, patiently waiting for the boss, walked slowly around the car. Omer walked quickly toward him.
Noticing him, the driver went to the door and opened it in front of the frowning boss.
"Sukru, we have a lot to do today," Omer said, sitting down in the back seat. - Hurry up.
***
Defne was returning home. The long day filled with events and exhausting emotions was coming to an end, and she was glad of it. She wanted a break. She wanted to close the door of the apartment behind her, without undressing, to fall onto the bed, to bury her face in the pillow and cry ... Bitterly and loudly, as I cried in childhood.
The wind caught her hair and threw it in her face. Defne threw them back in exasperation. What bad luck? She also lost her scarf somewhere, it was her favorite, by the way.
She turned into the alley and could not resist a sigh of relief. The porch of her house finally loomed ahead. Defne gave it a wary look. It's empty. Well, not every day one finds flowers and a box with dinner at the doorstep.
"And there is nothing to feel disappointed," she sternly told herself. "Isn't that what you wanted?"
Defne went to the house and in search of the key opened her purse.
- Hi.
A voice sounded from somewhere above. She froze. Is that a hallucination? Got it! Defne slowly raised her head and looked up. On the balcony of the apartment, which was located just above her rented dwelling, leaning on a wooden railing, stood alone ... Omer. Wearing a T-shirt and shabby jeans, all so casually homely and relaxed.
"What are you doing here?" - surprised Defne.
"I live here," he answered casually.
She grinned incredulously. Then she examined the second floor.
The sign: "For rent " was missing, the windows shone with cleanliness and the curtains on them took on a well-groomed appearance. It seems Omer's words are not a joke at all.
"Why, having your own beautiful home, live in the slums?" - she was surprised.
- What do you think? He asked, and dark eyes burned through her.
She did not answer, only shrugged. Without waiting for a word from her, Omer still answered her question:
- My place is next to you. If you do not want to return to my house, then I'm moving to yours.
- Old, shabby and poor?
Now Omer shrugged.
"Well, if you chose one like that ..."
"I had nothing to choose from," Defne interrupted.
- Me too.
Defne turned away and continued poking around in her purse. Confusion reigned in her thoughts, her hands trembled, and the damned key did not want to be found at all.
"Have you had dinner?" - Omer asked casually. He managed to get down and stood right in front of her now.
Her hand finally felt the cold metal. Defne took out the key and went to the door.
"No," she inserted the key into the keyhole.
"Maybe we'll go to that fish restaurant?" Or at Lunch r-t? He stood so close that his hot breath scorched her neck.
"I'm tired," Defne answered when she opened the door. "I don't want to go anywhere." I'll cook something and have dinner at home.
"Then let me help you." Cook together and have dinner together. At the same time, we will discuss shoe models for the festival.
Defne crossed the threshold and turned around. She looked into his dark eyes and firmly answered:
"Omer, go to Lunch r-t." And then to your wonderful, comfortable and stylish home. Your place is there.
"My place is where you are ..." the words hit the tree and bounced off like rubber ball. Defne closed the door in front of his nose and did not even hear the answer.
Omer sighed, put his hands in his jeans pockets, and, bowing his head, sauntered to the stairs that led to his new home.
"Hello," a throaty voice called out.
He looked around. A girl of about twenty turned to him. Tall, thin, with high-ponytail, bleached blond hair.
This blond hair did not fit at all with dark skin, and wide black eyebrows and lilac mother-of-pearl lipstick added to the face roughness.
"Hello," Omer answered coldly and stepped on the first step.
But the girl was not going to give up and came almost close to the stairs.
"So you're the new neighbor." Class! We didn't have such chic men at our place.
"I think you're exaggerating."
Omer felt a dull irritation rise from the depths and fill his chest.
"My name is Sabrina," the girl introduced herself. Omer nodded silently and walked up the steps. Without waiting for an answer, she continued: - And you are the famous designer of shoes Omer Iplikci. I saw your photo in the magazine. But why did you move to live in our area?
Omer went to the door. Looking back he answered:
"I had very serious reasons for this," he went into the apartment.
The door closed tightly behind him. This disregard for her person hurt the girl. Here, in the district, she was considered the first beauty and got used to male adoration and courtship. And here - a completely ignore.
Pulling her lips, she turned and ran into a square, muscular figure.
- Ay, whom I see! - exclaimed the guy. "Sabrina, the light of my eyes, do you want to take a walk with the King?"
- Mehmet, get lost! - the girl shouted at him with irritation. "And stop calling yourself king." Disgrace only.
"Have you laid eyes on this sleek dude?" He squinted unkindly.
- This dude is a famous designer and a rich man. Behind the house is his car. It costs more than our entire neighborhood. And a driver with a housekeeper is available. I saw her cleaning the apartment today. Even nasty Fatima likes her and was talking nicely, as Mr. Omer would be comfortable in this apartment, "Sabrina laughed briefly, and then brought her face closer to Mehmet's face and demanded:" So go your way, but don't come close to me. " I don't want him to think that I'm having anything to do with you.
She straightened up, proudly cocked her head and, wagging her hips, slowly walked along the street.
The guy frowned and gritted his teeth. He has been courting this beauty for two years and to no avail. And then, as soon as some dude appeared with his expensive car, driver and housekeeper, how did the impregnable Sabrina melt? Uh, no! With the King, such tricks do not work.
***
Dressed in cropped jeans and a white, loose shirt, Defne went to the refrigerator. But the open door did not please her. A couple of tomatoes, wrinkled eggplant and a bunch of withered salad. On the side shelf, there is an almost dried bun with cheese, on the bottom shelf, there are leftover baklava and rose jam. Not much. To dress again and go to the store was neither strength nor desire. Sighing, she reached for the bun and at that moment the doorbell rang. Thinking that it was the mistress who came for the rent, she trudged to open.
There was no one behind the door. And on the wooden steps, there was a red saucepan. Defne picked it up and opened the lid. Inside, in tidy rows was dolma. She closed the lid, raised her head and called:
- Okay. Come in!
Without shutting the door Defne went into the apartment. Behind she heard the click of a slammed lock and hasty steps.
Omer followed her into the kitchen and, opening the door of the closet, busily asked:
- Where are your plates and glasses?
"On the middle shelf," Defne answered, warming up the dolma.
"I already saw it," Omer took out several plates and two glasses. - Do you have any bread?
- No, unfortunately.
- I have. Sukru bought. I will bring it now.
While Defne set the table, he ran upstairs to his apartment and returned with a loaf of fresh bread and a bottle of ayran.
- Ayran? - surprised Defne.
"What's so strange about that?" - Omer handed her the bread, and he began to pour into glasses a cold, white, deliciously smelling liquid.
"Omer Iplikci is associated with coffee and wine, but not with ayran," explained Defne a little mockingly.
"We have the wine ahead," thought Omer, and answered aloud:
"You see how much you still don't know about me."
"So you didn't want me to know this side of you," Defne put down a basket of bread on the table.
Omer covered her hand. Her small one completely hid under his strong palm. His thumb stroked the inside of the wrist. A place where the skin is tender - and the pulse is audible.
"Now I want to," he said quietly at her ear.
The warmth of his breath and these sensually gentle touches made her dizzy and treacherously weakened her knees ... Defne allowed herself ... not for long ... just for a moment ... to surrender to this tenderness ... to open her soul, let her in and openly enjoy ... And the next instant she gently released her hand and nodded at the table:
- Dolma is getting cold. Sit down for dinner.
Omer obediently sat at the table. His heart was beating like a drum, in his ears violins were singing, and the evening has never been so beautiful, and the poorly furnished room - so cozy. Dolma has never seemed so tasty, ayran is so refreshing, and bread so soft and fragrant. He ate greedily as if he wanted to make up for all those hungry days that he spent alone. Without Defne.
She watched how deliciously Omer pounced on food and joined him.
At dinner, they established a truce. Together they cleaned the table, brewed strong fragrant tea, put the rose jam into a glass cup that was found in the closet. The jam sparkled with pink highlights and was sweetly fragrant like the spring, love, and happiness. The happiness that they lost at the beginning of summer, and now they were looking for it back.
Omer took a spoonful and brought it to Defne's lips. She obediently opened her mouth and a thick, fragrant jam touched her tongue. With pleasure, Defne closed her eyes and listened to the sensation of a miracle.
Omer did not stop looking at her face. It relaxed, brightened. Long eyelashes flinched easily. A gentle, almost transparent blush appeared on her cheeks. A drop of jam flashed moistly on her lips ... She attracted his look, beckoned ... Defne swallowed, Omer, flinched. He leaned over and pressed himself against her mouth.
He poked his tongue, made his way between her lips, searched for her tongue and groaned when he felt his velvet roughness. Her mouth tasted like a rose. Sweet and heady. Omer wrapped his palm around the soft as silk nape and the kiss became deeper. Defne did not resist, did not push him away ... reached for him and melted in his hands ... This humility drove him crazy, brought his blood to a boiling point ... Without looking up from her lips, Omer pulled her to him, but then a melodic trill tore the pink cobweb of magic.
Defne seemed to wake up from a dream. She trembled and looked at Omer, confused and embarrassed. She shook her head, as if driving away from the obsession, and reached for the phone. Omer moaned inwardly and cursed the unknown caller.
Defne looked at the display and, jumping to her feet, accepted the call with a swift movement of her finger.
- What? She gasped in fright. Omer, catching up next, heard a dense stream of words rushing from the speaker of the phone, but he could not make out anything. And only with anxiety, he watched as Defne turns pale and jerkily throws short phrases.
- Where are you? Which hospital. I'm coming!
With trembling hands, she completed the call and looked at Omer with a bewildered, tearful look.
"Nihan gives birth," enlightened her husband.
He breathed a sigh of relief and held out his hands to her. He hid her in his arms and gently stroked her head.
- Well, dear! And why are these tears? A baby will be born. This is a joy!
"I am worried for Nihan," Defne said plaintively, sobbing.
"And me for Serdar," Omer thought, but he wisely left it to himself.
"Run, change, and we go to the hospital," he ordered and pushed her toward the bedroom. "And I'll clean up here."
Defne did not argue. It is foolish to give in to pride and cherish resentment at such a moment. She now needs a strong hand, which Omer held out without hesitation.
She jumped into jeans and sneakers in a matter of seconds, pulled on a caramel-colored pullover and ran out of the room. Omer was already waiting for her at the door. His long look at her seemed to turn on the light in his eyes. They shone with warmth and tenderness.
- Let's go?! Defne asked impatiently.
"Let's go," Omer opened the door and let her go.
In the emergency room, near the maternity ward, the whole Topal family gathered and, of course, Iso. Her grandmother sat on a sofa covered with artificial leather and was knitting baby's bootees, Esra painted, and Iso wandered around the hall looking at the stands on the walls. Seeing her sister, Esra rushed to her and tightly wrapped her arms around her. Defne kissed the top of her head, put her arms around her shoulders and together they went to her grandmother. Omer offered Iso a hand. He hesitated only a moment and then shook it.
- Where is Serdar? Asked Defne.
Iso nodded at the door.
- With Nihan.
"This insufferable girl," the grandmother screamed. - She has contractions, and she, you see, thought - her stomach hurts. Allah-Allah, how we drove her to the hospital! We thought we won't deliver it, she will give birth on the road.
"Grandmother, she didn't give birth," Esra yelled.
- Ay, what do you understand! - Turkan dismissed her and turned to Omer:
- Son, are you here too?
- And where am I to be, grandmother Turkan? - Omer answered kissing her hand. "Where Defne is, there I am."
The old lady blossomed with a pleased smile, and Defne looked at him warily. A question lurked at the bottom of her amber eyes, to which he answered with an affectionate gaze.
At that moment, the door to the maternity ward opened, and Serdar, white as a canvas with staring, half-witted eyes, fell out of it. He pressed his back against the wall, crawled to the floor and pulled from his head a blue, disposable cap.
"Water," he croaked.
The whole company rushed to him. Grandmother put a bottle of water in his hand, which he drained to the bottom in a few sips.
- Well?!
- What is there?
- Did she gives birth?!
Women started speaking in one voice, and Iso only patted his friend on the shoulder.
"Not yet," he answered hoarsely. - But the doctor says - soon.
"Then why are you here?" - Esra was indignant.
- Why? - Serdar's eyes became completely insane. "You ask why?" Who invented this torture? This is the Inquisition! Тorture! Never again! I chop it off! I'll bind it with a thread...
- Silence! –the grandmother shouted at him and turned to the dumbfounded Omer and Iso: - Do not listen to him. These are only emotions, - the following words were intended for Defne and Esra: - You also close your ears.
Frightened girls obediently pressed their palms to their ears.
"That's better," said Turkan with satisfaction and turned to her grandson. She jerked her dry hand behind the collar of his hospital shirt and, forcing him to rise to his feet, strictly ordered: - Well, don't slacken! Are you a man or what? Go quickly to your wife and without a great-grandson do not come back!
Serdar exhaled sharply, resolutely jammed his cap and disappeared behind the door. Grandmother, as if nothing had happened, sat down on the hospital sofa and again picked up the knitting that was abandoned. Childbirth or not her great-grandson needs booties.
"Iron not a woman," Iso muttered under his nose, looking at her.
Omer completely agreed with him. This calmness of grandma Turkan ... was encouraging. And it gave him a tiny hope that Serdar slightly exaggerated the horror of the birth process. Omer wanted a child. But if Defne suffers ... oh no! He's sure to chop it off then ... or bandage. Or maybe radical action will not be required - will it disappear? Omer squinted at Defne. She was still clutching her ears with her hands, and fear was reflected in her wide-open eyes ... and laughter. She tightly pressed her lips, but still could not stand it. She let go of her poor ears and laughed out loud. The heads of all those present turned to her and four pairs of eyes stared at her in mute amazement.
- Sorry! I am nervous, she said and covered her mouth with her hand, but an uncontrolled laugh burst from under her palm. - Ay, I can do nothing! It's fun!!!
She laughed so contagiously that Esra also began to laugh. And after her and Turkan. Men were the last to join. Their bass laughter set off the melodic female and echoed along in the emergency room, attracting the attention of medical staff and other visitors.
- Allah! We are crazy - wiping tears that came out from laughter, Defne said guiltily. - Nihan is struggling there, and we are laughing here.
"But the baby will come to the world with a laugh, not with tears, and will grow cheerful and funny," Iso reassured her, and Omer hugged her shoulders and kissed her temple. Defne allowed. And not because she played the role of a happy wife in front of her grandmother, but because now, at that moment, everything was right. Omer's presence was correct. His arms were right. The kiss was right. And let her later turn on the "we are strangers" regime again, now an invisible thread of closeness and kinship has stretched between them.
"This thread has long stretched," whispered her inner voice. "The moment Omer kissed you in the restaurant." Only you stubbornly want to forget about it, break the thread. But it will not work. Not work out. It is inextricable. "
Defne sighed. A warm palm gripped her shoulder harder.
Another half-hour passed and the door to the maternity ward opened again and released Serdar. He shot out into the emergency room like a bullet and, jumping high, tore off his cap and threw it up.
- Born !!! He cried out loud. - Boy! Iso! 3.200! Handsome man!
Relatives, laughing and crying with happiness, surrounded him. He grabbed his grandmother's hands, kissed and chatter guiltily:
- Sorry, grandma! I honestly wanted to bring him to you. But the doctor didn't allow. He said ten minutes later we will see him on the second floor.
"My stupid boy," - grandmother put her arm around his neck and pressed his black-haired head to her chest. - I did not ask for this. Congratulations, son! May our baby Iso grow healthy and beautiful.
"And smart," Esra added
- How is Nihan? Why aren't you talking about her? Asked Defne, alarmed.
- Good! She laughs already and raises questions with doctors. Today they will not let you in. It's too late. You will see her tomorrow and talk.
"Topal's," the young nurse, who had left the department, called loudly.
- Your baby was taken to the maternity ward. You can get up and look at him through the window.
For a second, everyone froze, and then they rushed to the stairs. Grandmother Turkan, having forgotten about her arthritis with radiculitis, waving the bag with knitting, like a barrier so that no one overtook her, ran first and shouted on the go:
- My sweet! Kitten! Grandma is coming to you!
Behind her, without feeling their feet, Defne flew with Esra, Serdar with Iso and Omer completed the procession. He did not run. He crossed his long legs immediately through three steps and easily kept pace with the runners.
Breaking through the door and stomping along the corridor, the group ran to a huge window, behind which in straight rows stood incubators with the newborns.
- There he is! - shouted Serdar and pointed a finger at the closest to the window. In it lay a tiny little man. In a white cap and a bulky diaper, he ridiculously curved a red, wrinkled face and jerked naked, with fingers spread out hands and thin legs.
All adults, without exception, had silly, sweet smiles on their faces. And only Esra looked in surprise. Some kind of frog, not a child. Not so she imagined her nephew.
Omer's chest tightened. He first saw a newborn child and experienced strange, never before experienced emotions. Omer, in surprise, asked himself what Serdar now feels if he is ready to give his heart to this tiny creature and protect at the cost of his life.
Defne raised her face to him. It shone with happiness and enthusiasm, mixed with bewilderment - is this little man real? Omer smiled knowingly and closed his eyes for a moment, silently confirming - real!
"Let it happen to you too," grandmother Turkan wished, noticing these glances.
For a moment, happiness in Defne's eyes gave way to confusion and pain. Just for a moment. But Omer saw. And he got it. This evening did not become a final reconciliation. Defne is still closing and keeping him at a distance. Still not trusting. But still ... nevertheless, something subtly changed... in Defne's gaze there is no more cold and hard "stop, don't come." In her eyes are doubt and desperate hope ...
"It will happen, grandmother Turkan," Omer firmly assured while looking into amber eyes. - It's bound to happen.
"Allah will help you," the happy grandmother lifted her hands to heaven.
Defne's lips twitched and a timid smile lit up her face.
Omer stopped the car in the parking lot behind the house. He unfastened his seat belt and leaned toward Defne. She sat, leaning her head back in the seat and smiling at her thoughts.
- What are you thinking about? he asked her.
Her smile widened.
"He's so sweet, right?"
Omer turned her head to himself. He looked into his eyes and said what he was thinking about from the moment he saw the newborn baby
Iso:
- We can also have one. Sweet and infinitely loved.
A smile faded from her face. She thought. Omer waited patiently for her reply. But then she spoke - sadly, honestly, without hiding her feelings and thoughts.
"You know, there were many unresolved problems between my parents ... and there was no love." As a result, they fled in different directions and the childhood of their children was destroyed. And youth too. If it weren't for my grandmother, it's not known what would happen to us ... Therefore, I know for sure - a child will never be a solution to problems between parents. But he will be the victim of these problems. You need to think about the child when there is no doubt, jealousy, and resentment when trust is absolute, and love is not a theorem that needs to be proved ... I want a happy, cloudless childhood for my child. So that he grows up in confidence that his parents love each other and him ... I don't know if I could explain it?
Omer nodded silently. He stretched his lips and kissed her forehead, and then pressed her head to his chest. He stroked her hair gently and said quietly:
"I understand ... but I'll prove it anyway ... until you understand that my love for you is an axiom (accepted truth).
"Defne froze for a minute in his arms, and then pulled back and unfastened her seat belt.
"It's already midnight." It's time to go home and sleep. Tomorrow will be a difficult day.
They got out of the car and headed for the porch of Defne's apartment. She opened the door and turned to Omer. She smiled and thanked:
"Thanks for tonight." I don't know what I would do without you.
He took her hand and, covering his eyes from an excess of feelings, kissed the cool center of a small palm.
"Good night, my life," he wished.
"Good night," Defne answered softly and entered the apartment.
Omer waited until the key turned in the keyhole, and a light came on in the apartment, and only then went to his apartment.
Later, lying in bed, he went over the events of this incredible eventful day and give thanks - to the Judge, Grandma Turkan, Serdar with Nihan, newborn baby. And the Almighty. For the chance. For the right words. For hope.
Downstairs, in her bed, Defne lay in the same way, staring at the ceiling. As the footage from a film before her eyes were the events of today. Omer's eyes when he told her in court, "I love you!" The judge's face and his wise words: "Love is the only thing that matters." Saucepan with dolma on the wooden steps. Sweet kiss, smelling of rose jam... And the tiny baby in the maternity ward. Defne was aware that the wall she had so carefully built around her had cracked today. Bricks fall out of it and through the holes open a bright sky and laughing sun. A fresh breeze rushes through them and carries with it the intoxicating scent of autumn flowers and falling leaves.
Defending herself from pain, she hid for so long that she even managed to forget how beautiful the world was beyond her gloomy fortress. And she realized that she would not get out of these walls without Omer. Without him there will be no joy, there will be no happiness ... there will be no life.
And outside the windows, night spun cobwebs of dreams from stardust. It covered with them the tired people from the day and happiness came into their dreams. Nihan dreamed of a curly-haired boy who stomped on his chubby legs and called: "Mom!" Grandmother Turkan - a flowering garden in which kids played - her great-grandchildren. Exhausted by fear, Seda dreamed her red-haired sister Nisa, healthy and happy, dancing with a blue-eyed guy who looks at her with endless love and tenderness. And Sinan dreamed of Seda and the tiny boy so similar to himself.
And only Omer and Defne dreamed one dream for two. Dressed in white, they walked, holding hands, along the golden sand. Warm sea waves rushed ashore and covered bare feet. It was easy and joyful. They laughed and knew for sure - they no longer need to prove theorems.