Omer took Defne by the hand and led her to the sofa. He sat down next to her and hugged her. Stroking her shoulder gently, he spoke:
- Darling, it's just a coincidence. Don't take it to heart. Nobody can become you and take your place. This is simply not possible. After all, you are you. Unique. The only one.
Defne looked into his eyes. Beautiful, black eyes. They looked affectionately and warmed her chilled heart. But did Omer hear her? Did he understand?
"I feel that way," she whispered, and a tear ran down her cheek.
- My soul, these are hormones, - Omer rubbed the moisture on her cheek with his thumb. - I read that during pregnancy, this often happens. Calm down and try to forget.
Defne froze. She looked at her husband, and something broke inside. He doesn't understand her anymore. He considers her feelings to be the whim of pregnant women, and she is a stupid wife who throws tantrums from scratch. It was painful. So painful and cold. She lowered her eyes and replied:
- You're right. These are hormones. "She stood up and walked over to the table. She picked up a pencil and touched its sharpened tip." - It's time to get back to work.
Omer got up from the sofa, walked over to her, and hugged her. He kissed the temple and said in a velvet voice:
"My sensible girl."
- Do not call me that.
- How? - Omer was taken aback.
- Your girl.
- Why?
He didn't understand. He really didn't understand that the girl grew up and learned to see the world differently. Don't trust words. Doubt people, you don't like. Feel their envy. See prudence and falsehood. And to understand that this envy can destroy her life. Will Omer be able to love such a Defne, or does he only need his pure and naive girl?
"I grew up, Omer," she replied.
- Silly, - he smiled and straightened a red strand of hair that was out of her hair. Then he lightly flicked his index finger against the tip of her small nose. "Even in forty years, you will be my girl. Some things don't change, my love.
***
Ahtem inserted the last stone into the pendant-amulet ordered by Defne and admired his work. The decoration is amazing. Knowing what a noble goal is inherent in this pendant, he put all his soul and all his skill into it.
Putting the amulet in the case, Ahtem glanced around the new workshop proudly. As he dreamed, he equipped it in the basement of their house with Laura. Now he worked here, and in the old workshop, three novice craftsmen settled. Under his patronage, they were hired to work in Sapphire.
Something soft touched his feet and a purr was heard. He bent down and stroked the gray cat's neck with a familiar gesture.
- Hi, Gri! Do you like the pendant? - The cat purred louder. - Me too. It turned out beautifully.
A door slammed upstairs, and rapid footsteps were heard. Ahtem raised his eyebrows in surprise. Only Laura could open the door with her key. But what does she do at home during the day?
Footsteps were heard closer, and the wife herself flew into the workshop.
- Honey, - he hurried to meet her and took her hands. - What happened?
She looked at him with wide, shining eyes. She took a breath and blurted out:
- Two stripes. Blue. Bright blue, you know? Two!
He didn't understand anything. What stripes? Where? Gently pulling her hand, he tried to seat his wife on the sofa, but she became stubborn and remained standing.
- Ahtem, don't you hear?! Two stripes, I say! Blue!
"Honey, calm down," he released her hands and gently stroked her shoulders. - Explain clearly. I do not understand anything.
- What is incomprehensible here?! - Laura, always balanced and calm, exclaimed impatiently. - The test showed two stripes! Blue! - She fell silent and smiled touchingly. Then she shrugged and said: - I'm pregnant...
The floor slipped out from under his feet, and the room rushed in frantic rotation. His heart stopped for a short moment, and then it pounded like crazy.
"Darling...," he whispered, comprehending what he had heard, and the next moment he picked up his wife in his arms and whirled her around the workshop. A jubilant shout echoing off the walls filled the room with a cacophony of sounds. Laura laughed, cried, and clung tightly to her husband's broad shoulders. He put her on the floor and pressed his trembling lips to hers.
- Thank you ... - whispered between kisses. - thanks...
- Silly, - she answered in the same whisper. - Why me? Thank you! You made me a child!
Ahtem put his hands over her face and looked into her eyes. Huge, black, shining with happiness and the mystery that now lived in her.
"We did," he corrected hoarsely. - We have done!
The gray cat was sitting in the corner and squinting slanting eyes, looked at the owners. Its independent face was already very pleased. Laura noticed it out of the corner of her eye and exclaimed in surprise:
- Gri! Are you also happy that a baby will appear in the house?
The cat got up, stretched itself contentedly, and went up to the owner. Purring softly, rubbed her neck against her legs, and looked into her eyes.
"It will be my favorite," said her gaze.
***
By evening, Defne fell ill. She shivered, had a headache and a sore throat. She lay wrapped in a blanket, desperately trying to keep warm. Omer with a face darker than a cloud walked in circles and tried to heal her. He covered her with blankets over the blanket, applied a compress to her forehead, he gave her tea with honey and lemon. Defne could only swallow that tea. Thinking about other food made her sick. Holding her head as she drank tea, he grumbled:
- And what did you think when you went up to the roof without a coat? It is February, and you were in one thin blouse. Now you see - you caught a cold! And the medicine cannot be taken.
Defne lay down again and, burying her nose in the blanket, asked in a husky voice:
- Omer, calm down! If you want to continue lecturing, go to another room and grumble there. I already have a headache.
"Sorry," he apologized repentantly and sat down next to her on the bed. Gently tucked the unruly hair behind her ear and pressed his hand to her cheek. She was hot. He reached for the thermometer and in a voice trembling with alarm suggested: - Defne, let's measure the temperature.
"We measured it fifteen minutes ago," she muttered indignantly from under the covers.
"Then let's call an ambulance," he said.
- What for? She moaned. - It's a common cold. I'll lie down for a couple of days, and everything will pass.
"You're pregnant," he reminded her.
- And I will remain pregnant for another four months. - Defne grimaced. - Please let me lie down calmly. Don't pester me.
"Okay," he sighed and, crawling under the covers, lay down beside her. He hugged her and pressed his chest to the narrow back.
Defne froze. It was so touchingly sweet to feel his warmth. It penetrated the skin and drove off the chills. But then ... why isn't it easier for her? Why does the soul hurt more than a cold throat?
By morning, the temperature dropped. Together with it, her voice disappeared. Defne only whispered and swallowed with difficulty the warm milk and honey brought by Omer.
- I will not go to work and stay with you - anxiously examining the pale face of his wife, he suggested.
"Don't," she hissed. - I'll call grandmother. She will come and take care of me.
Omer's cheek twitched and a shadow flickered in his black eyes.
"I want to take care of you," he said, emphasizing the first word.
"You have an important meeting," Defne reminded him and put the half-empty cup on the nightstand.
- To hell with it! - Omer sat down on the bed and bent down to kiss his wife.
She turned away, and his lips slid along her cheek.
"Don't... get infected," Defne whispered, hiding her eyes.
- You might think I'm afraid of that.
He straightened up and waited for her to look up. But Defne stubbornly stared everywhere, but not at him. It hurt. And anger him. Damn it, he didn't do anything to deserve that kind of treatment. It's not his fault that his assistant has red hair, it's not his fault that she twisted her leg. Even the fact that she was hired he is not to blame. He did not audition and did not approve of her candidacy. And now he would have fired her if there was at least one reason for this. But there is not! Why doesn't Defne understand this?!
Omer got to his feet, tugged on his trousers, and straightened his belt.
"I won't bother you," he said in the tone of the old iceberg Omer Iplikci. - Call your grandmother immediately. Let her come and be with you. "If my concern is so unpleasant for you," he added mentally and left the room.
Defne looked at the closed door with tearful eyes. Gone. He didn't even try to be persistent and, not giving a damn about her words, stay. But still, quite recently he would have been. He would never have left her alone. Pregnant and sick. He would hug her tightly, and ordered her to lie quietly in his arms and recover. Sniffing and wiping away her tears, Defne picked up the phone.
"Grandma, I'm sick," she croaked plaintively into the receiver and began to cry.
The gloomy Omer sat in the back seat of the Mercedes and nervously tapped drum rolls on his knee with his fingers. Sukru glanced at the boss in the rearview mirror. Several times he tried to say something, but immediately closed his mouth. The driver who had worked with Omer for several years knew firsthand that in such a state it was better not to disturb him.
- Sukru, - before leaving the car near the business center, Omer turned to him, - go now to the market. Buy fruit. The freshest and most organic. And also a ginger root. Take it to Defne and ask Zehra to take good care of her until Mrs.Turkan comes.
- Okay, Mr. Omer, - the driver promised and mentally sighed with relief - so that's why the boss is not himself! With a sympathetic smile, he began to jabber: - Defne caught a cold? Well, that's okay. Zehra and Aunt Turkan will quickly put her on her feet. Don't worry about the fruit. I will buy the best.
"Go, have a nice day", Omer wished and got out of the car.
He went up to Passionis and went to his office. He pulled off his coat, hung it on a hanger, and nervously smoothed his hair. Resentment was still bubbling in his chest. He knew there were two ways to calm down. Defne's gentle touches and complete immersion in work. The first was not possible, and the soul did not want the second. But he cursed himself and sat down at the table.
Lаila entered the office with a tray in her hands. With a sweet smile, she put a cup of coffee in front of the boss and said:
- Good morning, Mr. Omer! You look tired. Do you have a headache? Shall I bring some medicine?
"Thank you, Laila," he answered gloomily. - I do not need anything. Coffee is enough. Did you email me the schedule of the day?
- Yes. There have been some changes. Mr. Shinasi asked to postpone the meeting until 6 pm. In Mano. He is waiting for your decision.
At six in the evening? Anything but that! It was on the day when his wife got sick and he has to be at home in the evening. But the meeting cannot be postponed.
Losing a client like Shinasi would be a huge disadvantage for Passionis. Should he ask Sinan to go instead?
- Laila, has Mr. Sinan come?
The assistant's perfectly drawn auburn eyebrows arched.
- But, Mr. Omer, have you forgotten? Mr. Sinan flew to Croatia. On a business trip.
Heck! Really forgot. Is he in his right mind to remember?
Omer rubbed his forehead wearily with his palm and sighed heavily.
- Call Shinasi. Tell him I agree to a meeting at six in the evening.
Curled up in a ball, Defne lay in the huge matrimonial bed and felt sorry for herself. She felt bad. Very bad. It was not so much the throbbing headache and the sore throat that bothered her, but heavy thoughts. She kept trying to understand when and why her and Omer's trust in each other had shaken. After all, after the experienced trials, it seemed unshakable like a rock. And suddenly, in one moment, everything changed...
Footsteps were heard behind the door, it opened and Zehra entered the room with a tray in her hands.
- Defne, daughter, I made you salep. Fragrant, hot. Have a drink and your throat will immediately become better.
Putting the tray on the nightstand, she helped the girl to sit up in bed. Sliding another pillow under her back and making sure that Defne was comfortable, she handed her a large cup, oozing fragrant steam, and spoke:
- Drink, honey, drink. I set the chicken broth to cook. Aunt Turkan will come and cook her famous soup for you.
Defne, thanking the caring woman with her eyes and a smile, took a sip from the cup. Salep warmed up and covered her throat. The pain really began to subside.
Zehra straightened the blanket, folded up the crumpled cover, continuing talking:
- It is bad that Mr. Omer did not have breakfast. He left for work hungry.
Defne perked up and put the cup aside.
- How did he not have breakfast? - asked in a hoarse whisper.
- He didn't even drink coffee, - answered Zehra. - All dishes are clean and the coffee maker has not been switched on since yesterday. I checked the coffee drawer - clean and empty. As I left it yesterday.
- Allah, - Defne worried and grabbed the phone.
- Whom do you call? Zehra asked.
- At the Lunch restaurant. I'll order breakfast. And then brother Sukru ... let him take it and bring it to Omer. He can't work hungry.
Zehra smiled and took the phone from her.
- Do not worry. And don't strain your throat. Otherwise, you will completely lose your voice. I made sandwiches and filled a breakfast box. Sukru is on his way here, carrying fruit. Omer told him to buy it. So he will deliver breakfast.
"Thank you, Sister Zehra," Defne croaked.
- All right, dear, - the woman smiled and hurried downstairs.
Defne leaned back on the pillows and smiled. Sukru is on his way with fruit. Omer ordered to buy for her.
He thinks about her and worries!
Omer delved deeper into his contract with Shinasi. For an hour he had been reading legal terms, but he had only made it to page three. Work would have gone faster if it hadn't been for each paragraph to be re-read several times. But anxiety for Defne besieged thoughts and made it difficult to concentrate. Omer was worried. He wanted to call, but each time he put his finger down, never hitting the green button on the phone. With Defne were Zehra and grandmother. They will not let anything bad happen. And the wife, if she loves him even a little, let her call herself.
There was a knock on the door. Omer frowned, expecting Laila to show up again with another show of caring for the boss. But on the threshold stood Sukru with a paper bag in his hands.
- What happened? Omer jumped up and stared at the driver in dismay. - Defne got worse?
The driver looked at the boss in surprise and hastened to calm him down:
- No, Mr. Omer. Defne is no worse. No temperature. Zehra takes care of her. But Defne found out that you didn't have breakfast, and was very upset, - Sukru put the package on the table. - Here. Breakfast. Defne asked Zehra to cook and order you to eat every last crumb.
Omer sank into a chair and, closing his eyes for a moment, exhaled. Then he nodded to Sukru:
- Thanks. You can go.
The driver bowed and left. Omer opened the package, inhaled the aroma of toasted bread and, clasping his hands behind his head, leaned back in his chair. A satisfied smile played on his lips. Defne found out that he had not had breakfast and was very upset. She asked Zehra to cook. She told him to eat every last crumb.
She thinks about him and worries!
***
Grandma did not come alone. Defne's jaw dropped when she saw who was accompanying her visit to her sick granddaughter. Omer's grandfather was with her and didn't even lean on the cane.
"Mr. Hulusi was very upset when he found out about your illness and wanted to visit his granddaughter," explained the grandmother and looked at the man coquettishly.
"And how did he know interestingly?" - Defne mentally mocked, but prudently kept silent. She just smiled affably and held out her hands to the old people.
- My bird is sick! - The grandmother complained. - Quickly tell me who offended and upset you!
"Nobody, grandma," Defne hissed. - I am the one to blame. I went outside without a coat and caught a cold.
- And what were you just thinking? - the plaintive tone was replaced by an angry one. "But grandma is here and will quickly put you on your feet. Now we will put a warm compress on your nose and chest, feed you chicken soup, apply mustard plasters to your feet - and by evening you will be as good as new.
Defne shook her head in dismay.
- Grandma, I have no stuffy nose and no cough. Only my throat hurts and my voice is gone.
- The throat of my bird hurts?! Mistress Zehra!!! - Loudly to the whole house shouted
Turkan, and when the woman looked into the room, she importantly ordered: - Honey, in the bag that I brought in there are sage and calendula in canvas bags. Brew and cool to keep warm. We will treat Defne's throat.
The Inquisition lasted all day. Grandmother made her granddaughter gargle with herbs. Stuffed her with syrups, which tasted so nasty that Defne jerked. Turkan covered her neck with warm salt wrapped in cotton and nevertheless put mustard plasters on her feet, which they burned mercilessly. The girl moaned mentally, but heroically performed all stages of the treatment. And she was infinitely happy when the guests were about to leave. Zehra also said goodbye to the hostess and hurried home. As soon as the door closed behind them, Defne jumped out of bed and rushed to the shower.
Pride gave way to love. Again. Omer still called his wife. He listened to beeps for a long time but he did not wait for the hoarse, dear voice. Defne didn't answer, and it became cold inside again. He threw the phone on the table and left the office. He went up to the roof and stopped where Defne stood yesterday. A fresh breeze hit his chest. Omer put his hands in his pockets and presented his face to it.
Defne stepped out of the shower feeling as if she had been reborn. The medieval torture of her grandmother was still effective. The throat hardly hurt, and her voice even emerged a little. A light flashed on the phone, indicating that someone has called. Secretly hoping that it was Omer who remembered his sick pregnant wife, Defne turned on the screen. And happily jumped on the spot. Omer did call. Striking the screen with trembling fingers, she immediately called him back.
"Hello," came a familiar drawn-out voice that Defne would like never to hear in her life. The smile slowly faded from her face. The phone fell from a weakened hand to the floor and the screen went out. Defne sat down on the bed and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.
Laila removed the phone from her ear and laughed triumphantly. She was lucky again. She saw Omer in one jacket, without a coat, go out and walk with a broad step towards the elevator. Taking a folder with documents in her hands and hiding a compact bottle of perfume in her pocket, she went to the boss's office. The coat hung in its place. Laila went to the hanger, took the bottle out of her pocket, turned the coat over, and sprinkled some perfume on the lining just above the inner pocket. And at that moment Omer's cell phone rang. It lay on the table and vibrated, filling the room with quiet, melodic sounds. A photograph of the foolish wife flashed on the screen. Without hesitation, Laila accepted the challenge and answered:
- Hello...
The naive one hung up. It means that she got upset and emotions got out of control. This is good luck! Only... Omer Iplikci doesn't need to know that his wife called. She needs to erase the incoming call on his phone. A couple of finger swipes and voila! No sign of a call. Mentally congratulating herself on her luck, Laila left the office and went to her room.
Omer looked at his watch. Half-past five. He needs to go back and get ready for the meeting. If only boring Shinasi didn't turn it into hours of discussion of each letter in the contract.
Back in his office, the first thing Omer looked at was his phone. There were no missed ones. Defne didn't call back. Gritting his teeth to an ache, he put on his coat and threw the phone into his pocket.
What! Let it be as Defne wants. And he will not intrude.
Wrapped in a dense cocoon of thoughts, Omer felt the smell of perfume but immediately forgot about it. The soul burned with resentment, but one thought was beating in his brain: what to do? How to restore trust destroyed by resentment? The joy. The happy life with Defne.
Laila entered the office. She put the folder with the contract in her briefcase and addressed the boss, frozen like an ice statue:
- Mr. Omer! It is time. Sukru is waiting by the car.
- Yes, yes, - he smoothed his hair with a nervous gesture and left the office.
Omer's fears were confirmed. Shinasi clung to every word in the contract, negotiated new terms, talked too much, and wasted time. The meeting dragged on, Omer was nervous, Laila was jubilant. Everything was going even better than she had planned. For two and a half hours, the boss never picked up the phone. There were no incoming ones either. The naive wife turned out to be not only stupid but also proud. The best combination for realizing her, Leila's plans!
Omer more and more often glanced at his watch and his face darkened. After another objection from Shinasi, he suddenly exhaled and agreed to his terms. The client, who did not expect such a turn, was confused for a moment, and then got up and held out his hand. Omer quickly rose from the table, shook it, and hurried to say goodbye:
- I beg your pardon, but I have to go. See you.
- I'll bring the coat, - Laila obligingly offered and hurried to the dressing room.
Defne tried to calm herself. She was convinced that Laila was Omer's assistant. She can answer calls when the boss is busy. When Omer will be free and call back. But he did not call back. Didn't come home at six. The clock struck seven - he was not there. In order not to cheat herself and not go crazy with suspicion, Defne sat down to work. The collection for the exhibition was almost ready. It remained to finish the last sketch - the most important one. The gem of the collection. Necklace and earrings. Sapphires set in white gold.
The pencil fluttered across the sheet of paper, and her thoughts whirled around. Where is Omer? With whom? Why isn't he coming home? Defne was even going to call Sukru, but pride prevailed. She put her phone down and bent over the drawing again.
The clock showed nine when the rustling of the tires of a car entering the yard was heard outside the window. Defne put down her drawing and went out into the hall.
Omer entered the house, gloomy as a cloud. He hung his coat in the closet and, looking at his wife with an impenetrable look, asked:
- Why aren't you in bed?
"I felt better and decided to finish the sketch," Defne replied in a hoarse whisper.
- Finished? - Omer walked by and turned into the kitchen.
- Almost, - Defne followed him.
He walked over to the coffee machine. With a habitual gesture, he put coffee in the coffee compartment and turned it on. Defne, looking at his back, asked:
- Where have you been?
"At the meeting with Shinasi," he replied without turning around.
- With Laila?
Her husky voice wavered.
The coffee machine beeped that coffee is ready. Omer took the cup, took a sip, and turned to Defne.
- Yes. It was a working meeting, and she is my assistant.
- Why didn't you call and warn me that you will be late at work?
- I called. You didn't pick up the phone.
- I was in the shower. Did not hear.
"You didn't want to call me back," Omer said with bitter irony.
- I called back! Defne croaked indignantly.
- You called back? - Omer smiled wryly and took out his phone from his pocket. - Let's see, - he opened the call history. - Neither missed, nor incoming from you. If you don't believe it, look for yourself. "He put the phone on the tabletop and pushed it towards her.
Defne didn't even look at it. She put her hands behind her back and stubbornly repeated:
- I've phoned. Laila answered the phone. I had no desire to talk to her ... I thought that you were busy and would call back when you were free. If you don't believe me, look at my phone.
He did not budge. He looked at Defne with burning, black eyes and this look pierced her to the bone.
- What are we doing, Defne? Why are we showing evidence? When did we have trust issues?
"I don't know," Defne lowered her head and shook it.
Omer put down the cup, walked over to her, and hugged her. Defne buried her face in the rough fabric of his jacket and took a deep breath. A strange, sugary-sweet smell hit her nose. Not believing herself, Defne raised her pale face to Omer.
- What is it? - asked. - Have you started using women's perfume?
- What are you talking about? - His eyebrows came together on the bridge of his nose.
"You smell like women's perfume," Defne repeated and put her palms on his chest. She tried to get out of his embrace, but Omer tightened the grip on his hands. Then Defne pushed him and hissed: - Let go! The smell makes me sick.
He complied. Defne, looking into his eyes, backed away. Omer took a step and caught her hand. Squeezing her thin fingers tightly, he spoke:
- Defne, wait! I do not understand! What perfume? I haven't even spoken to women today!
- I do not know! - Defne shook her head and pulled her hand away. - I have a headache. I want to sleep.
She turned and ran for the stairs. Omer caught her, picked her up, and carried her upstairs.
- You do not hear? She hit him on the shoulder with her fist. - I can't stand this smell!
"Be patient," he said through clenched teeth. "I'll take you to our room and shower.
Omer brought Defne into the bedroom and laid her on the bed. She immediately turned away and, hiding her face in her hands, pulled her knees to her chest. He looked at the back of her red head and went to the shower.
In the bathroom, taking off his jacket, Omer sniffed at it. Indeed, there was a smell. Heavy and luscious, but unfamiliar.
Omer tore a garbage bag off the roll and stuffed his clothes into it. The first thing tomorrow is to ask Zehra to take them to the dry cleaner.
Throwing the package into a corner, he stood under a tight stream of scalding hot water. Having generously splashed shower gel on a washcloth, he fiercely rubbed his skin, as if so he could tear off someone else's smell and the web of Defne's mistrust.
When he, dressed in pajamas, returned to the room, his wife lay, hiding under the covers. Her shoulders trembled faintly. Omer sat down next to her and gently touched her hair. Stroking the fiery strands, he spoke:
- Darling, I don't know how the perfume got on my jacket. Perhaps in the dressing room of the restaurant, my coat was hanging next to a strongly perfumed woman's coat and was saturated with this smell. But I swear I haven't done anything reprehensible.
There was a gasp in response. Omer threw back the covers and turned Defne to face him.
"Look at me," he asked and pressed his hand to her cheek. She raised her tear-filled eyes. Looking into their transparent depth, he spoke: - Darling, you are my soul. My life. The most important and beloved person. How can I intentionally hurt my soul? Deceive? It's like killing myself. Please don't doubt me.
"I'll die if you fall in love with another," Defne whispered and tears gushed from her eyes.
Omer wiped them with hot palms and kissed trembling eyelashes, nose, and swollen lips.
"Never, my heart, never," he promised fervently between kisses. "Just don't cry ... please don't cry! Your tears tear my heart. And the bead is upset. She feels bad when her mother is sad and crying. Please, love, smile!
Defne smiled through her tears and Omer laughed softly. He pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.
"If you only knew how much I love you, such silly doubts would never have entered your head. You would only laugh at them.
"Tell me...," she asked quietly.
Omer slid under the covers and hugged her. Defne laid her head on his chest. Fingering her hair, he spoke quietly:
- I always think about you. Every minute. When I don't see you for a long time, my chest contracts, and I can't breathe. Then I call you to at least hear your voice. And when you don't answer, I start to panic. The heart stops in the chest. Therefore, if you do not want my premature death, then always pick up the receiver when I call, - throwing her head back and looking in her face, he ordered humorously edifying and lightly slapped the tip of her nose with his finger. Defne wrinkled it and smiled. - When you smile at me, the world changes. Shines with colors and sun. And I feel like the happiest person in the world. And when you are sad, everything around is covered with a gray veil. And then I'm ready to hurt myself, but return the smile to your sweet face. When you are sick, I pray to the Almighty to give me your pain. I will tolerate any pain as long as you never feel it.
"Me too," Defne whispered softly. - I will endure any, if only you were calm and happy. Forgive me for today.
Omer looked into her face. From his look, warmth spread like honey in Defne's chest.
- And you to me. It's my fault. I succumbed to pride again. The whole day I called everyone - Zehra, grandma Turkan, grandfather ... I found out how you are ... but I had to call you.
- Wait, - Defne recalled how the family's phone rang every now and then, and they went out to talk in another room. - So you called? How did you know that your grandfather is with us?
- He called me and said that he was going to visit you.
- And you were not surprised that he knows about my illness?
- Of course not. Defne, I know perfectly well that my grandfather has a crush on your grandmother and often visits her. And he calls even more often. As did she to him. So, not knowing about your illness, he did not have a single chance.
- Oh Gods! - Defne leaned back on the pillow, looked comically, and pressed her palms to her cheeks. - The Topal girls drove the Iplikci boys crazy. People will say - a love spell.
- Yes, you are, - Omer bent over her and winked. - Sorceresses. You capture our hearts and drive us crazy. My grandfather and I did not have a single chance to resist such beauties. - Defne laughed and again laid her head on the broad chest of her husband. He put his hand over her and kissed the top of her head. - Yes, I forget to ask. Why do you have the name of your mother and not your father? - Omer felt Defne's body shrink and hastened to say: - If you don't want to answer, don't tell. Consider that there was no question.
- When my father left us ... - Defne hesitated and took a deep breath, - gave upon us, grandmother was very angry. She said we don't need anything from him. And the last name is also not needed. Serdar and I agreed. Grandmother went to social services. I don't know by what truths or crooks she was able to convince the officials, but our name became Topal.
"An incredible woman," Omer's voice sounded with undisguised admiration. - No wonder my grandfather fell in love with her.
"Yes, we are," Defne teased him. - Sorceresses.
Omer smiled and asked:
- Can my witch tell me how she feels? Does your head hurt badly? And the throat?
Defne shook her head.
- No. I'm better. My grandmother's methods of treatment, of course, resemble medieval torture, but they help.
- Health to her hands, - Omer turned off the lamp and hugged his wife closer. - It's too late. Let's sleep. Tomorrow will be a new day.
- And we will not pull quarrels and resentments into it, - Defne muttered.
- We won't. Sleep.