I couldn’t bring myself to look at the condition my son was in. He is autistic, screaming loudly and rubbing his eyes—I assumed sand had gotten into them. Tears streamed down my face, mixed with sweat. Even though a cool breeze was blowing everywhere, the pain of the labor I was about to endure blocked out every bit of comfort I could have felt at that moment.
Slowly, I held onto the wall in front of me for support, leaned on it, then slid down and sat on the ground. Rain began to fall. My son screamed even louder, throwing me into panic. The contractions intensified suddenly. My vision started to blur, my breathing became heavy…
There was no one with me. No one said, “Emily, push, you can do it.” No one told me what to do or how to do it. I had no privilege of someone caring enough to rush me to the hospital. Would I deliver this baby on my own, or would I end up being cut open again for a C-section like last time—during the birth of my son in London, my first delivery?
A sharp, unbearable pain shot from my stomach down to my thighs, forcing me to scream with all my strength—in a place where no one could save me.
“Sorry, what’s wrong with you? Are you in labor? What are you doing here? Who are you?”
I heard a new voice. My eyes met a strange face crouching in front of me, peering closely at mine. Between the heavy rain and the intense contractions, I couldn’t even identify who was kneeling before me. I stretched out both hands and clutched his, breathing heavily. The pain robbed me of the ability to speak.
“Subhanallah… is that you, Christen?”
As he tried to pull his hand away, his wristwatch slipped off and landed in my palm. I gripped the watch tightly, groaning in pain.
“Um… do you know anyone around here?”
I shook my head to say no. I knew no one in this world—let alone someone nearby.
“Okay, I’ll take you to the hospital right now… that’s your child over there?”
I nodded weakly. All I wanted was help—someone to separate me from the pain I was feeling. He seemed strong, because suddenly I felt myself lifted off the ground as he muttered prayers.
“Astaghfirullah, O Allah forgive me, I didn’t intend to touch her.”
He placed me in his car. He didn’t care about how dirty my body was, didn’t mind my son’s screaming as if his ears would burst, didn’t care about the difference in our religions, didn’t look at my poverty or compare it to his wealth. He drove fast, reassuring me gently, telling me to be patient—we were almost at the hospital. It was as if I were his sister.
The sound of the bedroom door opening pulled her back from her thoughts. Slowly, she caressed the expensive gold-colored wristwatch on her hand as hot tears fell from her eyes.
“Emily…”
She lifted her head and looked at the man calling her name through the mirror in front of her. He hurried closer and stood before her, staring. His eyes were filled with tension, love, fear, and anxiety—all mixed together at the sight of her tears.
He knelt in front of her as she sat before a vanity filled with makeup items. He was fair-skinned, broad-faced, with dark features like a stormy sky. One look at him told you that joy and laughter had no place on his face—but he was handsome, undeniably masculine. A cross necklace hung on his neck, similar to the one on hers, except his was larger, resting on his tattooed chest.
His gaze fell on the watch on her wrist, and instantly his expression darkened.
“How long will you keep holding onto that watch that reminds you of your past life?”
She looked at him with her strikingly beautiful eyes and perfectly shaped lips and said:
“Until I can forget kindness.”
Her eyes returned to the watch—the one she believed saved her life when death tried to claim her.
“Whoever owns this watch is kind, compassionate, and has a good heart. He’s different from other Muslims.”
He jumped up angrily, as if about to shout her down.
“There’s no difference between them! No difference between any Muslim! You’ve tried one, you’ve tried two—you’ve seen it yourself. You don’t need anyone to tell you. What’s going on in your head? Why can’t you forget your past? You have everything now. You don’t need anyone—I’m here for you and I love you!”
He pulled her into an embrace. She burst into tears and held him tightly. He stroked her back, breathing slowly, trying to calm her.
“You have everything you ever dreamed of now, babe. You have a luxury home and cars. You have everything.”
She lifted her head from his chest, wiped her tears, opened the vanity drawer, put on the necklace, stood up, and went into the bathroom to wash her face. Looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, she saw how much she had changed—her creation altered, her character transformed, her beauty multiplied and fully revealed.
“You can do this, Emily. You have to do this. You are Emily now, not the old Emily. You are Emily now, not Aysha. You’re a strong woman—you don’t need anyone beside you.”
She told herself to gather courage. After all, who else would encourage her if not herself? As the saying goes: when you have no one to push you, push yourself.
She stepped back, still staring at herself, then looked toward the bathroom door, exhaled deeply, walked out, opened it, and left.
She sat again before the mirror and began getting ready. Even after she finished her makeup, Vito said nothing. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, phone in hand, but his reddish eyes followed her every move. She went to where her clothes were laid out, picked them up, entered a small room, changed, and came out adjusting her hair blended with a ponytail extension.
“You look beautiful,” he said, walking toward her.
She truly was—beautiful beyond a single glance, her facial structure and body shape as if she had crafted herself.
“I don’t know why you insist on working. I don’t know what you’re trying to gain. I’ve given you enough money—why doesn’t that bring peace to your heart? Whatever wealth you seek out there can’t compare to what I’ve given you here. But no matter what, I’ll support you because I love you and I want your happiness.”
He spoke while circling her, inspecting every detail.
“I’m not looking for wealth. I just want to live like normal people. You changed me, and I changed. I left everything behind and now live like others. Don’t be afraid.”
He stopped right in front of her, their breaths mingling.
“Vito doesn’t know fear—but fear knows Vito. That’s why it hides when it sees me. You belong to me. Don’t forget that.”
He kissed her.
“I wish you all the best. May you start work with good fortune. I love you. Good luck on your new job.”
He smiled slightly, touched her face, withdrew his hand, and left. She stood there for a moment, exhaled deeply, picked up her phone and bag, and left the room toward where her son was.
TURHAN’S POV
“You’re still here?”
She stood up and looked at him with tired eyes and a worried face.
“Ammy…”
He couldn’t say anything else because she fixed him with a strict, disciplinary look—the kind a mother gives her child.
“Your presence here is useless. You know I will never allow you to sleep in my house, so there’s no point staying the day.”
He opened his mouth, closed it again, and slowly walked closer to his mother.
“Ammy, I’m sorry. I regret everything, you know that. I’ve repented. Please forgive me.”
He knelt down and held her hands.
“What can I do for you to forgive me, Ammy? What can I do to prove my regret?”
“Your regret won’t fix what you destroyed. I’m not holding onto anything—I simply ended the relationship.”
“Ammy, what can I do to make you understand that I regret it? What can I do for your forgiveness? I’m troubled, I’m suffering.”
“I’ve forgiven you, Turhan. I’ve told you that a long time ago.”
“That’s not the kind of forgiveness I want. I want the kind where you miss me when I leave the country, where you’re happy when I return, where we sit together, talk, laugh, and play. Ammy, what can I do to get that kind of forgiveness?”
He asked, on the verge of tears.
“I’ll give you that forgiveness—only if Aysha forgives you.”
He shook his head.
“Ammy, don’t do this. If you tie your forgiveness to Aysha, then you’ll never forgive me. I don’t know where Aysha is now. I don’t know how to find her. Ammy, if you do this, you’re not being fair to me…”
Description
I couldn’t bring myself to look at the condition my son was in. He is autistic, screaming loudly and rubbing his eyes—I assumed sand had gotten into them. Tears streamed down my face, mixed with sweat. Even though a cool breeze was blowing everywhere, the pain of the labor I was about to endure blocked out every bit of comfort I could have felt at that moment.
Slowly, I held onto the wall in front of me for support, leaned on it, then slid down and sat on the ground. Rain began to fall. My son screamed even louder, throwing me into panic. The contractions intensified suddenly. My vision started to blur, my breathing became heavy…
There was no one with me. No one said, “Emily, push, you can do it.” No one told me what to do or how to do it. I had no privilege of someone caring enough to rush me to the hospital. Would I deliver this baby on my own, or would I end up being cut open again for a C-section like last time—during the birth of my son in London, my first delivery?
A sharp, unbearable pain shot from my stomach down to my thighs, forcing me to scream with all my strength—in a place where no one could save me.
“Sorry, what’s wrong with you? Are you in labor? What are you doing here? Who are you?”
I heard a new voice. My eyes met a strange face crouching in front of me, peering closely at mine. Between the heavy rain and the intense contractions, I couldn’t even identify who was kneeling before me. I stretched out both hands and clutched his, breathing heavily. The pain robbed me of the ability to speak.
“Subhanallah… is that you, Christen?”
As he tried to pull his hand away, his wristwatch slipped off and landed in my palm. I gripped the watch tightly, groaning in pain.
“Um… do you know anyone around here?”
I shook my head to say no. I knew no one in this world—let alone someone nearby.
“Okay, I’ll take you to the hospital right now… that’s your child over there?”
I nodded weakly. All I wanted was help—someone to separate me from the pain I was feeling. He seemed strong, because suddenly I felt myself lifted off the ground as he muttered prayers.
“Astaghfirullah, O Allah forgive me, I didn’t intend to touch her.”
He placed me in his car. He didn’t care about how dirty my body was, didn’t mind my son’s screaming as if his ears would burst, didn’t care about the difference in our religions, didn’t look at my poverty or compare it to his wealth. He drove fast, reassuring me gently, telling me to be patient—we were almost at the hospital. It was as if I were his sister.
The sound of the bedroom door opening pulled her back from her thoughts. Slowly, she caressed the expensive gold-colored wristwatch on her hand as hot tears fell from her eyes.
“Emily…”
She lifted her head and looked at the man calling her name through the mirror in front of her. He hurried closer and stood before her, staring. His eyes were filled with tension, love, fear, and anxiety—all mixed together at the sight of her tears.
He knelt in front of her as she sat before a vanity filled with makeup items. He was fair-skinned, broad-faced, with dark features like a stormy sky. One look at him told you that joy and laughter had no place on his face—but he was handsome, undeniably masculine. A cross necklace hung on his neck, similar to the one on hers, except his was larger, resting on his tattooed chest.
His gaze fell on the watch on her wrist, and instantly his expression darkened.
“How long will you keep holding onto that watch that reminds you of your past life?”
She looked at him with her strikingly beautiful eyes and perfectly shaped lips and said:
“Until I can forget kindness.”
Her eyes returned to the watch—the one she believed saved her life when death tried to claim her.
“Whoever owns this watch is kind, compassionate, and has a good heart. He’s different from other Muslims.”
He jumped up angrily, as if about to shout her down.
“There’s no difference between them! No difference between any Muslim! You’ve tried one, you’ve tried two—you’ve seen it yourself. You don’t need anyone to tell you. What’s going on in your head? Why can’t you forget your past? You have everything now. You don’t need anyone—I’m here for you and I love you!”
He pulled her into an embrace. She burst into tears and held him tightly. He stroked her back, breathing slowly, trying to calm her.
“You have everything you ever dreamed of now, babe. You have a luxury home and cars. You have everything.”
She lifted her head from his chest, wiped her tears, opened the vanity drawer, put on the necklace, stood up, and went into the bathroom to wash her face. Looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, she saw how much she had changed—her creation altered, her character transformed, her beauty multiplied and fully revealed.
“You can do this, Emily. You have to do this. You are Emily now, not the old Emily. You are Emily now, not Aysha. You’re a strong woman—you don’t need anyone beside you.”
She told herself to gather courage. After all, who else would encourage her if not herself? As the saying goes: when you have no one to push you, push yourself.
She stepped back, still staring at herself, then looked toward the bathroom door, exhaled deeply, walked out, opened it, and left.
She sat again before the mirror and began getting ready. Even after she finished her makeup, Vito said nothing. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, phone in hand, but his reddish eyes followed her every move. She went to where her clothes were laid out, picked them up, entered a small room, changed, and came out adjusting her hair blended with a ponytail extension.
“You look beautiful,” he said, walking toward her.
She truly was—beautiful beyond a single glance, her facial structure and body shape as if she had crafted herself.
“I don’t know why you insist on working. I don’t know what you’re trying to gain. I’ve given you enough money—why doesn’t that bring peace to your heart? Whatever wealth you seek out there can’t compare to what I’ve given you here. But no matter what, I’ll support you because I love you and I want your happiness.”
He spoke while circling her, inspecting every detail.
“I’m not looking for wealth. I just want to live like normal people. You changed me, and I changed. I left everything behind and now live like others. Don’t be afraid.”
He stopped right in front of her, their breaths mingling.
“Vito doesn’t know fear—but fear knows Vito. That’s why it hides when it sees me. You belong to me. Don’t forget that.”
He kissed her.
“I wish you all the best. May you start work with good fortune. I love you. Good luck on your new job.”
He smiled slightly, touched her face, withdrew his hand, and left. She stood there for a moment, exhaled deeply, picked up her phone and bag, and left the room toward where her son was.
TURHAN’S POV
“You’re still here?”
She stood up and looked at him with tired eyes and a worried face.
“Ammy…”
He couldn’t say anything else because she fixed him with a strict, disciplinary look—the kind a mother gives her child.
“Your presence here is useless. You know I will never allow you to sleep in my house, so there’s no point staying the day.”
He opened his mouth, closed it again, and slowly walked closer to his mother.
“Ammy, I’m sorry. I regret everything, you know that. I’ve repented. Please forgive me.”
He knelt down and held her hands.
“What can I do for you to forgive me, Ammy? What can I do to prove my regret?”
“Your regret won’t fix what you destroyed. I’m not holding onto anything—I simply ended the relationship.”
“Ammy, what can I do to make you understand that I regret it? What can I do for your forgiveness? I’m troubled, I’m suffering.”
“I’ve forgiven you, Turhan. I’ve told you that a long time ago.”
“That’s not the kind of forgiveness I want. I want the kind where you miss me when I leave the country, where you’re happy when I return, where we sit together, talk, laugh, and play. Ammy, what can I do to get that kind of forgiveness?”
He asked, on the verge of tears.
“I’ll give you that forgiveness—only if Aysha forgives you.”
He shook his head.
“Ammy, don’t do this. If you tie your forgiveness to Aysha, then you’ll never forgive me. I don’t know where Aysha is now. I don’t know how to find her. Ammy, if you do this, you’re not being fair to me…”