Mirai opened the velvet case. It contained rows of sparkling earrings on white satin. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires. Each pair had two. In a separate recess, gold coins were stacked in an even pile. There were twelve of them. Fine workmanship and high standard. Each one was worth a fortune. She ran her fingers over them and smiled through her tears. Sweet mommy. She did not dare to defend her daughter, but she collected a dowry for her grandchildren.

Mirai opened the letter with trembling fingers. The lines were uneven and in some places, there were vague spots of tears. For some reason, it was they who made the heart squeeze with acute pain. The woman kissed the yellowed paper and began to read:

"My soul! My girl! Forgive me for everything. For my weakness and fear of your father. Now I understand - my cowardice destroyed everything. I thought your father's anger would subside, he would cool down and allow you to return home. But time passed, and he seemed to have lost his mind. He didn't even allow me to mention your name. I said I want to help you with money. He beat me. Blocked my credit cards and put in an overseer who he calls a security guard. And I was silent and this silence is my biggest sin and guilt. I had to fight, scream, to demand! To protect and defend you, my girl, and your children. The fact that I am dying without seeing you is my fault and the payment for cowardice. But if you only knew how much it hurts me to think that I cannot see you and say goodbye. Kiss the girls and Mert. This is my only desire, but my husband refused me too. How bitter! I've lived a worthless life. But you, my girl, you are strong! You will pass all the tests, and you will become happy! I will pray to the Almighty for this every minute.

The jewels in the case. I inherited coins from my mother, and I secretly bought earrings for girls' birthdays. Don't ask where I got the money for this. I will be ashamed to admit...

This inheritance may not be your father's millions, but I'm happy that I was able to collect it. I asked Hazal to find you and give my modest gifts. If you are reading this letter, then it means she did it.

Goodbye, my soul. I hug you tightly! Kiss the children for me and tell them that their grandmother loved them very much.

Your mother"

Mirai finished reading the letter, laid it gently on the table, dropped her face in her hands, and burst into tears.

At that moment she hated her father to the bottom of her heart and cursed his cruelty.

- I love you, Mom! She whispered.

***

Zubeyir, listening to Laila's words, froze in the doorway without breathing. He so wanted to hear what she would say about him to her friend. That this was a woman, he did not even doubt. His beautiful and modest Laila will never make friends with men.

And the shy woman continued to say:

- Imagine he's such an idiot! He is deeply in love with me and does whatever I say. Believes I'm like a Mother Teresa. It turned out to be easier to trick him than to tell a fairy tale to a child. I blinked my eyes, let out a tear, called him beloved a couple of times - and voila! The fool is dancing to my tune and wants to introduce me to his mother, - Laila laughed sarcastically. - But that is not all! He is already dreaming of how we will get married, and we will live as one family with his mom! - The giggling turned into lively laughter. - Can you imagine, I am with his mother in the same house!

It seemed to Zubeyir that the world was split in half. That his soul was taken out and trampled on with dirty boots. On shaky legs, he entered the room and stopped so that Laila could see him. She looked at him and hung up the phone.

- Bye, dear! I'll call you later.

Throwing the phone on the bed, she smiled invitingly at the guy and beckoned him to her.

- Hello! Did you come? So early...

- It's true? - Zubeyir asked dully. - What I heard, right? You lied to me, used ..., considered a naive fool...

Laila's face changed. Became angry and mocking.

- Enough! - She stopped the guy. - What are you whining about? You came up with a fairy tale that a beauty fell in love with a fool, and believed in it! Hahaha! You have to be such an idiot!

And he idolized this witch? Considered her his soul and life? Believed without looking back and did mean deeds for her? What for? Why was he so blind?

"I'll tell Mister Omer about everything," he said firmly and looked into her face distorted with anger. - About the fact that I changed the recordings of video cameras, deleted the letter from his and Defne's e-mail, changed the date of registration of the sketch in the Sapphire database. I'll tell him everything.

Laila jumped up to him and hissed in his face:

- Just try it! There will be nothing for me. I am no longer a Passionis employee. And here you are! You will fly out like a bullet, without recommendations and in the blacklisting of workers. And how then are you going to support your sick mom?! What money?!

Zubeyir's eyes darkened. Laila is right. He is a naive fool. Made a mistake. A terrible mistake that can destroy his life and the life of his mother. Don't give a damn about himself, but his mother ... she didn't deserve poverty and shame. He turned slowly and walked towards the door. Laila grabbed his hand and, turning him to her, demanded an answer:

- You will be silent?

He nodded, pushed her away, and left the room.

***

Omer woke up from gentle touches to his face. Warm fingers stroked his cheek, brow line, forehead, and lips. He caught them, squeezed them in his hand, and kissed them.

- Good morning, my life, - Defne whispered and he opened his eyes.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed and smiled at him warmly. Omer pulled her hand and laid her next to him. He kissed her, and only then said hello:

- Good morning my love! How good it is to wake up from your gentle touches.

Defne hugged him and, laying her head on his chest, said:

- I promised that I would be with you all day. So that you don't feel lonely for a single minute. To not feel cold.

Omer pressed his cheek to the top of her head and replied:

- My soul ... while you are with me, I am warm.

"We need to get up...," Defne reminded, but she didn't even move.

Omer hugged her tighter and replied:

- Let's lie down like this for another five minutes.

- Whatever you want...

Her voice and the warm touch of her fingers healed the old pain. It wasn't that sharp anymore. Melted and turned into sadness.

- Say so always... - asked Omer.

- Always ... - promised Defne.

The Mercedes, instead of turning onto the highway leading out of the city, turned a completely different side and headed towards the center of Istanbul.

- Aren't we going to the poplar forest? - Defne asked her husband.

"A little later," he replied. - First, I'll take you to another of mom's places.

- What place? - Defne perked up.

- An old pastry shop. It is over a hundred years old. It is still used to prepare desserts according to old recipes. Mom loved to go there. We came several times a year and ordered a Montebianco. This is a winter dessert. Very tasty.

- Shall we order?

- Are you asking? Necessarily! And to it - Turkish coffee. It is boiled there in а copper Turkish coffee-pot on the hot sand. A whole art.

Omer spoke, and he confidently drove the car along the road filled with cars. Defne admired his proud profile and strong hands gripping the steering wheel. Her chest ached. How she would like his mother to be alive, and Omer did not have to suffer and miss her. Defne felt that she would have loved Mrs. Emine with all her heart. As much as her gorgeous son.

"I love you," she said, and a smile blossomed on Omer's face.

"Do you know," he said, "that you have incredible talent.

- Which one?

- To respond to the place and time. Always perfect. At the right time, you say words that are vitally important for another person to hear. The talent for making other people happy. You must be an Angel.

Tears welled up in Defne's eyes. She didn't wipe them off. Let them flow. Crying at a touching moment is as natural as laughing.

"I'm your wife," she said. - Only.

"The best that could happen to me," Omer replied and lightly stroked her round belly.

When Omer opened the door to the pastry shop, a bell rang melodiously. It informed the owners that guests had come to them. Omer let Defne inside and went in after her.

It smelled of coffee and vanilla. Copper Turkish coffee-pots, polished to a shine, were lined up in a row on a brazier with hot sand. A man in a white apron moved them deftly, not allowing the brown foam caps to leave the borders of the narrowed neck. In a mahogany sideboard, behind a glass case, there were crystal cups of desserts and silver dishes with pastries. Tables covered with snow-white tablecloths surrounded by chairs with high, carved backs. On the walls were black and white photographs. On them, elegant café visitors from the last century were frozen in graceful poses.

In this place, time disappeared. It seemed to have stopped to drink coffee, and so it remained here forever.

An elderly man in a white apron tied over a black suit came out to the guests. Seeing Omer, he beamed with a smile and greeted him happily:

- Omer, my boy! How long have you not visited us!

Omer bowed to him and apologized:

- Sorry, Mr. Abdula. I'm sorry. I have no excuses. But, as you can see, I came. And not alone, - he took Defne's hand and looked at her with undisguised love and tenderness. - My wife, Defne. I brought her to feed her with your famous Montebianco.

- Did well! - the man carefully examined Defne and nodded his head approvingly. She blushed from such attention and looked down. The elderly Turk liked this behavior. He smiled at Omer and said: - You have chosen a worthy girl. She is as beautiful and sweet as your mother, Mrs. Emine, was.

- Oh yeah! - agreed on Omer and nodded at the table by the window. - We will take our usual place.

- Of course, my boy. And now I'll bring you a Montebianco and coffee, - the owner promised and went to the buffet.

Omer helped Defne to take off her coat and gave it to the waiter boy who came up. Having helped his wife sit down at the table, he sat down opposite and asked:

- How do you feel here? Like it?

- Very much! She replied. - I seemed to be in the last century. So ... exciting. You know, I can perfectly imagine your mother here. She was very suitable for the place.

"Yes, it's so," Omer agreed. - So are you. You fit this place and this minute.

- Thanks. You have no idea how important this is to me.

"You're wrong," Omer lightly touched her face and pulled a lock of hair behind her ear. - I can imagine it very well.

The owner brought in glass bowls of dessert and coffee. Having wished Bon appetite, he left the couple alone. Defne leaned over and breathed in the scent of Montebianco.

- Oh, how good it smells!

"It tastes even better," Omer assured her and took in a teaspoon of thick, fancifully twisted strands of dessert. - Open your mouth.

Defne obediently allowed to be fed with Montebianco. - So tasty! It resembles chestnuts, only sweet.

- These are chestnuts. This dessert is made from them.

- Darling, you got me! - Defne said with a sly smile. - I will now pull you here every week, and demand Montebianco.

"Alright," Omer agreed. - I will only be happy.

Defne put her hand on her stomach and gently stroked it.

- We will bring Emine here. Feed her with Montebianco and tell her about her Grandma.

"And fly kites," Omer pointed to the window. Defne looked. It overlooked a grassy area on a hill above the embankment. - The perfect place to fly kites. Mom and I have always done that. It was fun. Even when she was ill ... my mother said that here she forgets about the illness and feels healthy and full of energy.

Defne scrambled to her feet and, grabbing her husband's hand, pulled him toward the exit.

- Where are you going? He wondered. - Wait, - Omer took money out of his pocket and put it on the table. - Now let's go.

Defne led him to the top of the hill. On the way, she bought a white balloon on a long, silvery ribbon from a street vendor. Stopping on a platform above the bay, Defne handed the balloon to Omer and said:

- Tell it everything you want to tell your mom and let it fly.

Omer took it in his hands and closed his eyes. Defne stepped aside so as not to disturb him in this private, and such a piercingly sad moment.

"Mom, I miss you," Omer said quietly. His voice broke and trembled perceptibly. Defne had a lump in her throat and her eyes filled with tears. She stood as quiet as a mouse and listened. - I miss you. I remember how you taught me to dance, how you and I flew a kite, how we listened to the rustle of poplars in the forest, and I painfully want to live these moments again. Even if not them, let it be just breakfast, one single one, but with you. So that I can see your face again and hear your voice. To tell you about Defne. She resembles so much like you, Mom. The same generous and kind. Delicate. Her touch works a miracle. Soothes sadness and relieves pain. She brought me back to life, gave me the whole world. And now she carries my child. Daughter. We will call her by your name - Emine. I know she will have your soul. The same great and merciful. And your smile ... so beautiful. When I close my eyes, I see it. You are always here, mom - Omer touched his chest. - Always with me. I love you, Mom!

He let go of the ball and that, caught by the wind, flew into the sky.

Defne went up to him and hugged him. He clasped his arms around her rounded figure. They stood with their heads thrown back and watched as a white ball with a long silvery ribbon disappeared among the clouds.

It was cloudy and quiet in the forest. The air smelled like poplar buds. This smell, bitter-tart, alarming, intensified sadness, and awakened memory. Omer helped Defne out of the car. Hand in hand, they wandered between the tall trees rushing into the sky. Sometimes Omer stopped. He touched the rough bark and a bright smile appeared on his lips.

"Tell me," Defne asked. - How did it happen that this forest was so important to your mother?

Omer stopped by a large tree and leaned against it with his back and the back of his head. Defne did the same. She pressed her back and head against the rough bark and found Omer's palms. Their hands entwined. A man and a woman stood on either side of the tall poplar and looked up at the sky.

"I was eight," said Omer. - Mom just got sick. She was a doctor and knew perfectly well what her diagnosis meant. And my father knew. He turned white in a day with fear for her. I didn't know. I thought carelessly that it was just a disease ... like a cold ... and it will be cured, - Defne heard a convulsive sigh and squeezed her husband's fingers tighter in her small palms. If she could take his pain for herself. If she could...

"Don't be silent," she pleaded. - Speak!

"It was June," Omer continued his story. - We were driving from the hospital. The road that led to our house was blocked and my father turned onto the ring road. It was then that my mother saw this forest. She asked my father to stop and got out of the car. I went out too. Mom smiled. So bright and joyful ... as before. She closed her eyes and spoke: "Omer, sonny, listen to how the poplars rustle ... like the ringing of bells. The most beautiful sound in nature. "I also closed my eyes and listened. And my mother hugged me. I felt so good. Warmly. We wandered through the forest for a long time. Mom was tired, and then my father took her in his arms and carried her to the car. I still remember how my mother smiled at him, how he looked at her. As a shrine. I did not understand his gaze then. And now I understand and imagine what was happening in his soul when he heard the mother's diagnosis. Seeing a loved one fading away is not just scary. This is hell on earth. His death is your death too. Father lived a year after my mother's death. But only his body existed, and his soul died with her. He was monogamous. As I am.

Defne's heart ached at his words. She wanted to cry, but she was holding back her tears. Silently she walked over to him and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her, buried his face in her shoulder, and froze.

How many years he came here alone, and felt only the pain of loss, coldness, and loneliness. Unspoken words burned his heart. And today he said them, and it became easier.

"Let's go home," Defne suggested quietly. - We will twist sarma in beet leaves and talk about your mom.

- Let's go, - agreed Omer.

He put Defne's hand on the crook of his elbow and led her to the car.

They were sitting in the kitchen, rolling up sarma, and talking. Omer talked about mom. He pulled from his memory all the funny, touching moments and carefully avoided the sad ones. Defne listened and smiled. She asked questions and Omer answered them without hiding anything.

And then they ate sarma in beetroot leaves, and Omer said that it was the same dish as his mother did.

And then they listened to Emine's thrusts and laughed every time the baby pounded her mother's belly with her tiny heels.

And then they lay embracing on their big bed and dreamed...

Their dreams were bright and beautiful. As they are.

***

Omer tried to send a letter to Italians for the tenth time, but the email refused to do so. He tried to call Zubeyir, but his phone answered that the subscriber was temporarily unavailable. Angry at the unavailable subscriber, Omer went into the waiting room and barked:

- Nazlican! Where is Zubeyir?! E-mail does not work, Italians are waiting for my documents, but I cannot get through to him!

The staff in the common room bowed their heads and began to demonstrate their hard work. And only the courier Mert showed not the slightest fear of the formidable boss. He stood at the secretary's desk, sorting delivery envelopes, and gaily watched what was happening.

Nazlican turned pale and answered:

- Zubeyir fell ill, Mr. Omer. I have been trying to resolve the mail issue but to no avail so far.

- What is the problem? Interposed Mert.

Nazlican looked at him reproachfully, thinking, why you meddle in other matters, but answered:

- Email does not send or receive letters.

- Can I take a look, - asked the boy. Nazlican and the big boss himself, Omer Iplikci, looked warily and with a great deal of doubt. "Don't be so alarmed," Mert reassured them. - I won't put the server down. I'll just look at the email.

- Do you understand computer programs? Omer asked.

"Yes, I'm a little obsessed with this topic," the boy grunted derisively. - And I have been attending computer courses for several months.

There was no choice. The Italians will not wait for Zubeyir to recover. Looking for another is also a waste of time. Nazlican looked questioningly at her boss. Omer nodded in the affirmative, and she invited the boy to her laptop.

Mert's fingers ran briskly over the keyboard. He was staring at the screen, frowning and chewing on his lips. Nazlican and Omer watched him without looking away.