Defne acutely felt that she was alive. Her hearing was cut from an eerie cry of a dozen voices. It stank of burnt rubber. Her fingers frantically clung to Omer's neck, and the button of his coat painfully pressed into her chest. She heard how the heartbeats and how the air enters the lungs. As blood jerks through the veins and a cold wind freeze the neck. Omer clasped his hands convulsively and her fragile bones cracked with the pressure of his strength, but Defne was glad of this pain.

She is alive!

The baby is alive!

And then, the memory of a push in the back and a thud, lightning pierced the brain, and she tried to look around. But Omer grabbed her head with large palm and wheezed:

- Do not look there...

She heard the clatter of feet, agitated voices, a woman's scream, and dull groans.

- Who? She looked into Omer's blackened face. He hesitated, and she cried out: "Who?"

- Fikret ...

Defne put her hands on his chest and demanded:

- Omer let go!

He slowly unclenched his hands, and she looked around. Turning across the road stood an eerily huge SUV. Near the front wheel, clutching his head with his hands, a young guy sat and whined. A little further away a small crowd gathered. They had surrounded something that Defne could not see. Seda, Iz, and Laura cried. Deniz yelled into the phone demanding an ambulance to go faster. Sinan was kneeling. Defne, as in a dream, moved toward them.

A broken doll lay on the pavement. Her legs were unnaturally curved her head thrown back, and her eyes ... transparent, the blue eyes of Fikret looked into the sky. She tried to say something, but the red foam protruding on her lips prevented her. Sinan pressed a hand to her neck and blood oozed between his fingers.

Omer grabbed Defne's elbow and stopped her. He took off his coat, wrapped her up, and then led her to Laura, who embraced the girl trembling with horror.

"Look after her," he asked and bowed to his wife's face. Looking into her eyes, he asked: - Try to calm down, okay? For the baby.

She nodded her head and Omer went to Fikret. He knelt next to Sinan and leaned toward her. She saw him. Her face brightened.

- Om .. er, - fell off her blue lips, - take ... my ... hand.

He took her hand and squeezed it tightly. Fikret smiled and the next moment the blue eyes became motionless. The last breath, with a wheeze, escaped from her chest, and she calmed down.

- Fikret !!! - Defne cried out and huddled in Laura's hands. - Not!!!

The howling of sirens became louder and faster, and after it, the police drove up to the scene of the accident.

Doctors pushed the men. One of them examined the girl motionless on the ground, looked at the second, and said:

- There is no sense in reanimating. Injuries are incompatible with life.

Omer went to his wife and hid her in his arms.

They returned home around midnight, broken and depressed. The meticulous questions of the police took away their last strength. They were released only when Omer lost his temper and said sharply to the senior investigator that they had already answered all questions seventy-seven times. His pregnant wife was tired, cold, and barely able to stand on her feet. He apologized but warned that if necessary he would call them to the polis station.

Defne was shivering. Even Omer's coat and his strong, warm hands did not save from the inner cold. At home, turning on the heating at full power, he led her under a hot shower. Hugging, they stood for a long time, under the water jets. Defne was crying, and Omer was trembling. The shock that paralyzed feelings and thoughts gave way to the realization of what almost happened a few hours ago. Chilling horror and panic covered his head and only the warm, lively body of his wife in his arms prevented him from falling into hysteria.

"It is impossible! I must not! I must not! He repeated to himself. "Now Defne needs me calm and strong!"

"Let's go out, love," he said hoarsely and kissed her pale cheek. "Get dressed and I'll make you tea."

"Let's," she answered hoarsely.

They sat in the kitchen in front of large cups of tea. Defne embraced hers with both hands and begged to gods for warmth to warm not only her hands but also her soul.

"I wanted her to disappear from our lives ... but not like that." Not this way! - She covered her face with her hands.

"Hush, my soul," Omer hugged her and pressed his cheek to her temple. - The drunken moron who got behind the wheel is to blame for what happened. What happened is an unfortunate combination of circumstances.

"No," Defne dropped her hands and shook her head. - So it would be if I got under the wheels. But Fikret made a choice. Instinctively or consciously - we will never know this, but she saved my life.

"And mine," Omer said, looking into her eyes.

***

Stiffened like a statue in an armchair, the old woman sat in the dark living room and looked at the ashes in the fireplace. It was close to midnight, and Fikret had still not returned from a charity evening. Unclear anxiety stirred in her chest, but she drove it away.

A doorbell pushed her out of her brooding state. Deciding that this was the granddaughter who had forgotten the keys, she went to open it. But on the threshold stood not Fikret, but two policemen. Peering into emotionless faces, she stepped back and invited them in.

Further, everything resembled a nightmare. One of the policemen clearly said that her granddaughter, Fikret Galo, had got under a car and received injuries from which she died on the spot. She swayed, the policeman held out his hand to support her, but the old woman straightened up and refused the help.

The policeman said something about a drunk driver, who was driving a massive SUV at high speed, and that Fikret was in his way, but the old woman heard his voice as if through a layer of cotton wool.

- Where's she? - asked in a colorless voice.

"In the city morgue," the policeman answered.

In the morgue. She is cold and scared there.

"Please go away," she asked.

The men said goodbye and went out the door. She slowly, like a somnambulist, went upstairs and entered Fikret's room. On the table by the bed lay Melissa's diary. She took it, pressed it to her chest, and fell to her knees. A long howl cut through the dead silence of the house.

***

Defne, she thought that she could not sleep at all, but fatigue took its toll. She fell in disturbing sleep. Omer lay nearby and looked into the darkness. Thoughts and feelings circled in a frenzied whirlpool. He either began to warmly thank the Almighty for saving the life of Defne, then cursed the bastard who sat behind the wheel drunk, then repented that he spoke and thought badly about Fikret. But she changed so much that at the cost of her life she saved three others - Defne, baby's and his own. Because Omer knew one thing for sure - if something happened to Defne, he would die. Without her, he will not be able to live. There is no him without her.

He carefully pulled his hand from under her head and got out of bed. Silently stepping he went down and took out a bottle of whiskey from the bar. Splashing a generous portion into the glass, he drank it in one gulp and closed his eyes. Alcohol began to act. The lump in the solar plexus area weakened, and he was able to breathe deeply. He needs to go back to bed and try to sleep. Tomorrow will be a difficult day.

***

Fikret was buried next to her father and mother in an old cemetery blown by all the winds, in one of the nearby villages. It was cold and gray. Crows were circling in the sky, and the soul shook from their cries. An icy wind made its way under the clothes and forced those who came to say goodbye to wrap themselves tightly in their coats. Defne, holding a handkerchief near her chin, cast compassion glances at the old woman in black - the grandmother of Fikret. She recognized her as soon as she saw her. It was exactly the old woman who scared her on the evening of the presentation of the Passionis collection.

Her strange words still sounded in her head. Now she was as if carved from stone. Straight, gray, mute. She did not cry. Only her eyes screamed of the pain that was tearing her heart to pieces. But she hid them behind heavy from the age brows. Defne felt sorry for her. The old woman buried the last dear person, and she remained to live on. What for? For whom? What will be her future life? Grief and remorse or a heavy burden? Will she find comfort in anything, or will she ask the Almighty for death every minute?

The mullah finished reading the prayer and Defne, following the others, ran her hands over her face. The coffin was lowered into the ground and the men, passing each other a shovel, began to shower the grave with earth. Omer threw rusty, clay soil into the pit and returned to Defne. He took her arm and gently squeezed his elbow.

- Are you cold? -He asked carefully.

"A little," she smiled sadly.

- Now you'll warm in the car. Let's go.

He led her to a row of cars by the road. Sukru was already waiting for them near the car. He opened the back door and Defne climbed into the warm cabin. While Omer went around the car and sat in his seat, she looked out the window. People dispersed and near the new grave, there was only one black, slim figure. She seemed the epitome of sorrow and loss. A gray-haired man came up to her and took her under the elbow. Something said, and the old woman went after him.

The Mercedes started, but Defne felt that a piece of her heart remained here in this old cemetery. She will never forget the girl who first was her friend, then an enemy, and at one terrible moment saved her life at her own cost.

- Why? Whispered Defne in a voice. "Why did she do this?"

Omer only silently took her hand and hid it in his palm.

The Mercedes drove up to the house when the city was covered by the first twilight. It washed away the colors, and the outlines of city landscapes lost their clarity. Everything around melted in a bluish-gray haze and seemed unreal. The sky at sunset blazed scarlet.

It will be windy, Defne thought indifferently and entered the house. There she smiled at Zehra and let her go home. The woman motherly stroked her head and left. Defne threw off her coat and sat on the sofa. She looked detached in front of her, and inside her heart was cold and empty. Omer entered the house and Defne woke up like from a dream. Getting up, she ran to him and right in the corridor, wrapped her hands around him, and kissed him with the despair of a dying person.

- What's the matter? He asked when Defne let go of his lips and began feverishly pulling off his coat and jacket.

She clutched the buttons on his shirt and looked into his eyes with a desperate plea.

"I want to feel alive," she whispered, and he understood.

He grabbed her in his arms and carried her upstairs.

There was no tenderness and thrill. Long kisses and gentle touches. The desire was not hot and sweet. Rather wild and furious. In every kiss, Defne was filled with despair, in every movement of Omer - a frantic need to make her feel loved, necessary ... alive.

***

Defne wandered through the unfamiliar city streets in the fog. She was looking for a way home and could not find it. Everything was alien, gloomy, gray. Oncoming passers-by silently shied away from her and disappeared into the gateways. A thin female figure loomed ahead. Defne rushed to her and grabbed her hand. The woman turned around and looked at her with clear, blue eyes.

- Fikret? Defne stepped back. - You ... you...

She shook her head.

"I am not here, Defne ..."

"But why do I see you?"

"Because you suffer and feel guilty." But this is not necessary. "Fikret smiled a bright smile, out of this world. "I'm fine, Defne." I am with my mother ... They love me here, and you there, on earth. Live happily and do not torment with guilt.

"But why did you do this?"

"Because of her," Fikret pointed her hand to the side. Defne looked there. A red-haired, curly girl ran across a flowering glade. She laughed merrily and sang something with a clear voice. "She must be born, Defne."

"Emine," Defne whispered and held out her hands to her, but the meadow and the girl on her again disappeared into the dense fog. Defne looked at Fikret and asked: - How can I thank you?

- Love her. Let her grow, knowing about it, and be the happiest girl in the world - the shape of Fikret's body began to lose clarity. "Goodbye, Defne ..." she said and turned into fog.

- Fikret! Defne shouted and sat up in bed with a jerk.

"Hush, darling," Omer sat next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. "It's just a bad dream."

"Not bad," Defne answered hoarsely and looked into his eye. - She saved the baby. And also ... they love her there. And we must live and be happy.

"Of course, my love," he agreed, stroking her shoulders and arms. "We will live ... we will be happy." We simply have no other option.

In the morning, both woke up with a feeling that a stone had fallen from their souls and that they could breathe deeply again.

At breakfast, Omer turned on the news on his tablet and froze with his mouth open. Then he turned over the page, the second, the third, and

looked up in amazement at the news.

- Defne look! - He handed her the tablet. On the screen along the catwalk was a young, beautiful girl. A scarf covered her head, and a dropper stand rolled beside her. The girl's eyes shone with an inner light, whose name is the thirst for life. - This is a photo and articles about the charity show in each edition.

"Koray," Defne smiled at the photo. - How not to love him?

- When he gabbles incessantly, I don't understand what, I'm ready to strangle him. But now you're right. He rehabilitated himself completely with this photoshoot.

"Omer, have you thought about making Koray a director for concepts?" Iz left, the place is vacant.

- Nooo! Omer cried out. "Do you want his ego to grow to heaven, and he would drive me crazy with his stupid demands?"

"No, of course," Defne retorted calmly. "I want him to have more responsibilities, but less time for idleness and playing tragicomedy." Moreover, your best concepts were invented by Koray," she smiled and grabbed the plate. - Let's have breakfast. The gozleme will cool. ( Gozleme is a dish of Turkish cuisine. It is traditionally made from dough, and the hand-rolled crusts are filled with stuffing, which is most often cheese).

Defne's words didn't go out of his head all morning. But the truth is, when Koray is loaded with deeds, he is neither visible nor audible. And the quality of the work done is always impeccable. For all his infantility, his taste, creativity, and artistic flair were always on top. And Defne is right - all the best Passionis concepts were invented by him. But to make Koray a director? Yes, he will drive the people in the whole office crazy. They will only do that - to bring him a plate, or strawberry smoothies, or pastries from the pastry shop around the corner.

So without deciding on anything, Omer decided to leave the idea for the time being and consult with Sinan.

Later, Kerem Yilmaz came to him and said that he agreed to head the charity fund, but only on the condition that he would select the staff himself. The delighted Omer agreed and gave the guy complete freedom of action. He just asked that the money for donor bone marrow and operations for Kumru and Dila be transferred to the clinic's account immediately. The sooner the girls are operated on, the more likely they are to recover.

Kerem nodded and cautiously asked:

- And the third girl? The redhead? Does she need an operation?

- Nisa? - asked Omer. - Fortunately, she has already gone through this. Her sister, Seda Berensel, was able to become a donor, and Passionis and Tranba helped pay for the operation and rehabilitation.

- And what are the forecasts from the doctors?

- So far, good ones. But she must be under their constant supervision.

Kerem's lips twitched in a smile. He tried to hide it behind businesslike seriousness, but Omer noticed her and was surprised - why would this guy worry so much about a stranger.

Kerem left Omer's office and stopped outside the door. He mentally repeated the name he heard. Nisa. The cute dandelion flower is called Nisa. She suffered a terrible disease but did not break. Strong and so cute. He shook his head and mentally cursed himself:

"And what are you thinking? To open a charity fund and organize its work is not a walk along the promenade. Think about it, not about red curls and caramel eyes! "

***

In the morning Defne was going to go to the workshop to Ahtem, but endless phone calls did not allow her to even leave the office for a couple of minutes. As soon as she hung up the phone, it rang again, and Alina asked if Mrs. Defne could take the time for the next customer, who fell in love with her necklace, or a reporter who wanted to write about the new star. At first, such attention was flattering, but after a couple of hours Defne realized with horror - her working hours were scheduled for meetings two weeks in advance. Just before the opening of Sapphire. And when to draw?

She did not want to spend the time allotted to Omer for sketches. He is the most important thing and the minutes spent with him are the most beautiful and priceless. Defne felt herself starting to get angry. Not so, she imagined life in the role of the designer of her own company. And how has Omer coped with such stress for many years?

When the cellphone rang, her patience reached its extreme point. She grabbed the phone with an irresistible desire to throw all her anger on the caller, but when she saw the name on the screen, she blossomed a smile.

- Hello, grandma! It's good that you called. I missed you," she chattered into the phone.

"Just don't speak to me," Turkan started arguing with her without greeting. - She missed me! When they miss somebody, they come to see him. And they bring guests!

- What are you talking about, grandma? - Defne was cautious.

- Ah! What am I talking about? She sarcastically extended. - You seem to be a married woman but with the mind of a girl. - Defne as if she saw how her grandmother purses her lips and shakes her head condemningly. - Who promised to bring home an Italian countess who wanted to learn Turkish dishes from the famous Mrs.Turkan?

"Ahhh," Defne said.

"Yeah," Grandma said angrily. -The whole neighborhood has been laughing at me!

- And grandmother it's not my fault. Why were you talking to everyone about Laura?

- Oooo! We found an egg to teach the chicken! Come on, better, tell me, when will you bring the countess to our house?

"Grandma, but I can't do it right away!" I need to coordinate this issue with Omer and Laura herself, Defne began to say, but Turkan interrupted her.

- Coordinate ... this issue ... do not fool me with clever words. So, - the tone of the grandmother did not allow the slightest objection - on Saturday you take the countess and all of you come to my home. We will cook dolma, stuffed eggplant, manti, and baklava!

- This Saturday? - asked Defne in a fallen voice.

"No, after the Ramazan," her grandmother sarcastically said. - Of course, this one! Run to the countess and invite her for a visit. Say - Mrs.Turkan is waiting!