Sudden decisions

80 - The most beautiful journey

Can 

Life at the estate has taken on a whole new rhythm for us, made of waiting and dreams that are finally beginning to taste like reality. We decided that the baby's nursery would be that very room where Sanem slept alone after our wedding, that place that for too long was the symbol of our silences and my escapes. Seeing it transform is like watching a wound heal that, in some way, had never stopped burning.

We spend afternoons assembling furniture and organizing tiny clothes that smell of cleanliness and the future. Sanem insisted on yellow. "It's a neutral color, Can, we don't know who is in here yet," she says, pointing to her huge bump, and I smile, shaking my head. "I feel it, Sanem. I'm convinced to my core that a little princess is coming, a little phoenix with your eyes."

As I reaffirm my conviction, I plant an adoring kiss on her cheek before returning to fix the last screws of the beautiful white tulle cradle that belonged to Sanem when she was little. It is in moments like these that I realize more and more that happiness isn't venturing into unexplored forests or climbing the most imperious mountains, but watching her as she settles into the rocking chair by the window, ready to one day enjoy the scent of the flowers she planted right under the windowsill. The Can Divit I have become today desires nothing more than this: my partner and my nest preparing for the arrival of our little one.

Meanwhile, despite the weight of her bump, the agency has become her stage of rebirth. She didn't want to give up, not when every one of her ideas seemed to come to life and turn into a success. And so it was that, in her ninth month of pregnancy, she found herself in front of the representatives of Red Moon Cosmetics, with her back probably begging for mercy and a sudden kick from the baby that took her breath away just as she was illustrating the campaign slogan.

I saw her lean against the table, gritting her teeth, and I took a step forward, ready to throw her over my shoulder and rush her to the hospital, when I felt a firm hand stop me. Deren stood up, brought her a glass of water, and with a confident voice addressed the clients: "Excuse us, our Creative Director has just received a suggestion from Fikri Harika's youngest consultant; let's give her a moment." Then, turning to her, she whispered: "Breathe, Sanem, your campaign is perfect. You're not going to let a brat stop you before he's even born, are you?" In that moment, in her eyes, I didn't see the usual competition, but a deep respect; she was accepting her as her peer—an unexpected recognition and the greatest professional success I could have wished for her.

Months flew by between preparing the nursery, the scent of Sanem's essences, and endless meetings at Fikri Harika. When the due date arrived, my rationality as a man of action shattered. I became Sanem's shadow, moving permanently into my home studio so as not to leave her for a second, ready to spring at the slightest sign. But that sign was long in coming, as the days passed and the check-ups reassured us that everything was proceeding perfectly, yet our little Divit didn't seem to want to enter the world.

Then, on the night of January 12th, nature decided to reclaim the stage. Istanbul was hit by an epic snowfall. From the large living room window, I watched the flakes fall so thick that they erased the Golden Horn beneath us, along with the streets and the whole world. I stood for a long time staring at that white storm, magnificent and terrible, which blocked everything, bringing us into a dimension outside of time. And right at that moment, with the impetuousness of one who wants to conquer the world, our little one decided it was time.

"Can..." Sanem's voice comes low, different from usual. I turn worriedly to find her standing in the living room doorway, hands clasped under her belly, her face contorted. "Sanem aşkım, my love, is everything okay?" I asked, feeling my heart accelerate and praying in my heart that it wasn't happening right now. "No, Can... I think your 'princess' has decided that the snow is the perfect red carpet for her entrance."