Sudden decisions

81 - Deniz's dawn

Sanem

The pain is not as I imagined it. It is not a wave that comes and recedes; it is a predator that bites me from within, claiming every inch of my skin. When I feel that first, violent contraction and see the darkness swallow the living room, my heart skips a beat. I look outside at the snow falling like a white, impassable wall, and for a moment, fear takes my breath away more than the labor itself. We are alone. We are blocked. And he is coming.

"Can..." My voice trembles, a whisper lost in the roar of the wind against the windowpanes, but then I feel his hands. Large, warm, steady hands anchoring me to the ground while everything around me seems to shatter. When he tells me he knows what to do, that he has trained his whole life for the impossible, I believe him. I believe him because he is my Albatross, the man who has braved deserts and storms, and if he says that together we can make it, then so it shall be.

The night becomes a place of shadows and flames dancing on the walls, fed by the fireplace and the flickering candles. Every contraction is a wildfire, but Can is there; he is my air when I forget how to breathe, he is my strength when my legs tremble and I just want to let go. I look at him—sleeves rolled up, hair disheveled, eyes bright with a fierce determination—and a realization is born within me: I could not have wished for any other place in the world but this rug, in front of this fire, with him.

Until dawn arrives, and with it, that cry. When Can lifts him up, time seems to stand still, and while I expect to hear the name of a princess, I see him smile with a mix of pride and confusion that makes him absolutely adorable in my eyes as he admits: "It's a boy, my love." I laugh through the tears, a laugh that empties my lungs and fills my soul; a little lion who decided to upend all our plans made of ribbons and pink tulle. When Deniz touches my skin, the pain vanishes, erased by a sweetness so absolute it hurts.

We are still there, immersed in an unreal stillness, when suddenly the living room lights flicker on, flooding the room with an electric brightness that almost blinds us. The hum of the refrigerator and the boiler returns, but it's the house phone that finally breaks the spell. The ringing, sharp and insistent in the silence of dawn, makes us startle.

Can reaches out with effort, still incredulous, and grabs the receiver. He doesn't even get to say "Hello" before my mother's voice explodes on the other end, so loud that I can hear it too: "Can! Sanem! For the love of God, answer! We're panicking, we're on our way with the snowplow, we have to clear the road so you can get to the hospital when the time comes!"

Can looks at me, then looks down at the little pirate sleeping peacefully on my chest. He hands me the receiver with a knowing smile. "Mom... Mom, calm down!" I exclaim, my voice a mix of exhaustion and pure euphoria. "Everything is fine, Mom, we'll go to the hospital as soon as possible, but in the meantime, you should know... tonight you became grandparents!" I hear a scream of joy on the other end, my mother shouting to Dad that the baby has been born; and so it is that, in the excitement and the rush to hang up and race to us, no one asks questions and I don't feel the need to explain. We share a knowing smile, aware that all of them, out there, are racing here to meet the Divit's little "princess."

Half an hour later, the roar of a large machine clearing the path announces their arrival. The front door is thrown open with such force it seems it might fly off its hinges. "Sanem! My daughter!" My mother bursts in like a hurricane, followed by my father, Leyla, Metin, and Aziz. Behind them, their faces marked by the cold but lit up with emotion, Cey Cey, Ayhan, and Osman appear. Their arms are full of pink bags, blankets with flower embroidery, and Cey Cey clutching a huge teddy bear wearing a strawberry pink tutu. They all freeze mid-living room when they see the scene: the three of us, huddled before the embers of the fire, in an atmosphere that smells of miracles. The silence that follows is almost comic.