Yasmin didn’t know what to say to make Narin feel better so she did the one thing that usually worked. She gently handed Tarkan, who’d finished eating, to Narin, settling him in the other woman’s arms.

“Cuddle your grandson and remember what the lawyer said. It’s entirely possible that, with some successful rehabilitation and therapy, Defne could come home someday.” Yasmin didn’t say it out loud, but they would also need Volkan to calm down a lot before the family could ever consider having Defne in the house again.

When Yasmin had tried to talk to him about it, he’d gotten so angry that he’d declared if he ever saw either Defne or Demir again, he would kill them with his bare hands. He absolutely refused to entertain the thought of allowing them near Yasmin. He’d rather they both rot in prison.

He was still angry with Zeynep, but his anger with his former sister-in-law was fading. Especially when Yasmin explained that Zeynep was the only real somewhat age-appropriate friend Yasmin had made in Turkey so far. Part of that was because of Volkan’s insane over-protectiveness. It was difficult to make friends when she wasn’t allowed to work or leave the house without Henry and two to three bodyguards.

Narin nodded, dropping her face into Tarkan’s bundled body and inhaling his baby scent. “Someday…” she whispered. “Someday my children might come home.” She looked at Yasmin and gave her a wobbly smile. “In the meantime, I will enjoy my grandson and wait for you to produce a few more so I may have something to look forward to over the years.”

Yasmin’s jaw dropped. She’d just had Tarkan three weeks ago; there was no chance she was contemplating having another. Not while her body felt like it had been ripped open with the jaws-of-life.

Then she caught the light of humour in Narin’s eyes and realized her mother-in-law was teasing her. She laughed. Though life hadn’t gone according to plan for either woman, there was still joy to be had in moments like these.

They discussed what they would have for dinner that night and before long, Volkan arrived home, shoved his mother out the door, and gathered his wife and his son in his arms, holding them as though they would break if he squeezed too tight.

“Aşkım…” Volkan said huskily, kissing the top of her head.

“Welcome home, husband,” Yasmin replied, pressing her head to his chest to listen to his steady heartbeat.

Epilogue

NINE YEARS LATER

“Should I do the thing?” Yasmin asked, turning her head to look at her children.

“Do it, Mom!” Tarkan shouted into his headset.

“I don’t know,” Yasmin said, pretending to be indecisive. “Your father doesn’t like it when I do the thing.”

“Please, Mama!” Astrid chimed in, clapping her hands. “We want to wave at Daddy when we pass the house.”