"I want you to be the donor."
Alekos froze.
Selin watched him.
For a second, he said nothing. Just stared—like the words hadn't registered, or like they had, and he was hoping she'd take them back.
But she didn't.
He blinked once.
Then he stepped back. "No."
Selin flinched. "What?"
"No, Selin. I—I can't."
Her smile wavered, disbelief flickering across her face. "You don't have to raise the child. I'm not asking you to—"
"That's not the point!" he snapped.
The air between them crackled with sudden tension.
"I've never seen you that way," he said, voice louder now, sharper. "You're my best friend, Selin. You've always been my best friend. I don't just donate my DNA like it's—like it's nothing."
She stepped forward, eyes wide, voice trembling. "It's not nothing. It's everything. That's all I have left."
Alekos's hands clenched at his sides. "I'm not ready to be a father. Not like this. Not even in theory."
"You don't have to be one!" she cried. "You just have to give me a chance. That's all I'm asking."
"You're asking me to change everything I've ever known about you. About us." His jaw clenched. "You're asking me to carry something for the rest of my life that I never signed up for."
"And I'm the one who's dying!" she screamed, voice shattering. "I'm the one who has days to decide if I'll ever carry a child. I don't get to sign up for anything anymore. I'm just trying to save something from all of this."
Her voice cracked.
"You don't understand what it's like to be told your body is closing its doors—and you don't even want to leave a window open for me."
His face tightened. "I'm sorry, Selin. I really am. But the answer is no."
She went silent.
Just like that, all the color drained from her face.
All the breath she'd been holding—
Gone.
She took a shaky step back.
"So that's it," she whispered. "Even you."
"Selin…"
"No, it's okay," she said, nodding to herself, though nothing was okay. "It's just... If I was going to have a baby, it would've been with someone I knew. Someone I loved. Someone who cared about me. Not a stranger in a file."
She looked down at her feet, her voice barely above air.
"And if not you, then… no one."
She didn't cry.
Not yet.
But her voice had already drowned.
Alekos looked at her—gutted, but resolute.
"I'm sorry, Selin," he said softly.
It wasn't defensive.
It wasn't cold.
But it still hurts.
Like an echo of something that was once safe.
"I just… I can't be what you're asking," he added, backing away.
She said nothing.
She couldn't.
So she watched him walk away.
No more arguments. No last words. No glances over his shoulder.
Just the quiet sound of his footsteps disappearing down the sterile hallway.
She stood there for a long moment.
Frozen.
Then she ran.
Out of the hospital wing, down the back stairs, out into the lot where the wind bit at her skin and her lungs burned from the cold and the grief pushing against her ribs.
She didn't stop running until she was at Marianne's door.
She didn't knock.
She burst in.
"Selin?" Marianne stood from the couch, startled.
Selin closed the door behind her, back against the wood, chest rising and falling in sharp gasps.
"I can still have a baby," she blurted.
Marianne blinked. "What?"
"I can still carry. Vanessa said there's a narrow window. IVF. I have to act soon but—it's possible."
Marianne's eyes widened. "Selin, that's… that's amazing!"
Selin let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh—but the corners of her eyes were already wet.
Marianne stepped forward. "Hey, hey. What's wrong?"
"I asked Alekos."
Marianne stilled. "What?"
"To be the donor."
Silence.
Selin's chin trembled. "He said no."
"Oh, Sel…"
"I didn't ask for love. I didn't ask for a relationship. I just… I wanted it to be someone who knew me. Someone who wouldn't vanish from the picture. Someone I trusted."
Marianne wrapped her arms around her before the next breath could become a sob.
"I'm happy for you," Marianne whispered against her hair. "So, so happy that you still have a chance."
Selin buried her face in her shoulder. "Then why does this still feel like a loss?"
Marianne didn't answer right away.
Because she knew some kinds of joy are born from heartbreak.
And sometimes, hope comes at the cost of the people you thought would stay.
Selin stayed with Marianne the entire day.
Not because she had to.
But because she needed to.
They curled up on the couch, legs tangled in blankets, mugs of tea gone cold on the table beside them. They talked—really talked. About things they hadn't said in weeks. TV shows, old classmates, Marianne's weird coworker who microwaved fish. Silly things. Comforting things.
For the first time since the diagnosis, Selin laughed without guilt.
She didn't cry once.
Still, even as she smiled, a small ache lingered under her ribs.
Alekos.
He'd walked away without another word.
But maybe she understood why.
It wasn't her.
It was what lived in him.
And she knew that, because she'd seen it once.
Years ago.
They were seventeen, sitting in the park behind the mosque, hiding from the world in that little forgotten corner of the city. The air smelled like jasmine and burnt popcorn.
Alekos had been quiet that day. Tense.
She remembered how he finally pulled off his hoodie in the summer heat—and she'd caught sight of the thin, angry scars across his back.
She didn't know what to say.
He hadn't said anything, either.
Just, "My father doesn't raise his voice. He uses his hands."
She'd never forgotten it.
So maybe… maybe this wasn't about her.
Maybe he was just scared of becoming something he swore he wouldn't.
That didn't make it hurt less.
But it gave it context.
Around sunset, Selin stood from the couch, brushing crumbs off her shirt. "I should head home."
Marianne sat up. "You sure?"
"I need to be in my own space tonight," she said, offering a small smile. "But thank you. For today. For everything."
Marianne nodded and squeezed her hand. "You always have a home here. And hey… you're going to be a mom, Selin."
The words landed like a breath of warm wind.
She stepped outside and pulled her jacket close around her, dialing for a taxi as the streetlights flickered on.
And then—
A soft engine hum.
She turned her head.
Alekos.
On his motorbike.
Helmet on. Eyes locked on hers. Silent.
He didn't say anything.
He just gave her a short, clear nod.
A signal.
Get on.
For a second, she hesitated.
Then she walked toward him.
Climbed on.
No words passed between them.
Just shared air.
And when he pulled away from the curb, the cold night wind whipping against their skin, Selin didn't ask where they were going.
She already knew.
They rode in silence.
To her house.
More like their house.
Because no matter how broken things had become…
That place had always belonged to both of them.