The villa welcomed them in silence, the only sound their shoes brushing over the marble floor.
Selin walked in first, dropping her keys in the bowl by the door.
Alekos followed behind, helmet under his arm, his shoulders heavy from the ride—or maybe from everything left unsaid.
They didn't speak.
They didn't have to.
At the base of the staircase, he finally broke the quiet.
"I'm staying," he said.
She looked over her shoulder.
"I know," she said, and her voice was small, but steady. She offered him a soft smile, one corner of her mouth lifting with the weight of tired acceptance. "I wouldn't kick you out anyway."
A pause.
Then she added, "Thanks for coming back."
He nodded once.
She hummed gently—something wordless and warm—and turned away, making her way up the stairs and into her room.
Alekos stood there for a moment longer, as if something in the air hadn't quite settled. Then he climbed the steps too, heading for the guest room—his room, really. No one else had ever stayed in it. It smelled like pine soap and rain.
He tossed the helmet on the chair and peeled off his jacket. The weight of the day clung to his skin.
A hot shower.
That was all he needed.
Steam filled the bathroom as he stepped beneath the water, tilting his head back and letting the pressure beat against his neck.
But the noise couldn't drown out the sound in his head.
"I want you to be the donor."
He exhaled sharply, water dripping from his lashes.
"You're the only person I trust enough to ask."
He didn't know how to process the tone of her voice—how desperate, yet hopeful it had been. How fragile.
How much it had broken something in him to say no.
He ran a hand over his face.
She wasn't wrong to ask.
And he wasn't wrong to panic.
But now, with nothing left between him and the tiled walls, he wondered if he'd made the right choice at all.
Because when she smiled at him earlier—
When she stepped onto his bike like no time had passed—
It didn't feel like a friend he was protecting.
It felt like someone he'd already failed.
The water stopped with a sharp twist.
Steam clung to the mirror, to his skin, to every corner of the room.
Alekos stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist, and caught a glimpse of himself in the fogged glass—blurry, incomplete.
Just like his thoughts.
He ran a hand through his soaked hair, exhaling as he leaned over the sink.
Every muscle in his back ached—not from riding, not from running.
From holding everything in.
Selin's voice haunted the steam.
"I want a future again, Alekos."
"I want to know who they came from."
He'd said no. Shut her down. I walked away.
But still… she let him back in.
Still, she cooked his favorite food.
Still, she smiled and climbed onto his bike like she hadn't offered him her last piece of hope.
He pulled on a T-shirt, chest still damp, and paced to the edge of the room. His phone was charging by the bed. He didn't pick it up.
Instead, he stared out the window.
The garden below was dimly lit — Selin's garden, her pride. Flowers she'd planted in rows when she first moved in. The same ones he helped her water before he'd leave for college. The same bench where she once cried over her parents' divorce.
This wasn't just her house.
It was theirs. In a way neither of them ever said out loud.
Alekos rubbed at the scar near his right shoulder—one of the oldest.
He remembered the park. The way she looked at him that day.
Not with pity.
But with anger —like she was ready to fight the whole world for him, even when he wouldn't fight for himself.
And now… she'd asked for one thing.
One thing he could give her.
He sat on the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed.
It wasn't about sperm.
It was about trust.
She'd chosen him.
And he'd panicked.
He muttered under his breath, "What if I said yes?"
The words tasted different now. Not terrifying.
Just possible.
What if he said yes—not because he had to, but because he wanted to?
Because maybe she wouldn't be doing it alone.
And maybe he wouldn't either.
The house was silent.
The kind of silence that clung to the walls—gentle, watchful. As if the air itself was holding its breath.
Alekos hadn't slept.
He lay awake in the room that wasn't really a guest room, staring at the ceiling fan turning slow and steady. The hours blurred—2 a.m., 3 a.m., 4:17.
He thought of her voice.
Her hope.
Her shaking hands when she asked.
He thought of the word he'd thrown like a door slam: No.
But most of all, he thought of Selin.
The girl who once made him laugh so hard he couldn't breathe.
The girl who memorized the names of his favorite authors and left sticky notes in his books that said "I'm proud of you."
The girl who sat with him in silence after the worst nights of his life —when words didn't help, but her presence did.
This wasn't about being ready.
This wasn't about being a father.
It was about her.
The woman who was brave enough to ask for a future while hers was hanging by a thread.
He got up just after sunrise, his shirt still clinging slightly to his skin from the night heat. The villa was quiet, golden light slipping in through the curtains. He padded down the hallway barefoot, heart loud in his ears.
He paused outside her door.
Inhaled once.
Then I knocked.
Softly.
There was shuffling on the other side. A pause.
Then the door opened.
Selin stood there in one of his old T-shirts she'd "borrowed" years ago. Her hair was messy. Her eyes were puffy. But when she saw him, she froze.
Alekos didn't speak at first.
He looked at her like he hadn't in days—not with confusion or frustration, but clarity.
And then, quietly:
"I'm in."
Her lips parted.
"What?"
"I'll do it," he said. "Not because I understand all of it. Not because it's easy. But because…" He exhaled. "Because it's you."
A pause.
Her eyes filled slowly, shimmering with disbelief.
"I thought you didn't want to."
"I didn't," he said. "But I also didn't want to lose the one person who's ever made a place feel like home."
She didn't say anything—just stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist.
He didn't let go.
Not this time.
The kettle hissed quietly in the background.
Selin sat cross-legged on the kitchen stool, a mug of tea between her palms. Alekos stood leaning against the counter, arms folded, eyes on the floor like he was still trying to make sense of his own heartbeat.
They had been talking for nearly an hour.
About injections. Legal paperwork. Egg retrieval timelines. Fertility centers and consent forms.
About life, death, and everything in between.
Then—he asked.
And not lightly.
"If we do this," Alekos said, voice low, "we'd need to be married."
Selin blinked. "Married?"
"I'm not just saying this as a man," he added quickly. "I'm saying it as a believer. You know how I was raised. How I see the sanctity of life… of family."
She didn't flinch.
She just nodded, set her mug down, and said plainly: "Okay. Then we'll get married."
Alekos's head snapped up. "Wait—what?"
Selin's expression didn't change. Calm. Resolute. "You said it's what you need. I agree. So… we do it."
"Just like that?" he asked, astonished.
"Just like that," she said softly. "I don't have time to play games, Alekos. I don't have the luxury of slow decisions or years of romantic pacing. I'm trying to carry a life before mine slips through my fingers."
A beat.
She looked at him, eyes glinting with something that wasn't desperation—but clarity.
"I care about you. I trust you. I already asked you for a child… marriage feels like the least complicated part of all this."
Alekos said nothing at first.
He just looked at her—really looked.
At the woman who had cried into his shoulder. The woman who once held his face in her hands when he thought he was worthless. The woman who now sat before him, unafraid of saying "yes" to life—even with death peeking through the cracks.
"You amaze me," he murmured.
She smiled faintly. "You've known me your whole life. You're just realizing this now?"
He laughed softly, shaking his head.
She reached out and brushed her fingers against his. "If I'm going to do this, Alekos… I want to do it with faith. With you. With whatever time I have left."
And for the first time since this all began—
He didn't feel like he was running away.
He felt like he was exactly where he needed to be.