Chapter 7: Nothing You Could Prove
Lena picked up the envelope before Selin could reach for it.
"Sit down, Selin," she said.
"I'm not going to—"
"Sit down."
Something in Lena's voice stopped her.
Selin looked at Evren.
He pulled out a chair from the table and set it in the middle of the kitchen floor, facing them both.
He didn't say anything.
He just waited.
Selin sat.
Lena placed the phone on the table and pressed play.
The recording filled the kitchen.
*"She's not going to get better, Lena.
That's the point.
A sick child keeps him close to home.
A sick child keeps him grateful.
You think I don't know what I'm doing?"*
Selin went very still.
*"What did you put in her food?"*
*"Nothing you could prove."*
The recording ended.
Nobody moved.
Then Selin's chin came up.
"That's edited."
"It isn't," Lena said.
"You can do anything with audio now.
Anyone can—"
"The original file has metadata.
Timestamp, location data, device ID.
I had it verified by a digital forensics firm before I came back." Lena opened the envelope and placed a document on the table.
"That's their report."
Selin looked at the document.
She didn't pick it up.
"Even if that recording is real," she said, and her voice had changed — it was quieter now, more careful — "it doesn't prove anything.
I was upset.
People say things when they're upset."
"You said *that's the point.*" Evren's voice was the quietest it had been all morning.
"Those were your words.
*A sick child keeps him grateful.* That's not something you say when you're upset.
That's something you say when you mean it."
Selin looked at him.
For the first time since she'd walked through the door, the performance slipped.
Just for a second.
Just long enough.
"You don't know what it was like," she said.
"Being with you and that child.
Every plan, every trip, every conversation — always about her.
Always her needs first.
I gave you three years."
"She's four years old," Evren said.
"I know how old she is."
"She's four years old and someone made her sick on purpose." His voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
"And you're sitting in my kitchen telling me about your three years."
Selin stood up.
"I want a lawyer."
"That's a good idea," Lena said.
She placed the second document on the table.
"Because this is the notarized statement I gave to a family law attorney in Izmir last month.
And this—" she placed the lab results beside it — "is the private toxicology report with chain of custody documentation from the original samples." She looked at Selin steadily.
"And Dr.
Harmon has already agreed to provide a supporting statement."
Selin stared at the documents on the table.
"You planned all of this," she said.
"Yes," Lena said.
"You were gone for four months and you were planning this."
"I was protecting my daughter.
The only way I knew how, with what I had." Lena's voice didn't waver.
"Because I couldn't prove it yet.
And I knew if I came back without proof, you'd make sure Evren never believed me.
You'd already spent two years making sure of that."
Selin turned to Evren.
Her expression shifted again — softer now, reaching for something.
"Evren.
We had something real.
You know that.
Whatever she's saying, whatever she's put together — you know me.
You know who I am."
He looked at her for a long moment.
"I thought I did," he said.
"Go home, Selin."
"Evren—"
"I'm going to ask you one time.
Go home."
She picked up her bag.
She looked at the documents on the table one more time.
Then she looked at Lena.
"You think this is over," she said.
"I think you should go," Lena said.
Selin walked to the door.
She opened it.
She stood in the frame for a moment with her back to them.
"She was never going to be normal," she said.
"I was doing him a favor.
Giving him a reason to let go."
The door closed behind her.
Evren stood in the middle of his kitchen and stared at the space where she'd been.
Then he picked up his phone and called his lawyer.
"I need to report something," he said.
"Today.
It involves a child."
Down the hallway, a small voice called out.
"Mama?
May you like
Did you promise?"
Lena was already moving.
