9 - Shadows of Doubts

Manolya’s POV

I sat in our beach house mansion’s living room, the beige couch soft under me, its turquoise and coral cushions embroidered with coastal Turkish patterns.

Through the wide window, the sea churned, waves restless under a bruised purple sky, the storm’s echo lingering from this morning.

I rested a hand on Ayla’s shivering shoulder, “We’re family, Ayla. We’ll always be here for you, no matter what happens.”

Her eyes welled with tears she’d fought all day, cheeks blotchy, red-rimmed eyes swollen from crying over Ipek. She pressed her lips into a trembling smile. “Thank you, Manolya,” she said with her voice thick. If I stop smiling, maybe I’ll start to cry too.

I sat in the living room feeling uneasy, clutching our housekeeper Ayla’s soft hands. They smelled of roses, her favourite hand cream. I remembered all the times she had cared for me. She always cooked chicken soup with rich broth whenever I felt sick.

She stayed up late to help me with homework when Dad was too busy mingling at the gallery to notice I needed him.

She had always been there for me, just like Uncle Eren, holding our family together. Seeing Ayla so upset cut deeper than I could put into words.

When she ached, I ached too.

“Yeah,” Adlee said, his usual mischief softened to sincerity. “We’ve got your back. You’re not alone.”

Ayla wiped her face, nodding gratefully. “You kids are too good to me.”

Dinner was quiet. The usual chatter was gone, swallowed by Ipek’s absence.

Pelin and I leaned close at the table, whispering, our voices nearly drowned by the fridge’s hum. “We have to find her,” I murmured, my stomach twisting. “She’s Ayla’s sister. That makes her one of us.”

Pelin nodded, toying with her sleeve, eyes uneasy. “It doesn’t feel real. What if something’s really wrong, Manolya?”

Her words mirrored my fear, Ipek’s empty house haunting my thoughts. “We’ll start by going to Ipek`s house,” I said, forcing confidence. “Someone must have seen something.”

Ayla hugged us tightly as we left, her warmth lingering like the rose-scented handcream from this morning.

She wasn’t just my housekeeper, she was the closes thing to a mother I had.

Pelin and I stepped into the humid evening, the rain from earlier gone, golden dusk fading to purple between Akyaka’s buildings.

The air smelled of grilled meat and blooming orange blossom and bugainvillea.

Timeworn houses with flaking pastel paint, laundry lines sagging between balconies, flowerpots crowding windowsills.

We crossed a narrow park, patchy grass echoing with kids’ shouts as they kicked a soccer ball, then passed modern villas, sleek with trimmed hedges and automatic gates.

Ipek’s house stood at the street’s end, a neat place with white-painted wood siding and rose bushes blooming wildly against the fence.

Pelin knocked twice, I could see how tense her face was. “This place feels so quiet now,” she whispered, her breath catching in the humid air.

Giray answered, his dark hair uncombed, stubble shadowing his jaw, green sweats and an old t-shirt hanging loosely.

His bloodshot eyes darted nervously. “Girls,” he said, stepping aside. “Thanks for coming. Ayla called. Come in.”

We stepped inside, the air heavy with baby powder and old take out food.

The living room was tidy, toys stacked in a corner, a tiny onesie draped over a chair like someone forgot to put it away.

“I’m heading out to look again before the police come,” Giray said, grabbing his keys. “She’s not answering her phone. Or texts.”

“That’s not like her,” I said, glancing at Pelin, whose jaw was tight. “Where was she yesterday? Can we retrace her steps?”

He ran a hand through his hair with his eyes haunted. “She stayed home most of the day. Said she was going to the post office for baby items she ordered. Texted she was on her way. That’s it.”

“She never made it?” Pelin asked with a sharp voice.

“No. Package is still there.” Giray’s voice cracked. “I’m asking the police to check security footage near the post office. If I’d gotten home sooner…”

“You can’t blame yourself,” I said, my heart aching. “She’s pregnant, Giray. She wouldn’t just vanish.”

“Eight months,” he said hoarsely. “She never missed a midwife appointment. But she didn’t show today.”

The look on Mr. Giray’s face was painful to see. His eyes were filled with sadness and despair. Is this why my dad became so cold?

When my mom died, did she take the joy out of his life when she passed?

I suppose worry and grief do something to us—they shatter the heart.

Right now, all I could see was my mother’s face from an old photograph flashing through my mind.

And Ipek, holding my hand on one side, and Ayla on the other, as we walked down the street on our way to the zoo a few years back.

Ayla must be so worried now.