Epilogue

Only for my son…

My son...

I kept repeating that to myself, shaking my head as I pulled my handbag up and waved the driver away. I wanted to put the damned thing in the trunk by myself, but he kept pawing it.

"Breathe… just breathe... You don't want to hit a human in a foreign country with a fake passport on you," I murmured too low for the man's ears — He probably couldn't speak English anyhow.

I was just closing the cab door when she called.

"Em, I swear, it's so crowded in here that it took me thirty minutes to leave the airport," My voice was just as enthusiastic as my spirits were.

"Did you get to her?" She sounded out of breath.

.

.

.

Wonderful reception.

"…Thank you for your concern, wife, I had a comfortable 13-hour flight here… not jetlagged at all," I complained.

"Nereye gidiyorsunuz Bey Efendi," The driver jumped in as he buckled his seatbelt.