Chapter 5 – The Photograph
Three weeks later, somebody sent Murat a photograph.
Sara and Matteo were standing outside Parma station.
Nothing intimate.
Matteo’s hand was on Sara’s shoulder.
Sara was laughing.
That was enough.
When Sara came home that night, the photograph was lying printed on the dining table.
Her father sat behind it.
Murat stood beside him.
Her mother was crying again.
“Where did you get that?”
Her father asked:
“Is that your concern?”
“Yes.”
“Is it true?”
“You have a photograph.”
“You lied.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You said he was a friend.”
“He is my boyfriend.”
Murat slammed one hand onto the table.
Their mother flinched.
Sara did too.
“Don’t do that.”
Murat pointed at the picture.
“You’re walking around with him publicly?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want people sending this to everyone?”
“I don’t care.”
“That’s your problem.”
“No. My problem is people following me.”
Her father spoke quietly.
“Nobody followed you.”
“Then who took it?”
Silence.
Sara looked at Murat.
“Was it you?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
Her father pushed the photograph toward her.
“What matters is that you stop.”
“No.”
“Sara.”
“No.”
Her father’s voice became colder.
“You are not seeing him again.”
“You don’t decide that.”
“I am your father.”
“I am twenty.”
“And still living under my roof.”
“Then I’ll leave.”
Her mother made a sound from across the table.
Not quite a cry.
Her father looked at her.
Then back at Sara.
“Say that again.”
“I’ll move out.”
Her mother stood.
“No.”
Sara looked at her.
“I have somewhere to go.”
Leyla grabbed her wrist.
Not hard.
But she did not let go.
“No.”
“Mama.”
“You are angry.”
“Let me go.”
“You will destroy everything.”
“Let me go.”
Murat moved between Sara and the door.
That was the first clear moment when she understood the argument had changed.
She looked at him.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Murat.”
“Sit down.”
Sara reached for her phone.
Murat took it from her hand.
“Give it back.”
“Sit down.”
“Give me my phone.”
Her father stood.
“Enough.”
Sara looked around the room.
Her mother was holding her wrist.
Her brother was holding her phone.
Her father stood between her and the hallway.
She suddenly felt very calm.
“If you don’t let me leave, I’m screaming.”
Murat laughed.
“To who?”
Sara looked at him.
The apartment went silent.
He realised what he had said.
Sara screamed.
Once.
Loud enough that someone upstairs knocked on the floor.
Her mother released her.
Her father stepped aside.
Murat threw the phone onto the sofa.
Sara grabbed it and ran.
