Daddy Darien’s parents, Benjamin and Claire, greeted them with welcoming smiles. Benjamin was a tall man with a sturdy frame, silver streaks in his dark hair, and sharp blue eyes that hinted at a younger, adventurous spirit. Claire, on the other hand, was petite and graceful, her soft brown hair swept into a loose chignon, and her warm hazel eyes radiated a quiet kindness.
Standing beside them was Norah, Daddy Darien’s cousin. Baran couldn’t help but notice her striking ginger hair cascading down her shoulders, catching the light like burnished copper. Her emerald-green dress complemented her sharp features, and her bright smile lit up her freckled face. She looked like Daddy Darien’s sister.
Daddy Darien gestured toward Baran with an air of pride. “Mom, Dad, this is Baran. He’s my fiancé, and he is living with me. And this,” he said, turning to Norah, “is my cousin Norah. Baran, meet the family.”
Baran inclined his head politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you.”
After exchanging greetings, they stepped inside the house. The interior was just as impressive as its coastal façade—open and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the vast ocean. The walls were a soft cream adorned with tasteful artwork, and the wooden floors glowed warmly under the sunlight. A large dining table sat to one side, and just beyond it was a cozy living room with plush furniture arranged around a stone fireplace. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore filtered through the slightly open windows.
Claire motioned toward the living room. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll bring some refreshments.”
They settled into the deep, overstuffed chairs and the long sectional sofa. Baran sat across from Benjamin, who leaned forward slightly, a curious spark in his eye.
“So, Baran,” Benjamin began, “tell me about yourself. Where are you from?”
Baran hesitated for a moment before answering, “I come from Istanbul, Turkey.”
“Turkey, eh?” Benjamin leaned back, stroking his chin. “What brings you to these parts? Business? Adventure?”
“I’ll be attending New York University,” Baran replied, his voice steady.
Benjamin’s brows lifted with interest. “And how did you come across my son? Not every day Darien brings someone home with him and calls him his fiancé.”
“We met at the shelter,” Baran explained.
“Fascinating,” Benjamin mused. “What kind of work do you do, Baran? You strike me as someone who’s seen his fair share of challenges.”
Baran offered a small smile. “I was a student and didn’t work, but I work at the shelter now.”
“And where is your family?” Benjamin asked.
Baran paused, his gaze briefly shifting to the ocean view beyond the windows. “My mother lives in Italy now.”
“And your father?”
“He’s from Turkey but works in New York City.”
Benjamin seemed satisfied with the answer and leaned back with a thoughtful smile. “You’re welcome here, Baran. I hope you’ll feel at home.”
Baran inclined his head again. “Thank you, sir. Your home is beautiful, and your hospitality is appreciated.”
The conversation flowed easily after that, with Norah chiming in with a few questions of her own and Claire joining them with a tray of tea and freshly baked scones. Despite thequestions, Baran found the family’s warmth made the afternoon surprisingly pleasant.
The doorbell rang and everyone looked at each other wondering who would drop in on Christmas Day?
“Baran, would you answer the door for me?” Benjamin asked, as he was untangling the lights around the tree in the dining room. Baran hesitated as he approached the door, wondering who it could be. The others were in the kitchen, laughter and conversation drifting faintly down the hall. When he opened the door, his breath caught in his throat.
Standing on the porch was a man he hadn’t expected to see. Marat Aslan. His father. He stood tall, holding a bag with colorful wrapping paper peeking out from the top, an uneasy but hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Baran,” his father said, his voice low and familiar.
Baran’s hand gripped the door tighter, his mind reeling. “What…what are you doing here?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper. He glanced over his shoulder instinctively, as if to confirm that this moment wasn’t some strange hallucination.
“I was invited…by Benjamin.”
“Benjamin?” Baran repeated, struggling to process what he was hearing. Benjamin had invited his baba? How? Why?
His father nodded. “He thought…I should come. That it was time.” He hesitated before adding, “May I come in?”
