Page 50 of The Book of Heartbreak

Forgiveness stands at the core of healing. Only the misguided seek solace in wrath.

Excerpt from The Book of Revenge, Müneccimbasi Sufi Chelebi’s Journals of Mystical Phenomena

There’s only one person I have yet to meet: the one who witnessed what truly happened between Mum and Iris that night. Even if it feels like a betrayal after Muzaffer begged me not to seek him.

I leave Muzaffer buried in his sorrow, before he can lock me away again, and storm out of the house, as if my father will just be standing there, waiting to absorb the full force of my rage.

I follow throngs of people on the seafront.

Swimming among their faces in my sorrow.

I don’t know how long I walk. I’m numb, wordless.

Must be a couple of hours of trekking when I arrive at a bazaar.

It’s an expansive, exotic place. The air is a heady mix of spices and leather, the din of haggling and murmurs.

As if in a dream, I weave through the maze of stalls and passageways, looking at each face as if one of them will be Ozan and I’ll recognise him.

I don’t even know how to address him.

Ozan belonged to Iris, and Azlan to Defne. He’s no one to me.

Because of him my mother and aunt are dead. Muzaffer is living in his own hell. Yet my father lives as if nothing ever happened. He got to move on.

Anger clutches at my throat. But my fury is fickle. It’s no remedy. It never has been, I realise now.

Like a fool, I end up getting lost. I walk aimlessly around the bazaar, letting the crowds drag me like a current. If I can walk for long enough, perhaps I can forget everything.

Tragedies befall the ordinary, often arising without a hint of malice , says Sufi Chelebi.

I think of Muzaffer, how he buried himself alive in that dark house, trapped by his memories. Defne, who drowned in guilt. Iris and Munu, who both pledged not to forgive their own sisters, despite how it ruined them all.

What is the point of being trapped in sorrow, rage or fear?

I pause in a narrow passage beside a shop selling frames and mirrors, the air thick with smoke hissing from a nearby grill, building steam on the glass. I stare at myself in a gilded circle.

Is this the life you want to live, Sare? I ask myself. A life of sorrow and longing, hate and grudges. It’s so easy to store away all the anger I have for Ozan, to keep it with me like a family heirloom and let it grow inside me.

But I don’t want it. I have to leave it behind.

‘Let it go,’ I tell my reflection. Only cowards seek the remedy for their pain in anger and fear.

I look up to see the seller inviting me inside the shop. I shake my head, yet my eyes remain fixed on my reflection. The girl staring back at me from the mirror is transformed beyond all recognition. She is no longer a coward.

I take a taxi back to üsküdar, but I can’t bring myself to go home. Instead, I stand by the rocks across from the Maiden’s Tower, where everything started, watching the sea welcome rain and wind like old friends. Unlike me, it remains peaceful and oblivious on its tiny island.

And I . . . I have never felt more alone in my entire life. Never more forlorn.

Despite my new-found courage, I remain isolated, with no one to share the struggle or confide in about how difficult it is to keep from crying.

If only I could pick up the phone and call Leon, stop him before he leaves .

. . It would be so easy to say, I love you.

Please don’t go. It would be such a relief.

But how can I? I’m no longer scared to say it, but it would be so selfish.

Leon deserves better than someone who, in a few months, will lose the ability to love him back, because I haven’t managed to break the curse, even though I know now where it started.

I gaze at the tower, everything I’ve unearthed whirring around in my head.

I was a fool, thinking Muzaffer was the villain, convincing myself he hid everything out of guilt.

He tried to shield me from the truth. It was my mother who wronged him, pursuing an affair with her own sister’s husband.

Whatever Daphne’s reasons were, whatever obsessive love or longing drove her to that relationship, she betrayed her own family.

Iris did the same. Just like Theodora – and Eudokia.

Do I have the courage to forgive any of them, especially my own mother?

I have to read her letters to find out. I have to hear what she had to say to Muzaffer.

‘You’re putting yourself at risk.’ I hear Munu’s voice.

Summer rain crashes down on me as I turn to see her mid-air, braving the storm. I’m too broken to push her away.

‘I found out who my father is today,’ I tell her as fat drops of rain soak into my vest, sending a chill through me.

‘Or should I say, Mum’s biggest mistake?

She fell in love with the wrong person. He promised to love her for eternity – sounds pathetic, doesn’t it?

I guess his heart was too big . . . big enough to fit Iris in as well.

He married her, and had Mum on the side. ’

‘What?’ Colour drains from Munu’s face.

‘I’m pretty sure he was a psycho. Who calls his wife’s sister “sweet muse of my cravings”? They had an affair living under the same roof. He made them call him different names. What sort of sicko does that?’

‘Y-your father?’ Munu shivers. ‘Boss Almighty . . . No, it can’t be true.’

‘Finally, something I know, and you don’t,’ I say.

A gull cries a deep, sad shriek above us. Munu, deflated by my revelations, hovers in the air like a broken ornament.

‘What’s so hard to believe?’ I scoff. ‘Don’t you always say people are disgusting? Some lower the bar, that’s all.’

‘Sare . . .’ Munu’s voice is a whisper. ‘I know what I did is unforgivable. But I was scared to tell you the truth. Scared you would hate me for it. Scared to hurt you.’ Her wings beat against the torrent.

‘All I want is to protect you. You’re special, Sare.

You’re too kind and gentle for this ugly world.

You don’t deserve the torment of love. You can’t trust a heart that’s not yours. ’

I feel like crying again. It’s the third time in one day, and surely not a good sign.

‘I was wrong about so many things. Perhaps I still am.’ Munu looks away from me, her gaze fixed on the horizon.

‘I know you’ll never trust me again, but I will try everything within my power to correct my mistakes.

I swear. But you must stop digging . . .

That boy, Leon, has good intentions, but he .

. . he doesn’t know how dangerous this is for you. Perhaps I should warn him.’

‘You’re a fan of his now?’ I laugh. ‘After all these weeks calling him the devil?’

‘He and Grey saved me from—’ Munu trembles. ‘A certain punishment.’

I think of the angel, Grey, and how he offered a ‘rescue’ to Munu.

It’s ridiculous – why would he care after all these years, after all this suffering?

The thought of questioning Munu on how this supposed salvation is meant to work crosses my mind, but I stop myself.

Why should I care? Angels and their agendas always seem crafted to serve themselves, not the living.

They don’t give a shit about all this suffering.

‘And he is in love.’ Munu pulls a pained face. ‘He suffers for it.’

‘We’re not meant to be,’ I assert. ‘He’ll be on a plane to Peru on Saturday. Away from me. I drove him away. Be proud of me, Munu, you’ve taught me well. It hurts like hell – no, it hurts like fuck – but I didn’t die. Maybe I’m becoming heartless. Just like you always wanted.’

‘I—’ Munu says, pouting. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Why?’ I ask. ‘Shouldn’t you be happy?’

‘You’re alive, Sare. Still alive. You won’t be another victim. That’s all that matters.’

I glance away, wondering how close, or how far, I stand from another heartbreak. There’s a constant, heavy ache in my chest since losing Leon, but I try to endure it.

What is more unbearable is the wreck awaiting me at the place I can hardly call a home.

My grandfather’s heartbreak. The shadows of Iris and Defne.

‘Stop investigating,’ Munu pleads, as if she’s reading my mind. ‘You learned everything. You survived it. Don’t push it any more.’

‘There’s one last thing,’ I tell her. ‘One more knot to unravel.’

Those unopened letters.

The evening prevails over the house when I finally find my way home, drenched and trembling from the storm. Shivering, I creep back into the library. I’m cold and battered, but there’s no rest for me before I read Daphne’s letters.

In the dim light, there’s no sign of Muzaffer, but to my relief, the box of letters remains on the desk, as if he’s left it for me. Perhaps he wants me to be his courage.

But what if, the voice in my head whispers, they break your heart?

‘I’m not a coward,’ I reply as I rip open the first letter and start to read. ‘Not any more.’

15th January 2008

Baba, I know you don’t wish to hear from me any more. You made it very clear on the day I left that you will not have me back if I walk out.

If the letter returns to me, I promise I will never write to you again.

I had a baby girl, born on 10th December.

She won’t cry or scream like the other babies.

Perhaps I’ve done all the crying on her behalf.

I’ve shed so many tears there are none left for my child.

Some nights, I imagine she stares at me in the dark.

Some mornings, I wake up and she lays in silence, awake.

There’s something wrong with her, Baba. Or perhaps I’m the one who is wrong.

I’m broken, after all, and perhaps I’ve broken her too.

I don’t know how to be a mother. I don’t know how to live any more.

Write to me, Baba, please. Tell me you forgive me.

defne

2nd March 2009

Baba, I’m trying to put my life back together, but it’s not easy. I couldn’t have survived without the house or the money you gave me before I left Istanbul, and for that I’m grateful. But I want to speak with you, Baba.

You can’t know how many times I’ve picked up the phone, only to put it back down, afraid you’d hang up on me. I’m holding on by a thin thread, and your rejection will snap it.

You know where I live. You’re reading my letters – you can’t be cruel enough to throw them away – yet you remain silent. This silence paralyses me. Write to me, Baba. I’m begging you. Forgive me.

Tell me I can come home. I want to come home.

In this foreign country, in this strange bubble, I look back and feel the deepest shame. I don’t know why I did any of what I did. I don’t know who that person was. If you’re reading this, know that it wasn’t me. I swear I’m not her any more.

defne

23rd April 2013

Baba, everything is harder when you’re alive.

You’re alive, I’m alive, though we both pretend otherwise. Your silence torments me. You won’t forgive me, I know. I’m not begging forgiveness any more. But I need you.

Write to me. Even if only to say that you hate me. Blame me. Curse me. Shame me. Just write something. Anything. I’m made of sorrow and longing. I’m made of regret.

defne

17th August 2019

I should’ve listened, Baba. But I never wished to harm her. I never wanted to hurt her.

defne

10th March 2025

Baba, this is my last letter. Call it pride, call it guilt or shame – but I know you won’t have me back. Why would you? I don’t deserve it.

What was it that you said? ‘You died for me with your sister.’ You are a man of your word, Baba.

Perhaps you moved on, but I never stop thinking about the past. My soul is tethered to Istanbul, trapped in that moment at the tower, unable to move forward.

There are so many things left unsaid between us. You never met your granddaughter, Sare. She holds a wisdom most adults don’t possess. You never set eyes on her to see how much she resembles Iris. I never told you how she has become my punishment. A reminder of my mistakes.

It’s taken me eighteen years to build up the courage to write about that night.

If I tell you what happened, will it end your silence? Or will it deepen the fractures between us?

No matter what, here is the truth you deserve to know.

Iris summoned me to the tower, and like a fool I went.

I found her on the terrace with Azlan. I’m not going to lie to you, Baba.

I said things to my sister that can never be taken back.

I was consumed by a darkness in my heart.

In Azlan’s presence, I wasn’t myself but a shell, and that shell told Iris to show dignity, to step aside, because Azlan and I were to have a child.

‘I will never forgive you,’ was all my sister said.

I can still hear her voice, even as I pen these words.

The earthquake began as we argued. In the chaos, I didn’t notice how Iris climbed on to the other side of the railing until it was too late.

I begged her to stop, screamed until I had no voice left, but Azlan held me.

He urged Iris to come back, to stop being childish, but Iris wouldn’t budge. And that made him furious.

‘Do you even love me?’ Iris asked, but Azlan was . . . so detached. So cruel.

The things he said to her . . . Eighteen years have passed, and I remember every word.

‘Will you jump if I don’t? I’m sick of this, Iris. Sick of your whimpering. Go ahead, then.’

Iris shook her head. Silent and defeated, she turned to climb back over the railing. Then the earthquake roared again, the ground lurching beneath us. Her footing slipped, and her hands shot out for the railing – but the tremors wrenched her away.

I tore free of Azlan’s arm and lunged towards her, desperate to pull her back, but she was already falling.

All it took was a second, and she was gone.

I heard her scream as she fell – she didn’t want to fall, she didn’t want to die – and the sickening crash.

Since then, every single day, every hour, every minute, I’ve lived with the weight of that one fleeting moment.

Azlan said it wasn’t my fault or his, that we couldn’t have saved her. I don’t know why I didn’t have the guts to confront him. He was an ocean, and I was a sandcastle against his waves.

But whatever hold he had over me crumbled with that earthquake.

The love I had been so desperate for, so reckless to chase, died with Iris.

He didn’t pursue me after that night, perhaps because he recognised how my sister’s death broke me.

Even if he had come after me, I could never have been with him again.

Not after what he did. Not after what it cost.

And I regret it. Every moment, every word, every lie, every promise. I regret it with my whole being – with my exile, with my solitude.

I’m not seeking your mercy. I was a fool, and fools aren’t worthy of forgiveness.

But you are, Baba. I blamed you for favouring Iris, when it was my own faults that destroyed us.

I love you, Baba. I miss you. And I finally set you free from myself. I forgive you.

defne