Page 8 of The Book of Heartbreak

It’s a driver’s licence, featuring a black-and-white photo of Daphne with a broad smile.

I stare at a younger, happy version of her in disbelief.

I read her name, alien words in Turkish letters.

Defne Aylin Gümüshus , not Daphne Silverbirch.

I knew she had changed her name, but still, her birth name becomes a mountain between us.

In a single instant she becomes a stranger. A liar. A fake. A fraud.

A surge of anguish grips my heart as I confront the realisation that Daphne deceived me.

She had a living father. I scan the bar, the restaurant, to make sure everything is as it should be.

No cracking walls, no wobbling ceilings.

You’re okay, I comfort myself. You won’t suffer another heartbreak just because your mother lied to you.

Sixteen, fifteen, breathe.

‘Where were you all this time?’ I feel the sting of tears and blink them away, taking a large gulp of ginger beer. The sharp burn in my throat provides a distraction from my body’s possible malfunction.

Fourteen, thirteen, breathe.

‘It’s complicated,’ Muzaffer says as he reaches out to take back the card, sliding it into his pocket. ‘This isn’t the right time or place for such discussions.’

‘Aren’t you offended that she told me you were dead?’ My chest tightens.

His fingers fidget restlessly over the rounded top of his walking stick. ‘We had . . . disagreements,’ he admits after a brief pause. His head tilts slightly, as though he’s delving into distant memories. ‘She accused me of favouring her sister.’

Her sister . It takes a while for his words to sink in.

‘Mum—’ I fail to imagine a world where Daphne had anger, or a sister. Mum was gentle, tender, too consumed by her own self-destruction to be angry with anyone else. ‘Mum had a sister?’

‘I had two daughters,’ Muzaffer mutters with glassy eyes. I wish I could reach out and slip off his mask to see what lies behind the cold facade, see if he carries the signs of heartbreak at losing not just one daughter, but two. ‘Iris and your mother. Both are gone now.’

The word strikes me like a lightning bolt, illuminating memories of Daphne’s heart-shaped face. Her quivering voice.

Iris. Why do you hate me so much?

‘And did you favour Iris?’ Suddenly, I want to tear him apart to uncover the truth.

‘What?’ He seems startled by my question. ‘I treated both my children equally, if that is what you want to know. A lot of time has passed since . . . I’ve certainly made mistakes. However, I prefer not to dwell on the past.’

‘Then why are you here?’ My voice is more agitated than I intended. Childlike. But I suppose one should be permitted to feel annoyed when they’ve been kept in the dark about so much.

Twelve, eleven, breathe.

‘I want you to come and live with me in Istanbul,’ he says.

I stare at him, uncertain if I heard him right.

Ten, nine, breathe.

‘You have no other family.’ He straightens in his chair.

‘But you abandoned Daphne,’ I say. And then she abandoned me .

‘It’s not the same.’

Eight, seven, breathe.

‘You’re my granddaughter,’ Muzaffer says matter-of-factly, as if I’m the answer to some equation.

Six, five, breathe, Sare .

‘And you want me to come with you?’ I repeat, forcing myself to sip my drink.

The sugar runs crisp on my tongue, much like the possibility of another life in another city.

My mind drifts to Istanbul, the home my mother always seemed to miss so much.

And although I’ve never set foot there, it’s a familiar place with its seven hills and the sea, all brought to life through Daphne’s paintings and stories.

Four, three, breathe.

Fortunately, as I focus on it, Istanbul becomes a distraction, comforting to imagine.

‘If you stay, you’ll be placed in the system, bouncing between temporary homes until you turn eighteen,’ Muzaffer says.

‘In my house in Istanbul, you’ll have stability.

’ He doesn’t mention the word family , as if he fathoms how dangerous relationships can be for me.

A family is an emotional minefield I’ll have to navigate, but then he seems devoid of emotion, so perhaps we’re a good match.

‘You can return if you can’t get used to living there. I’m not going to force you to stay.’

Two, one, breathe.

‘I’m sure you won’t.’ I compose myself. Surely, a man who let his daughter leave won’t lock a granddaughter in a room or a tower.

Zero.

Breathe, Sare.

The countdown worked its magic, and I’ve weathered the worst of it.

The fluttering remains subdued. Why do I even care about Daphne’s relatives?

I shouldn’t be asking questions. I wish Munu was here, and then I could ask her advice on how to deal with this.

Though I bet everything I have, not that it’s much, that Munu won’t like the idea of a grandfather. It’s a dangerous proposition.

You’re almost an adult , I tell myself. You can make your own decisions.

What remains for me in England, beneath this grey summer and steel sky?

Only emptiness and the absence of Daphne.

The leftovers of her unstable life. Grief.

And the uncertainty of what awaits me until I turn eighteen.

If I move to Istanbul with Muzaffer, I can start over, miles away from all the heartbreaks.

I can leave the past behind. Just like Daphne once did.

It could be the safest option for me.

And maybe I can finally get some answers – about why my mother was the way she was, how she ended up here.

Why she hid her father from me – or was she the one in hiding?

I know it in my bones, Daphne and Defne aren’t the same person.

Something must have happened to Mum. Something that made her leave everything. But what?

‘Consider my proposal.’ Leaning on his stick, Muzaffer rises from his chair. His aloofness might be daunting for a normal seventeen-year-old, but for me, it’s a warranty. He won’t be a threat to me. Not when he’s so detached. ‘I’ll visit you tomorrow.’

But I’ve already considered it. Istanbul is an escape plan. A map of answers. A chance to peek into my mother’s hidden history and discover why she lied to me.

‘There’s no need,’ I announce.

A fleeting cloud of fear passes over his face. Is he afraid of me turning him down? I’m not accustomed to bearing a responsibility like this, making a difference to someone.

‘I’ll come with you.’ My words startle Muzaffer. And I’m startled too, only now realising what a huge decision I’ve just made. Swallowed by the pain of the grief as much as the pain of being deceived, I demand answers – whether from Muzaffer, or Istanbul itself.

Muzaffer nods, unaware of my internal tumult, remaining on his feet. ‘I’ll make the arrangements to leave as soon as possible,’ he says.

I trust him. Somehow, I sense that he is a man of his word.

Munu finally arrives in the evening with a loud crackle, erupting in a torrent of complaints directed at the Hidden.

Despite the unfair treatment she receives, her deep-seated loyalty and respect for them never wavers.

This toxic and certainly unprofessional relationship always confuses me.

Munu never elaborates on her work, and I gave up asking a long time ago.

But grief makes me restless, and tonight I find myself craving answers – why exactly am I cursed?

Still, I unwrap a sweet and let Munu vent.

This isn’t the time for an argument about the Otherside or the curse.

Not before I break the news about Muzaffer.

‘I’m so sorry that I missed the funeral.’ Munu’s face crunches like the butterscotch I bite into. ‘There was a fire in a care home – I had to assist a lot of very confused people to the Otherside.’

‘It’s okay. I managed.’ I shrug and then show her the sketch I made earlier, hoping that highlighting the beauty of her features will soften the blow when I reveal my plans.

She whizzes over to study the sketchpad. ‘This is stunning, canim.’

I divulge the details of my eventful day while she gushes over my drawing, not pausing for breath. Terror spreads across her face with the word grandfather . When I tell her that I’ll be moving to Istanbul with him, her pigeon wings tremble as if she’s been struck.

‘Have you lost your mind?’ she cries, landing on the sketchpad, noticeably getting smaller each second. ‘Why risk yourself with another family when you just got rid of one?’

The shrinking is an uncontrollable feature: a ‘gift’ from her boss designed to make her exhibit better self-control – fear and anger only make her smaller.

‘Just consider it,’ I insist. ‘It’s the best way to spend the next five months. He’s cold and distant. He didn’t even offer me any condolences – or hugs. He won’t be a problem. You don’t believe I’ll open my heart to him, do you?’

‘You’ll regret it.’ Munu’s voice becomes whinier as she keeps shrinking. ‘You said he’s old, Sare. What if you get attached to him? Old people fall, or have strokes. What if he just drops dead? I hate to remind you, but if your heart breaks one more time, that’s it – no more resurrections.’

‘Stop being so negative,’ I snap. My bones feel hollow.

Why does Munu always have to be the campaign manager of possible tragedies, forcing me to be pessimistic?

I look outside, where the honey-coloured sunset glides over the rooftops across the street, as if the world is a place where only sweet things happen.

‘Don’t tell me you’re already fond of him,’ she whimpers. Her tiny shadow splays on the sketch like a bad omen.

‘I don’t care about him,’ I retort. ‘I just met him, Munu.’

‘I don’t approve of this.’ Munu whips her head side to side. ‘Istanbul is a miserable place – too many people, too nosy and mingling. You can’t even breathe without someone commenting on it. It’s a minefield for you!’

‘I’ll be distracted by the new surroundings,’ I reply, uncertain who I’m convincing.

‘Boss in Heavens, Sare,’ Munu says, now as small as my pinkie finger. ‘I get it. You want to run away. But why not a road trip to Scotland? One of those islands where there’s only cows and ponies? You can still go to Istanbul in winter, after you’re eighteen and invulnerable.’

And heartless, I add silently, thinking of how the curse will destroy my ability to love for the rest of my life. I wish I could share in Munu’s joy at losing what makes me human, but I must be a fool because I still feel sad at the prospect.

‘It’s better to live with Muzaffer. He keeps his distance,’ I say.

‘Istanbul is a new place. A new life, Munu. I promise, I won’t let anyone get close.

’ I don’t mention that I’m also driven by a need to uncover why my mother lied to me about her family.

I owe myself the truth, but Munu won’t understand that.

‘Please, canim. Please don’t go.’ Munu regards me with eyes too huge for her tiny face. She is the only person who knows I’m cursed, the only one who knows how flawed I am and how my heart could snap at any moment.

‘Too late. I made up my mind.’ I nudge her with the tip of my finger.

‘I forget how stubborn you are.’ Munu flies away. ‘Like the shell of a walnut.’

I don’t respond, feeling a strange relief that she gave up so easily. I’d prepared for her to clutch at my hair and beg me to stay in Cambridge, tears streaming until I promised not to leave.

‘I just have a bad feeling about this,’ Munu says, returning to hover beside me.

‘It’ll be fine,’ I reply.

I can only hope that I’m right.

Communication is classified as Highly Confidential.

Circulation strictly limited to beings of celestial origins.

Subject : A Sincere Apology for Not Being Worthy of You

Date: 10 July 2025

From : User15963318 (Temporary Ethereal), Ethereal Resourcing and Deployment, Mortal Affairs Commission

To : Five the Fifth, Angel of Death, Field Operations, Mortal Termination and Transition, Mortal Affairs Commission

My Most Precious and Noble Patron and Director,

I have exhausted every effort within and beyond my capacity to dissuade the mortal from travelling to Istanbul. Yet she remains obstinate. She’ll be traveling on 15th July.

Mighty and Merciful One, my sole wish, like yours, is for the girl to reach eighteen.

Might we arrange a meeting to discuss an action plan? It has been too long since our last conversation, and I yearn to be worthy of your presence once more.

In your forgiveness and favour,

Your most devoted servant and forever admirer,

Munu

This email will destroy itself once read, so read carefully.

Subject : Do NOT reply

Date: 10 July 2025

From: Five the Fifth, Angel of Death, Field Operations, Mortal Termination and Transition, Mortal Affairs Commission

To : User15963318 (Temporary Ethereal), Ethereal Resourcing and Deployment, Mortal Affairs Commission

Munu,

What have I told you about addressing me? I’m your boss – not your friend, confidant or anything more. Certainly not your fairy godfather or crying wall.

Consider this your final warning. Do not mistake us for equals and presume you can demand meetings with me. I will not tolerate such audacity.

I am not surprised you failed to dissuade the girl; frankly, I should have left you to rot in Hell long ago. Yet, a minuscule, inconvenient speck of care remains in my otherwise empty chest.

Now that you’ve demonstrated your inadequacy again, take this advice: keep the girl away from that bloody tower. It is the source of the curse and will draw her in. While I have my own measures in place to assist in this, it is your responsibility to prevent her from falling into danger.

It’s not I – the holy, the deserving, the admirable – but you who was once a mortal.

Use your experience. Find ways to keep her indoors.

Encourage her to write a novel; isn’t that what every mortal aspires to?

Convince her to binge-watch Turkish television series or take up crochet.

Break her legs, if you must (in a way from which she may recover).

She must not reach that damned tower.

I highlight this once more: we will not meet. I am eternally busy, and emails are a far more efficient medium. Remember what happened last time – you nearly disintegrated at the sight of my glorious form. This is for your own good, and remember: I’m the most merciful.

Five the Fifth