“I want a divorce,” she said. It was something she had repeated so many times in her head, just tasting it in her mouth. How would it feel to suddenly be on her own again? And a single mother? How would she manage it? What would his face look like? As they say: a word is not a bird, once you let it out you can never catch it and put back in the cage. Once it is out, it is out. Forever unchangeable and irreversible.
Delya was only 22 when she met her Turkish husband.
Pretty much everything in their story was typical and predictable. She just did not realize it then. She was giggly and romantic. He was dark and handsome. It was not his money she fell for. She had her own. Not quite hers- her parents’- but still, she could marry anyone she liked. She just loved everything about him. His beautiful Turkish accent, and the way he dressed. She thought their love was so beautiful: two different , yet such similar cultures brought together. She called him her Sultan.
They had a big wedding and his family flew over from Turkey. Everything was going really well. They had a beautiful apartment, a gorgeous little boy and their own business that was doing well in Baku, thanks to her father’s connections and Erkan’s professional approach to every detail.
And now, she was standing facing him, her hands holding on to the railing of the balcony.
“I want a divorce,” she said out loud. She did not plan the day and the hour, it just escaped her mouth without any warning.
He put his newspaper down, and looked up in disbelief. Just a few minutes ago he was telling her how stupid she was. He has been telling her that quite often these days. Stupid to have bought the wrong kind of bread. Stupid to have forgotten to tell the cleaner to do something. She was never good enough anymore. Her Turkish was still far from perfect, and she could not entertain his extended family when they were around. She could not breast feed long enough. Her child kept waking up at nights at the age of three and she went to him, often staying in his bed till morning. She was not bringing little Ahmet up properly, he said.
It was a hot summer day and they were having breakfast outside, on the large balcony of a prestigious apartment building.The ash of his cigarette fell on the floor tiles and he smeared it out slowly with the tip of a flip-flop. She glanced at his open toes, covered with thick black hair.
Far below them, cars were forming up the usual morning traffic jam. He looked up at her, and there was so much hatred in those dark eyes, she suddenly imagined how he would push her over those rails and she would fall all the way down, onto that asphalt, between the parked Ladas and Mercedes. She shivered and felt her fingers grasp the balcony railing tighter.
“What are you on about?” he finally asked, squinting against the sun and the cigarette smoke. He had not shaved that morning, and looked gloomy on the lovely summer day. “Is it that time of the month again?”
“I said I want a divorce,” she repeated, focusing on her own voice, feeling slightly dizzy.
He stared at her for a while.
“OK,” he said, rising from the chair, “of course, you realize….I am keeping Ahmet.”
Well, she thought, she had expected him to say that, she had heard rumors of Turkish husbands often keeping children in a divorce. That fact alone had kept her hesitating for the last two years. But Delya was unhappy. Besides, she felt safer because they were still in Baku.
“He could not do anything,” her mother said, “the child is here, and he is a foreigner with no rights. Your country will protect you. Don’t worry.” On top of that, they had some connections she could always use. It was Baku after all, and her family knew people who knew people.
She told him it was never going to happen. “A young child should remain with its mother,” she added.
“Oh, really?” he got up. “There is no way I would leave my son with you, in this stupid screwed up country,” he said not looking at her, finally leaving the balcony. She breathed out, still holding on to the railings. The first round was over. She was not sure who won, but at least, there was a break.
She could not sleep properly in the following few nights. Erkan would leave first thing in the morning, and only then she would relax a little, and be able to focus again. She continued with her daily routine, taking Ahmet to the nursery, cooking food and playing with him in the local park. She had to maintain her facade for now. Even though the decision had been made, she still remained unconvinced. Pathetically, no matter how many times she told herself she could not care less about what people thought, she still felt embarrassed. To everyone around, they looked like a successful, happy couple. She had everything a girl could ask for. And suddenly, she would be alone again.
She knew people would gossip. Nobody would believe it was her who had asked for a divorce. They would probably say her Turkish husband dumped her. They would say she must have had an affair. Something must have happened, they would say.
Neighbors, the old ladies sitting on a bench in the yard, chewing and spitting sunflower seeds and gossiping all day long, watching everyone coming in and out with hostile curiosity…“How much fun would they have if they only knew!” she thought gloomily as she walked past every morning, smiling and nodding casually. Her girlfriends… Mostly single, constantly hunting for rich husbands, so openly jealous of her lifestyle… And of course, his family back in Turkey. Who, needless to say, were never happy with Erkan marrying her. Their sweet, like halva, but heartless smiles. His mother’s carefully planted comments and little jabs here and there. Delya imagined her mother-in-law smiling smugly, her little bejeweled hands resting on her belly as Erkan was delivering the news.
The following week, Erkan moved out. He packed one suitcase, taking his flip-flops, his signature stripy shirts and all the smelly colognes that forever filled the air of the apartment. She viewed it as a tiny victory that he never mentioned Ahmet, and just kissed him goodbye before he left. “Is that it?” she thought. “Is it a sign that he would leave us alone?” Perhaps he realized how much pain he would cause if he tried to take the child away.
As the weeks passed she was getting more concerned. She had money but it was hard to be alone. Their king size bed was cold and empty at nights.
Ahmet was constantly asking for papa. Nobody warned her just how painful this whole thing would get.
Just as she was getting desperate, the phone rang. It was Erkan. Could he please talk to her, he said. She saw no reason not to. He sounded calm and sad. He named his favorite Turkish café. He always chose Turkish cafés and restaurants whenever he wanted to go out.
She made an effort to look good, partially out of habit to please him, but also to demonstrate she was still looking after herself and was not falling apart. He was already waiting when she walked in and noticed that he was holding an enormous bouquet of roses. Delya did not like roses, but never told Erkan, so she kept getting them for every occasion.
As she made her way around plastic white tables with men drinking tea and smoking cigarettes, Erkan picked up the flowers and smiled at her.
“What is this, a peace offering?” she said, sitting down.
“Yes…I miss you both,” he said quietly. “Can we please talk?”
“I guess so,” she sighed. “But I have made my decision, Erkan. It has not been working out for too long, and while we are both still reasonably young…”
“Listen,” he said, reaching across the table and placing his dark hand on top of hers, the wedding band shiny on his finger. “I just want us to give it one last chance. Please, Delya, I beg you,” he added in Turkish. “I want the best for our son. I…..” he reached inside his pocket and pulled out a bright envelope with a picture of a palm tree and an airplane on it. “I bought you and Ahmet a trip to Antalya. It is a very nice resort,” he added quickly, noticing her shocked expression. “You need some rest. I know you have been unhappy recently.”
He waived to the waiter and spoke in a very quick Turkish, asking for some more coffee.
“What do you want?” he turned to her, his manner as usual, short and business like, the manner of a powerful man.
She said she would have some tea. “And a civilized divorce please,” she thought to herself.
“Right,” he turned back to her, still pressing her hand down, as if afraid she would get up and run away. “I thought I would not go. I just want you two to spend some quality time. It is a present from me, Delya. As you said, an offer of peace… Please, accept it.”
She looked into his face, his chocolate eyes framed by long lashes she used to find so attractive. “I don’t know…”
“If you could Delya, please. And while you are there, maybe you could think about changing your mind, da? We had such happy years together. I know…things have been bad. But every marriage goes through difficult patches.”
He looked tired and sad and Delya hesitated. He was trying so hard. Maybe, she was wrong and maybe his offer was a good step. She needed a break. Away from the routine of her life, away from their apartment and her large empty bed at nights.
“All right,” she said, taking the envelope, “I will think about it.”
Her mother was not so sure. She panicked and started shouting at Delya not to trust him. Delya got annoyed: as usual, someone was telling her what to do. Who knew her husband better than her? She looked him in the eye, she heard him speak. He was telling the truth, he wanted her back. He wanted their little family to stay together. She told her mother she wanted to work on her marriage. “Didn’t you do the same?” she asked her. “Didn’t you forgive dad for all the cheating and shouting?” Compared to how her father always treated her mother, Erkan was not such a bad husband. 
Erkan was right, the resort was stunning. The break was only for one week, but she loved it. She sat in the shade for hours, watching her son play at the poolside. He got tanned, and his golden hair and pale eyes looked startling on the sun-kissed skin. She looked at his happy face and saw Erkan’s features mixed with her colorings. He kept asking if papa was coming soon to join them. “What am I doing?” she thought. “I must work harder on this marriage. Like my mother did. For our boy, for his happiness. He needs a father and Erkan is such a good one.”
She felt more positive as she headed back. Perhaps, things were not that bad after all. Nothing really happened that could not be fixed. She was looking forward to discussing matters further with Erkan, and maybe they could come up with a plan. Maybe, they could see a counselor. As he said, every marriage goes through a bad patch.
She bought a magazine and a bottle of new perfume at the airport and, as they boarded the plane, relaxed comfortably in her seat. Erkan was playing with his seatbelt, when she suddenly heard voices above her. It was so busy and loud that she did not even realize that those voices were directed at her. As she glanced up she felt her head spin. Before she even registered what was being said, she already knew. He had set her up. Just as her mother said he would. There were three of them, in police uniforms, a woman and two men. The woman put her hand on Delya’s arm. She was being stopped from leaving the country with the child of a Turkish citizen.
“This is my son,” she said as confidently as possible, trying to remain calm, “and he is a citizen of Azerbaijan.”
“Please, madam,” they said politely, “do not make a scene. The child will have to go with us now. The court will decide what happens next.”
There it was: her worst nightmare coming to life. Her baby torn away from her, screaming and kicking, his little hands trying to hold on to her. Everyone on the plane staring. Her telling him it would be okay, and that she would come to get him straight away...
She sat in an empty hotel room that night, having spoken to her father; staring at a piece of paper with some contacts written down. People she never wanted to ask for help unless completed cornered with no escape. She was drunk on Turkish wine. Erkan had already called her to say that she still had a chance to come back to him and that he would consider it. He had no idea just how close she was to giving them another chance.
What a shame, she thought, looking at her reflection in a glass coffee table. Such a beautiful story, such a pretty couple, such an ugly ending. Somewhere outside, a call to prayer started on top of a mosque, with another one catching up nearby, announcing the dawning of a new day. Delya picked up the phone and dialed the first number. He might have won this round. But the war was far from over.
