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Chapter Thirteen

Baran

Baran sat across from Daddy Darien at the kitchen table, surrounded by the warmth of Christmas decorations that transformed the cozy space into a winter wonderland. A miniature ceramic Christmas village lined the windowsill above the sink, its tiny windows glowing with battery-operated lights. Garland with red berries and pinecones wrapped around the curtain rods, and strings of twinkling lights framed the window. A collection of Santa Claus cookie jars stood proudly on the counter, their jolly faces seeming to watch over the morning’s activities.

“There are cookies in all the cookie jars. You can have one anytime you want,” Miss Charlotte said, pointing to them on the counter.

The aroma of fresh coffee and bacon filled the air as Baran savored every bite of the breakfast Miss Charlotte had prepared. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten such a wonderful meal. The hash browns were perfectly crispy, just the way he liked them, and the eggs were cooked exactly right. He sipped his orange juice, noticing how it matched the cheerful orange and cinnamon potpourri that filled a Christmas tree-shaped bowl on the counter.

“So, Baran,” Daddy Darien began, setting down his coffee mug on a snowman-themed coaster, “I have an important job for you at the shelter today.” He pulled out a folder from his briefcase and placed it on the table between them. “We’re hosting an art gala on Friday to raise funds for the shelter’s winter program. I need someone to call through this list of potential donors.”

Baran’s heart quickened with excitement. Finally, a chance to give back to the shelter and Daddy Darien, who had helped him so much. “I can do that. I’ve done customer service before at my mother’s job.”

“Perfect.” Daddy Darien smiled, pointing to the various notes in the folder. “You’ll be working from my office while I handle some business in the city. The script for the calls is right here, along with all the information about the gala. I’ll be back around lunch to check on your progress. Then we can have lunch together.”

“I won’t let you down,” he told Daddy Darien, his voice firm with determination. Looking around at the festive kitchen, with its holiday dish towels and the Advent calendar hanging by the refrigerator, Baran felt a sense of belonging he hadn’t experienced in years. This was more than just a job—it was a chance to be part of something meaningful, to help create the same hope for others that he’d found here.

Miss Charlotte, who was hanging another Christmas ornament on the small tree in the corner of the kitchen, turned to them. “And when you boys are done, Baran, you and I are going shopping. You need some proper clothes, dear.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As they finished breakfast, the candy cane wind chimes by the back door tinkled softly, and Baran couldn’t help but smile. He was ready to start this new chapter, surrounded by the spirit of giving that seemed to radiate from every Christmas decoration in Miss Charlotte’s warm, welcoming kitchen.

Daddy Darien drove them to the shelter, then walked Baran to his office. They passed Miss Archer working in her office. She glared at Baran through the open door, her eyes narrowed and filled with icy fury. He hadn’t done one thing to her, but she was pissed at him for getting Hawk banned.

Once they were inside Daddy Darien’s office, he closed the door.

“Call me if you need me.” He cupped Baran’s face in his hand and kissed him, his lips lingering on his for a moment. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes, I want to work and help.”

When Daddy Darien left the office, Baran sat down at the desk. His fingers traced the edge of the donor list, his chest swelling with purpose. The shelter had been his sanctuary when he needed it most, and now he could help ensure others would have the same opportunity. The Christmas angel centerpiece on the desk seemed to smile at him, its glitter catching the morning light, making him feel like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Twenty positive calls filled Baran’s day, each one bringing him a sense of hope and optimism. He stood, stretched his stiff muscles, and left the office, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee beckoning him from the lobby.

As he waited for the coffee to drip into his paper cup, Miss Archer snuck up on him.

“Make sure you call every single name on that list. Do you understand?”

Taking his cup, Baran nodded his head and said, “Yes, ma’am.” He took his cup and rushed back to Daddy Darien’s office.

Baran sat down and kept his head down as he dialed the next donor’s number, his stomach twisting with anxiety after his encounter with Miss Archer. This donor planned to attend and donate money. Baran glanced at the next name on the list in front of him—Marat Aslan. His father’s name. Baran’s throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, willing his voice to remain steady.

Baran’s hands trembled as he dialed the number he still knew by heart, despite his father’s disowning him this week. As the line connected, Baran braced himself, his fingers drumming nervously on the desk. What if his father recognized his voice? What would he say? Baran’s chest ached with the memory of his father’s harsh words when he had just arrived, the way he’d cut Baran down and cast him out. A part of him still longed for Marat’s acceptance and love, that tiny glimmer of hope that one day, his father might see him for who he truly was.

Baran quickly pushed those feelings aside, refocusing on the task at hand. He had a job to do—raising money for Rainbow Haven shelter, a cause close to his and Daddy Darien’s heart.

“Aslan Holdings, Marat Aslan speaking.” The familiar voice, deep and authoritative, made Baran’s throat constrict.

“Good Morning, Mr. Aslan. I’m calling on behalf of Rainbow Haven shelter regarding our upcoming art gala.” Baran kept his voice steady and professional, though his heart hammered against his ribs.

There was a pause, too long to be comfortable. “Your voice…why are you calling me?”

“Sir, as I mentioned, I’m representing the shelter’s fundraising—”

“Baran?” His father’s voice turned to ice. “Is this some kind of trick to get money from me?”

Baran’s fingers gripped the desk’s edge. “No, Father. I’m volunteering here with Darien Moore, the director. The gala is legitimate—”

“So now you use charity work to manipulate me? After bringing shame to our family?” The words cut through him like a winter wind. “After I disowned you, now you’re trying to extort money?”

“That’s not what this is.” Baran’s voice cracked. “The shelter helps people. Darien does amazing work here—”

“Darien? Another one of your…fuck buddies?” The disgust in his father’s voice was unmistakable. “Don’t contact me again. You are no son of mine.”

The line went dead.

Baran stumbled out of the shelter into the harsh icy New York weather, tears blurring his vision. The noise of the city—car horns, construction work, street vendors—seemed to mock his pain. He walked blindly, past the cart whose scent of lamb and rice normally brought comfort but now only reminded him of family dinners long gone.

The spring air held a bitter chill that matched the hollow feeling in his chest. Every breath felt like swallowing glass. He passed storefronts with their reflective windows, catching glimpses of himself—a ghost of the son his father had once loved, before the truth had torn them apart.

The smell of exhaust fumes mixed with the sweet scent of flowering trees in planters along the sidewalk, that quintessential New York contrast of harsh and soft. A baby wailed in its stroller as he passed, the sound echoing his inner anguish. Groups of tourists cluttered the sidewalk, laughing and taking photos, oblivious to his pain as tears tracked down his cheeks.

Baran found himself in a park where the carefully manicured lawn and organized benches seemed to mock the chaos in his heart. He collapsed onto a green metal bench, watching pigeons peck at scattered breadcrumbs while office workers enjoyed their late lunches. His father’s rejection felt like a deep wound, raw and bleeding.

The distant sound of the library’s stone lions being power-washed mixed with the chattering of nearby students. Baran pulled his knees to his chest, making himself small, just as he had felt the night when his father had thrown him out. The first snowflake landed on Baran’s sleeve as he sat hunched over on the cold metal bench. Within minutes, the gentle flutter transformed into a steady cascade of white, with each flake, as they descended from the darkening sky, catching the glow of streetlamps. The snow began to accumulate on his shoulders, melting through his thin jacket and dampening his shirt. He shivered, pulling his arms tighter around himself, but the cold had already settled deep into his bones.

Rising from the bench, Baran trudged through the thickening snow toward the subway entrance. His shoes, already soaked from the slush, squeaked against the worn steps as he descended into the station. The familiar screech of trains and murmur of voices echoed through the tunnels. He swiped his MetroCard and boarded the Brooklyn-bound train, grateful for its warmth despite the graffiti-marked windows and torn seats.

As the train lurched forward, Baran leaned his head against the foggy window, watching the dark tunnel walls flash by. His mind drifted to Istanbul—to winter evenings spent in cafes with his college friends, sharing plates of borek and endless cups of tea while discussing philosophy and politics. He could almost smell the spices from the street vendors’ carts, hear the call to prayer echoing across the Bosphorus. Here, in this cold city, he felt more alone than ever.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him from his reverie. Daddy Darien’s name flashed on the screen.

“Hello?” Baran’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Baran? Where are you? I came back to the shelter, and they said you left hours ago.” Daddy Darien’s voice carried both concern and confusion.

“I’m…I’m on the train to Brooklyn.” Baran swallowed hard, watching another station blur past.

“What happened? Why did you leave work?” The worry in Daddy Darien’s voice made Baran’s chest tighten.

“I couldn’t…” Baran’s voice cracked. “I just…I couldn’t stay there. Everything here is so different, so foreign. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left without saying anything,” he lied.

There was a brief silence on the line. “Which stop are you near?”

Baran glanced up at the subway map. “Coming up to Atlantic Avenue.”

“Get off there and wait by the station entrance. I’m coming to get you.” Daddy Darien’s tone was firm but gentle. “It’s too cold to be wandering around like this.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do. We don’t leave family out in the cold, Baran. Just wait for me, okay?”

Family. The word hung in the air between them. “Okay,” Baran whispered, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “I’ll wait by the entrance on the northwest side.”

“Good. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. And, Baran?”

“Yes?”

“It’s okay to miss home. But you’re not alone here. Remember that.”

As Baran ended the call, he noticed his reflection in the subway window—snow still melting in his dark hair, his face pale from the cold. The train slowed, and for the first time since the snow began to fall, he felt a small warmth grow in his chest. Maybe Daddy Darien was right. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

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