A SON IN HIS MOTHER'S EYES
Füsun Hanım came every Thursday now. It had become a habit; she would arrive carrying something — sometimes börek, sometimes lemon cologne, sometimes just herself — spend a few hours, and leave. Every time she saw Mert she did the same thing: first she looked at his face, then she looked away. As if looking too long was dangerous. As if too much looking would make her see the truth — and she wasn't sure whether she wanted to see it. That Thursday afternoon Selin had gone out shopping. Only Mert and Füsun Hanım were left in the apartment. They were making tea in the kitchen. Füsun Hanım was as flustered as always; she asked where the cinnamon was, took glasses from the wrong shelf, then corrected herself. Mert watched her. He knew this flusteredness of his mother's — whenever she was alo
- Writer
