Lan Yeter | Yeter

"Demir, look," Selim said, not looking up. "The shipment is late. I need you to stay through Sunday. No overtime pay this time—we’re 'family,' remember? We all sacrifice for the company."

"Keep the chair," Demir said, his breath coming in sharp, clean bursts. "I’m going to go watch my daughter dance." Yeter Lan Yeter

"I can't, Selim Bey," Demir said, his voice a low vibration. "My daughter has her recital. I promised." "Demir, look," Selim said, not looking up

Demir felt a heat rising from his chest, a slow-burn fire he had kept dampened for years to keep his daughter in school and his mother in medicine. He thought of his worn-out boots, the holes in his floorboards, and the way Selim’s new car gleamed in the parking lot. No overtime pay this time—we’re 'family,' remember

"Enough with the 'family' talk!" Demir’s voice wasn't just loud; it was heavy with the weight of three years of silence. "Enough with the threats! I am a man, not a machine you can just oil with lies. You want the shipment? You move the crates. You want the Sunday shift? You sit in the dust."