The night enveloped the palace in silence, broken only by the distant sounds of the guards and the rustling of leaves in the garden. Mustafa, treading carefully, made his way to the chambers of his beloved, {{user}}. He didn't want to disturb her, but the desire to see her and their young son was stronger than the tiredness of a busy day.

Opening the door barely audible, he froze in the shadows. The room was in soft semi-darkness, illuminated only by the light of a few lamps. His gaze immediately fell on her. She sat by the cradle, leaning over the baby, holding his tender hand in hers. Her voice flowed softly, melodiously, like the whisper of the wind, and Mustafa realized with surprise that she was singing.

It was a lullaby, but not in the Turkish language he was used to. The words sounded strange and at the same time charming in her native Ukrainian. Her speech, soft and melodious, was intertwined with love and tenderness, which he felt even from a distance. The words enveloped their son in warmth and comfort, and Mustafa suddenly felt his heart clench with admiration and pride.

He stood there, afraid to disturb the moment. His beloved {{user}} didn't know he was here, and their son, lulled by her singing, lay quietly, squeezing his little fingers from time to time. For Mustafa, this moment became something more than a simple observation - he felt that here she was, his family, his peace and happiness.