З життя
Никогда не встречались…
Мы никогда не знали друг друга…
С самого начала Светлана понимала, кем она была в жизни Артёма. Не женой, не матерью его детей, не законной спутницей. А просто любовницей. Женщиной, у которой он отдыхал душой. Той, к кому он приходил не за обязанностями, а за тишиной и покоем.
Она не требовала ничего. Ни развода, ни обещаний. Лишь немного тепла. Она принимала Артёма таким, какой он был: женатым, немного отстранённым, но добрым к ней. Иногда приносил продукты, иногда помогал с деньгами. Порой брал её за руку и говорил, что любит. Для неё этого хватало.
Светлана не считала себя разрушительницей семьи. Она никого не уводила. Это Артём сам пришёл. Сам выбрал её. Она просто была рядом. Без лишних вопросов.
Шли годы. Артём навещал её регулярно. Дарил цветы, иногда покупал подарки детям — не её детям, конечно. Своим. У Светланы детей не было. Врачи давно поставили диагноз: бесплодие. Именно это и разбило её первый брак.
А потом случилось чудо. Настоящее, необъяснимое. Беременность. Почти в сорок лет. Она плакала от счастья. Родители, узнав, что станут бабушкой и дедушкой, даже не спросили, кто отец. Просто радовались. Обещали помогать. А Светлана… Она была уверена: Артём не бросит. Он любил её. Говорил об этом сотни раз.
— Подавай на развод, — однажды сказала она. — Мы будем настоящей семьёй.
Он молчал. Потом ответил:
— Мне нужно время… Не могу вот так сразу.
Светлана дала ему неделю. Потом ещё. Но Артём начал пропадать. Молчал. Не отвечал. Исчезал после работы, отмалчивался. А однажды она пришла к его дому. Простояла у подъезда, не в силах уйти.
— Ты что тут делаешь?! — разозлился он, увидев её.
— Жду тебя.
— Ты достала! Я же просил подождать! Ты меня подставляешь!
Она замолчала. Смотрела на него и не узнавала.
— Значит, не будешь с нами? — тихо спросила.
Он отвернулся. Тогда она сказала:
— Мы никогда не знали друг друга. Забудь меня. Забудь нас. У нас больше нет «мы».
Она ушла. Не оглянулась.
Светлана родила девочку. Красивую, кудрявую, с глазами Артёма. Но, беря её на руки, чувствовала лишь любовь. Ни страха, ни боли, ни сожалений. Только нежность.
Артём несколько раз пытался связаться. Хотел увидеть дочь. Светлана отказала.
— Ты сделал выбор, — сказала она. — Не возвращайся. У неё есть отец. Настоящий.
Она не врала. Через полгода встретила другого. Спокойного, немного старше, с добрыми глазами. Он не задавал лишних вопросов. Просто полюбил её и девочку. А та сразу назвала его папой. Всё получилось само собой. Как будто сама жизнь решила: теперь всё будет правильно.
Прошло два года. Весна. Парк. Артём шёл по аллее, не думая ни о чём, и вдруг увидел её. Светлану. С мужчиной. И с ребёнком.
Мужчина держал девочку на руках. Она смеялась, трогала его за щёку. А Светлана, в лёгком платье, с улыбкой смотрела на них и нежно сказала:
— Поцелуй папу, солнышко. Видишь, он устал тебя носить.
Артём замер. Перестал дышать. Это была его дочь. Его девочка. Такая же, как когда-то его сыновья — кудрявая, светлая, живая. А рядом — чужой мужчина. И уже не его Светлана.
Она заметила его. Их взгляды встретились. Но она отвела глаза. Будто не знала его. Будто он никогда не был частью её жизни.
Артём понял: она сдержала слово. Они и правда никогда не знали друг друга.
И уже не будут.
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So, listen, for about a year now my sons been living with this girl, Emily, but wed never met her...
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Needless to say, this is all my fault! my mates sister sobbed. I could never have imagined things would turn...
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