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«Пощадите меня!»: я просто согласилась…

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– Ты куда собрался? – спросила Алина, глядя, как супруг натягивает свежую рубашку.

– Да с пацанами встретиться. Пивка пропустить, потрещать, – ответил Артём, даже не повернув голову.

– А со мной ты вообще когда-нибудь планируешь время проводить? – Алина попыталась улыбнуться, но получилось криво.

– Ты же вечно в делах! Откуда мне знать, что сегодня ты вдруг освободилась?

Вопрос вроде бы резонный. Но таких “резонных” отговорок стало слишком много. А Алина устала. Устала быть той, кто всё терпит, прощает и оплачивает.

Когда-то ей казалось, что он – её судьба. Артём был заботливым, скромным, чуть младше – но разве возраст важен, если есть душевная близость? Их познакомили мамины подруги, сыграли свадьбу, зажили в её просторной московской квартире. Он работал… как придётся. Но ей хватало. На двоих.

Первые тревожные звоночки прозвенели через год. Измена. Потом – вторая, третья. Извинения, слёзы, клятвы. А следом – покупки. Игровая приставка, мощный ноутбук, новейший телефон… Потом – машина.

– Линусь, ну это же удобно! Я буду тебя с работы забирать, детей в садик возить… – мечтал Артём.

– Ты бы сначала домой приходил, – отрезала она. Но привычка прощать брала верх.

А потом был звонок. Ранним воскресным утром.

– Алло, отпустите Артёма! – прозвучал молодой голос.

– Извините, кто это?

– Мы любим друг друга! А вы… вы только мешаете!

Алина молча слушала.

– Уверены, что ваши чувства дороже денег? – наконец спросила она.

– Конечно!

– Проверим?

– Что?

– Забирайте его. Навсегда.

Она положила трубку и спокойно сложила его вещи в чемодан.

Через десять минут вернулся Артём. Замер в дверях, уставившись на багаж.

– Мы… куда-то едем?

– Ты – да. Куда угодно.

– В смысле?

– В самом прямом. Разводимся.

– Из-за какой-то дуры? Я пошутил, Алина! Мы же хотели детей! Машину!

– Да. Теперь я сама куплю машину. Сама получу права. И ребёнка – если решу – тоже без тебя. Спасибо за мотивацию.

Он спорил. Умолял. Давил. Но Алина оставалась холодна.

Год спустя она вышла из своего новенького “Ларгуса” на парковке у ТЦ. Водительские права в кармане, уверенная улыбка. И платье, которое так нравилось её новому мужчине – взрослому, надёжному, без лишних вопросов.

Увидев вдалеке Артёма, Алина на секунду остановила взгляд.

– Ты купила ту модель? Но… я же хотел синюю.

– А я – красную. И купила.

Она прошла мимо, оставив его в тени. Без слов. Без сожалений. Без него.

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