З життя
Повернення з минулого: зрада і прощення
**Повернення з минулого: зрада й прощення**
Я збирала валізи, готуючись до переїзду до свого коханого, коли різкий стук у двері перевернув все з ніг на голову. На порозі стояв мій колишній чоловік Віктор — людина, яка роки тому покинула мене заради іншої, розбивши моє серце й розтоптавши наше кохання. Його поява, немов привид із минулого, розкрила старі рани, які, я думала, давно загоїлися. Він прийшов із пропозицією, що перетрясла моє життя.
Я стояла серед наполовину спакованих коробок у своїй квартирі в затишному містечку на березі Дніпра. Кожна коробка була шматком минулого, яке я залишала позаду. Мої думки належали Андрію — чоловікові, який терпляче допомагав мені зібрати себе докупи після зради Віктора. Андрій не був ідеальним, але він був міцним, як скеля, і я знала, що на нього можна покластися. Стук у двері вирвав мене з думок — різкий, тривожний. Я нікого не чекала, а вже тим більше його.
Відчинивши двері, я застигла. «Вікторе?» Переді мною стояв він — зморщений, зі зморшками на обличчі й сумом у очах, які колись були такими рідними. «Оксанко, — почав він, і його голос здригнувся. — Можна зайти?» Перший порив — захлопнути двері. Але, незважаючи на розум, я відступила, впускаючи його в дім, який збиралася покинути назавжди.
Віктор увійшов, його погляд пройшовся по кімнаті, зупинившись на коробках. «Ти переїжджаєш?» — запитав він, хоча відповідь була очевидною. «Так, до свого чоловіка, Андрія. Чого тобі потрібно, Вікторе?» Згадка про іншого змусила його поморщитися, але він швидко приховав це слабкою усмішкою. «Це… добре. Радий, що ти знайшла когось.» Між нами повисло напружене мовчання, наче грізна хмара перед бурею.
«Оксанко, — нарешті промовив він, — я б не прийшов, якби не був змушений. Знаю, що не маю права нічого просити після того, що зробив, але… мені потрібна твоя допомога.» Я схрестила руки, готуючись до найгіршого. «Яка допомога?» Він вагався, потім видихнув: «Жінка, заради якої я тебе кинув… вона померла два тижні тому. В мене залишилася донька, Оксанко. Її звуть Марійка. Вона — усе, що в мене є, але я не справляюся сам. Мені потрібна ти.»
Чоловік, який колись розбив мені серце, тепер просив допомогти виростити його дитину. Іронія обпекла мене. «Чому я, Вікторе? Чому саме я?» — «Бо я тебе знаю, — відповів він, у його голосі була розпач. — У тебе добре серце. Я не знаю нікого, хто впорався б краще.» Підлога ніби зникла під ногами. Я роками збирала себе по шматочках, і ось одним стуком у двері Віктор знову все зруйнував. Але тепер йшлося не лише про мене. Десь у цій історії була маленька дівчинка, непричетна до помилок свого батька.
«Не знаю, чи зможу, Вікторе, — прошепотіла я. — Але подумаю.» — «Дякую, Оксанко. Цього достатньо», — відповів він, і в його очах блиснула іскра надії.
Коли він пішов, я зрозуміла — моє життя вже ніколи не буде колишнім. За кілька днів ми зустрілися в тихій кав’ярні на околиці міста. Я нервувала, тереблячи серветку, поки чекала біля вікна. Коли Віктор увійшов, тримаючи за руку маленьку дівчинку з великими, ясними очима, моє серце стислося. «Привіт, Оксанко, — тихо сказав він, саджаючи дівчинку навпроти мене. — Це Марійка.» Я посміхнулася: «Привіт, Марійко. Ти як справжня принцеса у цій сукні.» Дівчинка сором’язливо кивнула, втулившись у свою іграшку.
Поки Віктор розповідав, як важко йому самому, мої думки крутилися навколо Марійки. Вона була такою тендітною, такою невинною, і щось у ній торкнулося мого серця. А потім він сказав те, що мене приголомшило: «Це може бути наш другий шанс, Оксанко. Шанс відновити те, що ми втратили.» Я не встигла відповісти — він обережно передав мені Марійку. Коли вона притулилася до мене, я відчула тепло, яке розлилося грудьми, і зв’язок, який не могла пояснити. «Мені потрібен час», — пробурмотіла я, намагаючись зібрати думки.
Пізніше я подзвонила Андрію. Мій голос тремтіДвері його квартири були відчинені, а на порозі стояв він — із широко розпростертими обіймами, без слів даючи зрозуміти, що пробачення вже чекає на мене.
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