Marina remained behind the wheel for some time, clinging her fingers so tightly to the steering wheel that her knuckles turned white. The heart was beating unevenly — not from fear, but from a heavy, vague feeling of trouble that could not be explained out loud. Sergei’s car was standing right at the gate. All covered in dirt, as if he had arrived here not today, but the day before. Tiny drops of recent rain gleamed on the hood.
— How strange… — she barely audibly said.
Her husband assured her that there was a complete blockage at work. Urgent reports, important meetings, delays almost until the night. Even in the morning, when Marina was about to leave, he called and said in a tired voice
— You rest there, lucky. And I have to sit in the office until nightfall.
And now his car stood calmly at the country fence.
Marina slowly got out of the car. The air smelled of raw soil and young spring grass. Somewhere to the side, a bird screamed anxiously. It was so peaceful around that what was happening seemed even more ridiculous and wrong.
The gate was open.
— Serge? — she called as she entered the yard.
Nobody answered.
There was someone else’s handbag on the veranda. Small, light, clearly expensive. Marina stopped so suddenly, as if an invisible barrier had grown in front of her.
She had never seen this thing before.
Ice cold spread across my chest.
And suddenly laughter came from the house. Female.
Marina felt everything falling somewhere down inside.
She unwittingly retreated one step, but a second later she stubbornly straightened her back and climbed onto the porch. The fingers trembled so much that the keys slipped out of the hand and rang on the wooden floor.
The laughter immediately died down.
The door opened almost instantly.
Sergei stood on the threshold.
He turned pale so sharply that Marina understood everything before she saw the woman behind his shoulder.
Young.
About thirty.
With long dark hair and in her, Marinin’s, dressing gown.
Everyone was silent for a few seconds.
Only the wind slightly shook the old window curtain.
— Marin… Why did you come? — was finally squeezed out by Sergei.
This question turned out to be more painful than a slap in the face.
— Do I now need to ask permission to show up at my own dacha? — she answered quietly.
The woman behind Sergei’s back nervously smelled the robe tighter.
— Sergey, I’d probably rather leave… — she muttered.
— Sit! — he threw sharply, but immediately fell silent, as if he himself was afraid of his tone.
Marina looked at her husband as if she had seen this man in front of her for the first time.
Twenty years.
Twenty years marriage they fell apart right now, before her eyes.
One after another, details emerged in my memory that she had not previously attached importance to: late returns, unexpected business trips, his irritation when she offered to go to the dacha together. Even constant talk about selling the site now took on a completely different meaning.
He didn’t hate this dacha at all.
He was just making room here for another life.
— Who is this? — Marina asked in an unexpectedly even voice.
Sergei ran his palm over his face.
— It’s… Lena.
— Long time ago?
He didn’t answer.
And his silence sounded worse than any words.
Marina slowly entered the house. There were two cups, a bottle of wine, and sliced cheese on the table. There was a woman’s sweater hanging on the back of the chair.
Someone else’s life.
At her dacha.
In her kitchen.
In her silence.
She suddenly remembered how she herself chose these curtains. How I planted peonies under the windows. How I dreamed that this was where she and Sergei would meet old age.
Stupid.
— But I loved you, Seryozha, — Marina said quietly, without turning around.
There was heavy silence behind her.
And then Sergei uttered words that she would never be able to forget:
— Marin… I’ve been going to say for a long time. I’m leaving.
Marina didn’t cry.
Not at the same moment, not a minute later, not even when Sergei lowered his eyes, as if ashamed of his own confession. Inside it was as if something had turned into a stone. Strange feeling — when the pain is so severe that the body simply refuses to feel it.
Lena was the first to break the silence.
— I didn’t know you were coming… — she said quietly, hesitating to look Marina in the eyes.
Marina slowly turned to her. The young woman looked confused, but not guilty. And that’s what burned the most.
This means that she already felt like a mistress here.
— Did he tell you that this dacha belongs to his wife? — Marina asked calmly.
Lena turned pale and turned her gaze to Sergei.
He exhaled irritably:
— That’s it, Marin. Just don’t make a scene now.
— Scenes? — steel rang in her voice for the first time. — Did you bring your mistress to my house and still tell me about the scenes?