SONYA POV
My husband frowned and went downstairs himself, without waiting for me to accept his outstretched hand.
In fact, we had just agreed on a divorce.
"Is he seriously planning to leave?"
Lyuba nodded, but her gaze moved past to my husband to me.
An awkward situation.
"Good evening, Madam."
"Not very kind, Lyuba. More precisely, not at all kind," I answered, going down to them.
She held her head high, although she should have been ashamed. As if it wasn't her that Max had fucked five or six weeks ago.
In a hotel room. As if she hadn't gotten pregnant by him, simply because no one had a condom in their pocket.
It was irritating.
The drizzle was getting stronger, unpleasantly burning the skin of her face with small drops. Lyuba adjusted the dark curl that had fallen from over her shoulder onto her cheek and sighed.
"I probably should..."
"No, I shouldn't." I don't know what exactly this girl wanted to tell me, but I didn't have the strength to listen to her right now. "Mr Titov, I'll go. You get to work. Alekseev is a very picky client, but I can't lose him."
"Too talkative," I managed to say, trying to hide a new attack of heartburn behind my voice.
Damn, it hurt so much.
I don't know what hurt more - my stomach or my heart, but I wanted to get rid of both organs right then and there.
Without saying goodbye, I turned on my heels and headed towards the car, quickly climbing into the car and closing the door from the inside. I started the car, but didn't rush to step on the gas, so that no one would think how bad I was.
It's drizzling in Moscow again, the weather forecasters are not encouraging us with their forecasts, and we've run out of positive songs about the most anticipated holiday of the year, so let's listen to a new one.
Try not to cry," the already familiar voice of the presenter, who seemed to be finishing his shift, was not so cheerful and positive.
A song by a new popular singer started playing on the air. A pop tune, coherent lines, of which I kept repeating only one in my head for several hours, "I'm letting go of what's not mine..."
I'm letting go. All that's left is to figure out how to survive this.
***
I was in no hurry on this December 31st. I finished work at the office, wrote congratulatory text messages to those whom I couldn't help but congratulate, and finally went to court.
The pretext was not so important: to leave the cases and folders that I would need right after the New Year. At least that's what I told the guard when I begged him to let me in.
In fact, everything was even simpler. I didn't want to go home.
No one to go to and no reason.
I drive up to the Court building in absolute silence. I had to turn off the radio this morning when I realized that if I heard another holiday song or a Happy New Year greeting, I would just burst into tears.
This time there is a lot of free space in the parking lot. Except for the Lada Granta abandoned in the corner, the courtyard is empty. This is the first time I have seen it like this since I started working as a lawyer.
"It is not allowed, Sonya," the security guard at the entrance hesitates while I try to squeeze through the turnstile.
"Well, my dear, I'll be quick, there and back."
I don't know what he sees in my face, but after looking me over again, he lets me pass with a sigh. I press the folders to my chest and walk down the long corridor to the clatter of my own heels.
The shoes are the only thing that has remained the same in my new life. No matter how bad I felt, no matter how long I cried, no matter how late I fell asleep, in the morning I always put on black stiletto pumps.
Thin patent leather heels are like a small bridge between the old me and the confusion I've become.
"Sonya, is that you? Have you completely lost your mind, girl? Why aren't you home?"
The door creaked and Nina appeared on the threshold of one of the offices.
"Yes, I'm here on business for a short time," I coughed in the opposite direction from the office. My throat was sore, either from the smell of tobacco, or from horror in front of this monumental woman.
"Well, of course, you are here on business. What, doesn't you want to go home?" Having scanned me with cloudy, glass-like eyes, she chuckled.
"I'm not either. Come in, we'll celebrate the New Year. And at the same time, take your note, because I was wondering who of you would come for the certificate..."
The office turned out to be filled with, smoke. Smoking in the building is, not allowed according to protocol, but who would contradict Nina? The pungent smell immediately made my stomach churn and nausea rose in my throat. I have not tolerated tobacco since childhood.
"What, is there no way to forgive your blockhead?" the judge fished another glass out of the cupboard and generously poured cognac into it.
"No way."
"Well, screw him. I never forgave mine either and, you know what?" She brought her face closer to me. "I don't regret anything. Not. About. What."
Her voice rang with confidence, and in her slanted, Shar Pei-like eyes there was puppy melancholy. She doesn't regret it, how could she...
"Do you celebrate New Year's at work too?" She looked around the table littered with papers and waved her hand.
"Holidays are greatly overrated. You understand this when you don't have people you want to see left. Better like this, alone, than with just anyone, and in this, Max, you and I are very similar."