My temples stopped squeezing, the buzzing died down, and my breathing returned to normal. I relaxed and decided that I would rest, walk, and enjoy the weekend.
I hardly talked to anyone the rest of the days. Only my mother called again, and a couple of friends who belatedly remembered that they had people on their social networks and messengers to whom they had not sent postcards to the wall or a congratulatory joke in private messages.
Max also no longer bothered me with sudden appearances on the doorstep or midnight calls.
But the holidays ended as quickly as they began, and I had to remember my responsibilities not only as a lawyer, but also as an employee of the firm owned by my ex-husband.
The first two weeks flew by almost unnoticed - in business and caring for clients. Almost did not bother me and the only thing I had to change was to exclude oranges from breakfast. I developed a strong aversion to citrus fruits.
I counted the days, added them up into weeks. By all appearances, the embryo was about two months old. I was afraid to call it a baby, a person, a child. In the books that I loved so much, they wrote that at this stage his size and weight corresponded to one raspberry.
I think in terms of fragility he was the same - defenseless and vulnerable. And in such a hostile environment as my uterus - it was not easy for him at all.
I still did not make any plans and did not intend to register earlier than in a month. I was not going to tell Max either. It was selfish, but last time he did not share my grief, and I could not share nothing with him at all.
Max felt it, avoided me, and at work we communicated exclusively in business correspondence. We hardly interacted. There was only one common cause left, who broke up loudly and ugly after fifteen years of marriage.
They divided property, practically did not think about three children, the youngest of whom was just over three years old. A sad outcome with a demonstration of dirty laundry. At least Max had an understanding of how not to get divorced.
***
The thirtieth of January did not go well from the very morning. Having taken stockings out of the closet, I put a run on them. I spilled coffee on my blouse, after which I was wary of the prospect of wearing stilettos, replacing them with comfortable Mary Janes.
Breakfast didn't last even fifteen minutes inside me. I couldn't find the flash drive with my work documents, then I realized that I hadn't taken my phone charger, and the car was almost out of gas. I had to urgently call a taxi so as not to be late for the meeting.
To my surprise, I arrived on time and, having passed through the turnstile, headed to the elevators.
The company occupied the last three floors out of sixteen. The stylish concrete and glass structure resembled a huge oval, in the center of which were several lifting mechanisms.
I waited for about two minutes, stamping my foot and greedily watching as the numbers on the board replaced one another in reverse order. Finally, the long-awaited unit appeared, the doors opened and several people hurried out into the hall, hurrying about their business.
I went inside and pressed the number fifteen, when I heard an all-too-familiar voice behind me.
"Wait! Please, wait for me!"
My finger seemed to stick to the red metal circle, pressing it harder and harder inside. But there was no way to speed up the mechanism itself.
And Lyuba managed to squeeze through at the very last moment. She was out of breath. Her cheeks were pink, her dark curls were scattered over her shoulders. And from under her unbuttoned teddy coat, her barely rounded belly, covered in a woolen dress, caught my eye.
Before I could escape, the door closed behind her.
***
Gossip is a lot like fog.
It appears as a result of the accumulation of tiny water particles in the air, and they are due to questions that people in your immediate circle cannot get direct answers to. They are born suddenly in the head of one person who shares speculations with someone.
That second one with two more, these two, each, with another group of people and then, a week later, the whole office is wondering why the boss sent his personal assistant to work remotely and why his right hand is no longer present at meetings.
That is, his wife. That is, me.
We wanted so much to separate quietly, but to conceal such an event in the office hive, which nurtures and maintains its morale by discussing someone's personal life - is virtually impossible.
I didn't hear it directly, but I knew that the news of my divorce with Max caused an unambiguous reaction from all colleagues - this is bad. And the fact that at the same time Lyuba moved her workplace home - hung a target for accusations on her back.
But here she was. For the first time I saw her in front of me so close since the day we ran into each other at the court.
In her hands was a bag, by the look of it quite loaded. She must have brought urgent documents.
She was breathing heavily. The elevator jerked and began to slowly crawl upward.
I turned sideways, catching sight of the instructions that are always inside the elevator cabin, but which no one reads until exactly…
The elevator froze. The light inside flickered once, twice. Quite creepy, just like in a cheap horror movie. Fortunately, it didn't go out, but the movement didn't continue. The number on the board froze at ten.
"We're stuck!" not a question, but a statement.
"A great observation!"
I took a step towards the panel where it was written which button to press to contact the operator. I had to wait about a minute for someone to answer me.