— Thank you for the evening. I really enjoyed it. Maybe we can do it again sometime?
— Maybe, — Irina replied.
At home, she couldn’t sleep for a long time. She thought about the evening. It had been nice. Calm. No storm of emotions, like with Andrey back in the day. But she didn’t need a storm anymore. She needed quiet, understanding, reliability.
A week later, they met again. Then again. Sergey Ivanovich didn’t rush things, didn’t pressure her. He was just there. He invited her for walks, to the theater, to a museum. He gave her flowers, walked her home. By the end of March, Irina realized that she felt good with him. Comfortable. She wasn’t in love—no, definitely not. But she enjoyed his company, his attention, his care.
One evening, as he was walking her to her building entrance, she asked:
— Sergey Ivanovich, why me? I’m not young anymore, with a past. A failed marriage. You could find someone younger, less complicated.
He looked at her intently.
— I don’t need someone younger. I need a smart, kind, decent woman. Someone like you. And everyone has a past. What matters is what you’ve learned from it. And you’ve learned strength, dignity. That’s worth a lot.
Irina felt something warm spread inside her. It had been a long, long time since anyone had said such words to her. Sincerely, without pretense.
In April, they officially started dating. Irina introduced him to her sister when she came to visit. Sveta approved:
— He’s a good guy. Seems well-adjusted. Hold on to him.
Life was getting better. Work, dates with Sergey, occasional calls from her sister. A quiet, measured life without upheavals.
Sometimes Irina would remember that October evening when she helped the old woman carry her bags. She remembered the words about Friday, about the bad guest. And every time she thought: what if she hadn’t met her? What if she had just walked by? Andrey would have completed his scam, and she would have been left with a huge debt, without an apartment, crushed. But she helped. And she was rewarded. Not by magic, not by sorcery, but by simple human kindness. One kind woman warned another. And in doing so, saved her life.
At the end of May, when the lilacs were in bloom, Irina went to the cemetery again. She placed a bouquet on the grave of Elena Borisovna Lebedeva. She stood in silence, looking at the fresh grass, at the monument that had already been erected.
— Thank you, — she said quietly. — For everything. You gave me a second chance. I won’t waste it.
The wind rustled the leaves, a bird sang somewhere. The sun shone brightly, with the warmth of spring. Life went on. A new life. Honest, free, her own.
Irina smiled, looking up at the sky. Everything would be alright. She felt it with all her heart.
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