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Revenge – served cold - Лидия Антонова

Revenge – served cold

Страниц

155

Год

2024

Что может быть более болезненным, чем предательство ближнего человека? Наверняка, лишь осознание того, что тебя использовали в своих интересах на протяжении долгих лет. В такой ситуации существует всего два пути: сесть в угол, чувствуя безнадежность и страдая, или же собрать все свои силы, решительно настроившись на месть!

Предательство – это не просто негативное событие, это настоящий удар по душевному состоянию и самооценке. Чувство обмана может привести к глубоким размышлениям о доверии, отношениях и собственных ошибках.

Тем не менее, есть и третий путь – это путь восстановления. Вместо того чтобы сосредоточиться на мести, можно использовать эту боль как отправную точку для собственного роста. Укрепление внутренней силы, обретение новых знаний и опытов могут превратить негатив в позитив. Запомните: иногда самый мощный ответ на предательство – это не месть, а становление лучшей версии себя.

К слову, создание обложки с помощью нейросети – это удивительный пример, как технологии могут вдохновлять и генерировать креативные решения. Каждое произведение искусства, как и каждая жизненная ситуация, может стать уникальным отражением нашего внутреннего мира.

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Prologue


A quiet evening suddenly turned into a nightmare that turned my whole life upside down. And all thanks to social media, or rather, my classmates. A letter sent by a strange woman made me forget how to breathe. No, she didn't write anything horrible. She didn't even threaten or insult me, she just threw down some wedding photos. But what pictures! My Dimitri in a light suit hugged a girl in a wedding dress and was completely happy.

My head was buzzing, my heart was beating and freezing. I can't believe his betrayal. We had called yesterday morning to discuss the future renovation of our apartment in Moscow. The house had just been recently completed, and the mortgage was really hard on our pockets. But it's our little nest!

And now it has another mistress!

Shaken and angry, she angrily stammered into the message:

"What's the joke? Go have fun with other fools!"

I was about to send the interlocutor to the ban, as she sent me an upside-down laughing emoticon and a link to VK.

Instead of blocking the messages, I clicked on the link and found myself on the page of a certain Diana Serebryakova (!!!) in maiden name Akhmadulina.

Feeling as if I was made of absorbent cotton, I clicked a few times with my naughty hands and looked through a dozen photos. Here is my Dimitri posing with relatives at the registry office, here he puts a ring on the finger of another, and here he is with her by the pool with a cocktail in his hands.

I couldn't believe it! I wanted to get the message that it was a joke and Photoshopped. But the further I leafed through the album, the more my hopes melted. Dimitri and Diana had been in a relationship for several years, as evidenced by the photo report. Yes, they even had joint photo shoots!

There was only one thought in my head: "How could he?!" He and I have been together for almost five years now. We bought an apartment, paid the mortgage together. For the last year we haven't even had money for tickets to see each other!

A new message from my classmates coincided with the doorbell. I didn't pay attention to the last one, but I went to the messages.

"Don't interfere with the lives of young people's lives. You haven't left them alone for two years. "You lost! Leave the guy alone!"

I swayed in my chair and, unable to hold on, fell to the floor. So all this has been going on for two years? That's when Dimitri started talking about the mortgage. He even managed to convince me to sell the three-room apartment, inherited from my grandmother. Instead of a luxury apartment in a “Stalinka”, I moved into a one-room “Khrushchevka”, and the difference was put down as a deposit.

“Rina, open up!!!” came Ramila's voice.

The best friend pounded her feet on the door. Slowly I stood up, opened the door and, turning around silently, wandered into the room. My friend followed me like a hurricane. She threw a cake on the table and a jingling bag on the sofa and announced:

"The fortress has fallen!”

“А?” I asked indifferently.

“ I say…” she stammered: “What is it with you?”

I didn't have the strength to answer. Instead, she waved toward the computer and, wrapping her arms around herself, swayed from side to side.

“ Here…! …!” Ramilya swore figuratively and lucidly.

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