The rich classmates made fun of the maid’s daughter, but she arrived at the ball in a limousine, leaving everyone speechless.

“Hey, Kovaleva, is it true that your mother cleaned our locker room yesterday?” Kirill Bronsky asked loudly, leaning against the desk and deliberately waiting for the class to quiet down.

Sonja froze, unable to even stuff her books into her backpack. A tense silence fell over the classroom. All eyes were on her.

“Yes, my mother is a school maid,” she replied calmly, continuing to pack her things.

“Nothing,” Kirill scoffed. “I was just wondering how you got to the ball. Taking the bus with a bucket and a rag?”

The whole class burst into laughter. Sonja quietly shouldered her backpack and headed for the exit.

“Your mother is just a maid!” Kirill shouted behind her. “Forget it!”

Sonya didn’t turn around. She had learned to ignore the teasing a long time ago.

When she was in fifth grade, when she transferred to this prestigious school on a merit scholarship, she understood that only money and status mattered there.

And she had neither.

Nadezhda Kovaleva was waiting for her daughter at the school’s service entrance. At thirty-eight, she looked older: years of hard work had taken their toll on her face.

She was wearing a simple jacket, faded jeans, and her hair was tied back in a slightly messy bun.

“Sonya, you look a little sad today,” Nadezhda noticed as they walked to the bus stop together.

“Everything’s fine, Mom. I’m just tired. I have an algebra exam,” Sonya lied.

She didn’t want her mother to worry about being bu.l.lied.

Nadezhda worked three shifts a day: mornings at the shopping center, lunchtimes at our gym, and evenings at the supermarket.

She did this so that Sonia could study at a good school, take extra classes, and prepare for college.

“You know, next Wednesday I have a day off. Would you like to do something with me?” Nadezhda suggested.

“Okay, Mom. But not Wednesday: I have extra physics classes,” Sonia replied, not saying that she didn’t actually have any extra classes, but was working part-time at a nearby cafe.

The pay was low, but it was a good start.

“Kirill, are you sure you want to bet?” Denis asked his friend while they were sitting in the school cafeteria.

“Okay,” Kirill said, taking a sip of juice. “If Kovaleva’s mother doesn’t come to the ball in a real car, I’ll publicly apologize to her and her daughter.”

“What if he comes by taxi?” Vika asked, munching on a sandwich.

“A taxi doesn’t count. I mean a regular car, at least a mid-range one.”

“Okay!” Denis shook her hand.

Sonia followed them around the corner, holding a tray full of dirty dishes. They couldn’t see her, but she could hear everything they said.

That night, she struggled to sleep. A “decent” car for the dance was her chance to make Kirill and his group pay.

But where would she get the money? Even renting the cheapest car with a driver would cost more than she earned in a month at the bar.

At the Mercury Business Center, Nadezhda Kovaleva started her workday at six in the morning, when the offices were still empty.

By eight, she had to clean the hallways and bathrooms so as not to disturb the staff.

“Good morning, Nadezhda Andreevna!” she heard herself say as she polished the glass doors of the VIP Motors office on the third floor.

The owner, Igor Vasilyevich Sokolov, always arrived first, around eight o’clock.

“Good morning, Igor Vasilyevich,” she replied, a little embarrassed.

Most of the staff didn’t even notice the cleaners; however, he always greeted her and called her by her first and last name.

“How is your daughter? Is she ready for the ball?” he asked, opening the door with a key card.

“Yes, exactly one month. Time flies.”

“My son, Maksim, will graduate next year. But he thinks more about cars than about studying.”

Nadezhda smiled.

Igor Vasilyevich always spoke proudly of his son, who had grown up with him after he and his wife separated when the boy was eight.

—“Oh, by the way, we have an important meeting today. Can you stop by the conference room after lunch? I’ll pay you extra.” —“Sure, no problem.”

For two weeks, Sonya worked almost nonstop.

Between classes, bartending, and studying for exams, she counted every penny, but she still had a long way to go before she reached the amount she needed.

On Saturday night, driving home in the rain, Sonya found herself drenched at the bus stop.

Suddenly, a black SUV pulled up beside her.

Her classmates gasped.

Kirill paled.

Sonja walked past him, her head held high.

“Okay, Kirill?” she smiled at him. “It’s time to apologize.”

The boy lowered his eyes.

“I’m sorry… for you and your mother,” he whispered.

Sonja nodded. No more words were needed.

She would remember that night forever.

Not because she had arrived in a limousine, but because she understood that dignity was not measured by money, but by the will to never give up.