“Happy birthday, Mommy!”—Katya, my only daughter, pecked her mother-in-law, Alla Borisovna, on the cheek. “Here, take this!”
Inside a luxurious envelope with gold embossing were plane tickets and a voucher for a two-week vacation in Dubai. Five stars, all-inclusive, a personal butler, spa treatments—the full package.
I noticed the Burj Al Arab logo—the most expensive hotel in the world, where one night costs as much as three of my monthly salaries.
“My God, darling!” Alla Borisovna pressed the envelope to her chest, her diamond earrings glittering in the chandelier light. “This is… this is…”
“A million rubles,” Katya announced proudly, adjusting her Mikimoto pearl set—her mother-in-law’s gift last Christmas. “You deserve only the best!”
The guests—about twenty gathered at Alla Borisovna’s country house—murmured their approval. The cream of local society: business owners, city council members, heads of private clinics.
I looked like the odd one out among them in my modest dress bought at the market.
“And now…” Katya turned to me with a stagey smile. “Mommy, a little present for you too!”
I tensed.
Over the past five years, since Katya married Igor—Alla Borisovna’s son and co-owner of a construction holding—every family celebration had turned into refined humiliation.
It was as if my daughter were competing with me: who was cooler, who had more money, whose status was higher. As if she were trying to prove to her new family that she wasn’t “one of those”—not middle class.
“Here!” She held out to me… a lottery ticket bought at the nearest supermarket. “I splurged a whole 150 rubles! But who knows. Maybe you’ll get lucky? Although probably not. You’re… how shall I put it… a loser! People like that never get anything pricier than a 1,000-ruble pair of shoes.”
The guests burst out laughing.
Alla Borisovna smiled indulgently; her husband demonstratively buried himself in the latest iPhone, which he hadn’t even tried to learn to use properly.
Someone whispered, “What a resourceful girl!”
“Thank you, sweetie,” I took the ticket with trembling hands, feeling a lump rise in my throat. “Thank you very much!”
“Oh, Mom!” Katya rolled her eyes, triumphantly sweeping the room with her gaze. “There you go again with your English! Who needs your English? Now, Alla Borisovna is a professor of economics—that’s another matter! She at least has a real degree, not some courses…”
I stayed silent. I didn’t remind her that I had been teaching at a language school for fifteen years, that my students got into the world’s best universities. Why? In Katya’s world there were only big money and status items.
“Let’s have a drink!” proclaimed Alla Borisovna, raising a glass of champagne. “To my daughter-in-law’s generosity, to—”
“And to my mom’s luck!” Katya cut in. “Oh, how she needs it! Especially after Dad ran off with a younger woman!”
Another wave of laughter rolled through the living room.
I felt my face flush. Three years ago my husband really had left for his assistant. Since then, Katya brought it up at every opportunity.
“Excuse me,” I rose from the table. “I need to—”
“The bathroom?” Katya asked loudly. “It’s in the same place it was an hour ago. Or have you forgotten already? At your age that’s normal!”
I walked out, clutching the cursed ticket. In the bathroom I pulled out my phone and opened the app for checking lottery tickets. My hands shook.
“Lord,” I whispered. “If you’re there… make it so that…”
It was cool and quiet in the bathroom. I leaned against the marble counter, studying myself in the huge mirror.
Forty-five years old, crow’s-feet at my eyes, gray hairs I carefully dyed over.
“Loser!”—my daughter’s voice echoed.
The drawing was in a week, next Saturday. I gave a bitter smile.
“Mom, did you fall asleep in there?” Someone knocked. “Alla Borisovna is bringing out the cake!”
I took a deep breath. Two more hours. I just had to get through two hours, and then I could go home to my little apartment where no one would point fingers at me.
When I returned to the table, I tried to make myself invisible. No such luck.
“By the way, Mom,” Katya raised her voice, drawing everyone’s attention. “Did you know Igor and I bought a house? Big and spacious!”
“Congratulations,” I answered quietly.
“Hard for you to understand, of course. You’ve spent your whole life drifting through rented apartments,” she laughed. “Remember how you used to say, ‘Sweetie, education is what matters, not material things’? Well, I listened to Alla Borisovna, ditched your beloved languages, and went into finance!”
Alla Borisovna nodded in satisfaction.
“Katya’s a smart girl. You can tell she has a business streak. Not like some people…”
“Oh yes!” Katya chimed in. “Imagine, my mother still believes you can achieve something through honest work! Tutoring, courses, private lessons… It’s just funny!”
“But your mother has… a lottery ticket!” someone joked.
Another eruption of laughter.
I ate the cake mechanically, tasting nothing. Memories spun in my head: little Katya running to me with another top grade… teenager Katya excitedly studying English… student Katya suddenly switching from the foreign-language faculty to economics…
“Mom, let’s look at your ticket!” My daughter held out her hand. “I’m curious—what numbers did you get?”
“No,” I instinctively clutched my purse to my chest. “It’s my gift.”
“Oh, come on!” She rolled her eyes. “Do you really think you’ll win anything? Be realistic!”
“It’s just… it’s my ticket,” I stood up from the table. “Excuse me, I have to go. I have classes early in the morning.”
“Classes!” sniffed Alla Borisovna. “My God, how provincial! Katya, can you imagine where your mother works!”
I walked to the door to the sounds of laughter and whispering behind my back. In the hallway I couldn’t get my arm into my coat sleeve; my hands were shaking treacherously.
“Mom,” Katya followed me out. “Don’t be offended. We’re just joking!”
“Of course,” I finally wrestled on the coat. “Thank you for… the present.”
“Oh please! You understand I couldn’t give you anything serious. You’d look stupid next to Alla Borisovna.”
I stepped out into the raw October evening. The ticket in my purse felt like it was burning my hand.
The week flew by as usual.
I worked at the school, gave private lessons in the evenings, went to the theater with a friend on Friday.
The humiliating evening at Alla Borisovna’s slowly faded from memory. In twenty years of teaching I’d learned not to take other people’s cruelty to heart.
Katya didn’t call. That was normal. After family gatherings she usually “cooled off” for a week or two—perhaps, somewhere deep down, she did feel ashamed. Or she was simply too busy choosing a hundred-thousand-ruble chandelier for her new apartment.
On Saturday I started a big clean.
I turned on the TV for background noise. It had been my habit since I began living alone. I scrubbed the windows, sorted the closets, found an old photo: me and little Katya at the sea—she’s building a sandcastle, and I’m reading her a fairy tale…
When did it change? When did my kind, clever girl turn into this cold woman with the constant smirk?
“Attention! We’re starting the drawing of the grand prize…” The voice from the screen made me turn.
The national channel was broadcasting the lottery live.
And then I remembered. The ticket! The ticket Katya had given me… Where was it?
I lunged for my bag and dumped out everything. Nothing!
I ran to my desk and yanked open the drawers one by one. My hands shook. In the last one, under a stack of notebooks, I found the crumpled slip.
“The first number from the drum…” the TV announcer intoned.
I sat right on the floor, smoothing the wrinkled paper. For some reason Katya’s face flashed before me as she handed over the “gift.” The triumphant smile, the condescending tone:
“You’re a loser!”
“The second number…”
I checked the numbers mechanically. They matched. I checked the next ones. They matched too.
“And now the decisive moment! The last number will determine the winner of the record jackpot of one hundred million rubles!”
The room swam before my eyes. All six numbers on the ticket matched the ones drawn on air.
I stared at the screen, unable to believe it.
One hundred million!
An amount I could never earn in a lifetime of teaching.
In a daze I made it to the kitchen, poured a glass of water and drank it down.
I checked the ticket again. The numbers hadn’t changed.
I turned on the computer, went to the lottery website, and entered the ticket number. The screen lit up:
“Congratulations! You have won the grand prize!”
In the silence of the apartment the clock ticked distinctly. Outside, a Saturday evening murmured: cars, music from the café next door, someone’s laughing crowd. Ordinary life flowed on, unaware that for one “loser” everything had just turned upside down.
I took out a box of documents and found my passport. According to the instructions on the website, I would need to present it at the lottery office. On Monday. It was Saturday; two full days ahead.
My eyes fell on Katya’s photo on the shelf.
I wondered if she was watching the drawing. Or had she forgotten about her “gift,” the way she forgets anything she deems unworthy of attention?
I poured myself a glass of “cheap” wine bought on promotion at the supermarket.
Perhaps this would be the last time I drank such wine.
I smirked at my own thoughts. A loser? Well, we’ll see…
On Monday I took a day off and filed the paperwork at the lottery office.
By Thursday the money had hit my account.
First, I bought myself a three-room apartment in a new residential complex in the city center. Bright, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the park.
For the first time in my life! For ten million!
Next came the business plan. For twenty years I had dreamed of opening my own language school, but I never had the seed capital. Now all obstacles vanished.
At the same time, I took care of myself. I found a good esthetician and a dentist, started working with a personal trainer. I enrolled in business management courses.
Time flew.
Katya called rarely—usually when she needed money. I politely refused, citing a lack of free funds.
Once we ran into each other at the mall.
“Mom?” She looked me over in surprise. “You’ve… changed. You look younger, maybe?”
“I just started getting enough sleep,” I shrugged. “I walk more, eat right.”
“So you got rich from tutoring?” my daughter sniped.
“I’m not a tutor anymore,” I smiled. “I opened my own school.”
“A school? You?” She burst out laughing. “Well, good luck!”
Six months later my school, Prime Language Academy, became the city’s biggest sensation. Innovative methods, the best teachers, results that spoke for themselves. Our students were getting into prestigious universities in Russia and abroad.
The local TV channel asked to interview me for a program called “Successful People of the City.”
I hesitated for a long time about appearing on television. Publicity had never been my strong suit. But something inside told me it was time to set the record straight. So I agreed.
The studio turned out to be smaller than I’d imagined.
A makeup artist worked her magic while I looked at myself in the mirror: a tailored Max Mara pantsuit, coiffed hair, a confident gaze.
“Marina Sergeyevna, tell us how you managed to create such a successful project,” the host beamed. “Your school broke even in six months, and you’ve already opened a second branch.”
“It all started with… a lottery ticket,” I smiled, feeling a strange calm. “My daughter gave it to me at her mother-in-law’s birthday. She got a Dubai tour for a million, and I got a ticket for 150 rubles. Everyone laughed…”
“Wait,” the host leaned forward. “You mean that drawing? One hundred million?”
“Exactly,” I nodded. “You know, they say money changes people. But sometimes it simply lets what’s already inside come out. I always dreamed of creating a school where children could truly fall in love with languages. Where there’s no place for snobbery or splitting people into winners and losers.”
“But why were you silent for so long?”
“I wanted to make sure I could do it. That the school would succeed not because of the money, but thanks to the right approach. Right now we have three hundred students; eighty percent are accepted into top universities. We’re launching online programs, opening new branches…”
“And your daughter? Does she know?”
I paused for a second. Katya’s face flashed before me—her condescending smile as she handed me that ticket.
“She’ll find out. Right now, from this interview. You know, I’m grateful to her for that gift. It taught me something important. A loser isn’t someone who earns little. It’s someone who measures a person’s worth by money.”
“Aren’t you afraid that after the broadcast you’ll be flooded with calls? Suddenly discovered relatives, pleas for help…”
“I’m not,” I squared my shoulders. “I learned to say ‘no’ a long time ago. And you know what? It turned out to be even easier than opening my own school!”
When I left the studio, I turned on my phone.
Thirty missed calls from Katya, dozens of messages from relatives, calls from former colleagues.
The program hadn’t even aired yet. Apparently someone from the crew had already spread the news.
I got into my new car and slipped the phone into my bag. Let them call. I had an important meeting ahead: hiring teachers for the third branch.
A “loser,” am I? Well, we’ll see. He who laughs last, laughs best.
After the interview aired, life turned into a whirlwind of events, and a week later a scathing article appeared in the local newspaper about schemes behind the construction of the building where my daughter lived.
It turned out Igor’s company had built the entire complex without proper permits.
Of course, Alla Borisovna tried to hush up the scandal, but this time her connections didn’t help. The building was declared an illegal structure and slated for demolition.
Katya and Igor were left without housing and with a massive bank debt.
“Mommy!” My daughter showed up at the door of my new apartment without warning.
Her eyes were swollen from crying; her expensive bag was scuffed.
“Help me! I have nowhere to live, everyone’s turned their back on me…”
“Everyone?” I looked at her calmly. “What about Alla Borisovna? She’s always ‘ready to help, unlike some people,’ if I recall correctly.”
“She… she says we disgraced the family,” Katya sobbed. “Igor was drinking, yelling that I bring bad luck… I left him.”
“And you came to me? To the ‘loser’?”
“Mom, forgive me! I was such a fool! Such an arrogant idiot!”
“Sit down,” I pointed to an armchair. “Tea?”
She nodded, smearing mascara across her cheeks. I brewed tea. Not in the old chipped mug, but in porcelain. I brought out pastries from a trendy patisserie.
“You know,” I began, watching my daughter gulp her tea, “when you gave me that ticket, I felt crushed. Not because of the money. Because of your contempt. I kept wondering where I went wrong raising you.”
“Mom…”
“Be quiet. Let me finish. You grew up a kind, clever girl. And then… they appeared. With their money, their connections, their snobbery. And you decided the main thing in life is status. That a mother who simply works honestly and loves her job is a disgrace!”
Katya lowered her head.
“I could help you with money,” I went on. “I could buy you a new apartment, pay off your debts. But you know what? I’m not going to.”
“Why?” She lifted her tear-streaked eyes.
“Because you need to learn to live all over again. To learn to respect work—yours and other people’s. To learn to value human relationships, not brand-name bags.”
“What should I do?”
“First, find a job. My school happens to need an administrator. The salary isn’t big, but it’s honest.”
“I… I’ll think about it,” she stood, nervously smoothing her dress.
“Think about it. And Katya… when you’re ready to become who you used to be—that girl who built sandcastles and dreamed of changing the world—just call. For now… stay with Aunt Tanya; she rents out a room cheaply. That’s exactly where you should be right now.”
After my daughter left, I stood at the window for a long time. Below, Katya trudged slowly toward the bus stop. My girl, whom I once taught to be strong and independent but who had understood nothing. At least, not yet.
Suddenly a message came from the director of our third branch:
“Marina Sergeyevna, our weekend courses are sold out!”
I smiled. Life went on. And now it flowed in the right channel, where everyone got what they deserved. Even if it took a 150-ruble lottery ticket to make it happen.