The silence of the night, broken only by the soft rustle of rain outside the window, wrapped the apartment like a warm blanket. Alyona had already put on her pajamas, tied her hair into a messy ponytail, and was about to collapse into bed after an exhausting nurse’s shift at the hospital. But the phone on the nightstand suddenly came alive with an anxious vibrating ring — she always kept the sound on, since a call could come at any moment. Strange that a message arrived now, almost at one in the morning. Her fingers, still smelling of antiseptic, trembled as she unlocked the screen.
It was the parent group chat of her daughter’s class. Chaos buzzed there: the mother of the upcoming birthday girl, Oksana Semyonovna, was firing off messages one after another, as if unwinding a spool of thread. First — “Dear moms, Liza’s birthday is on September 15th!”, then — “Venue: The Golden Lion restaurant”, followed by “Dress code: pink, but different styles!”, and then another ten details about the number of guests, the menu, and even “please, don’t be late.” Alyona sighed. She knew Oksana — the wife of a retail chain owner who carried handbags worth half a million and believed her daughter had to be the queen of the ball. Worse still, the other moms clearly weren’t sleeping either, and the chat exploded with comments: “How lovely!”, “We’ll get dresses from ‘Little Princess’!”, “The girls should look like cover models!” Alyona closed her eyes. She knew that Liza had dreamed of a modest party in the park, but in this class, money made all the decisions.
The morning was icy.
Alyona pulled a worn-out down jacket, bought at a clearance sale two years ago, onto Liza and walked her to the subway. The girl was silent, clutching a scuffed Minions backpack — a gift from her grandmother who lived in the village and didn’t know that in this neighborhood such a backpack was considered “cheap.” On the way, Liza suddenly asked:
— Mom, will I have a new dress?
Her voice trembled like an autumn leaf.
— Of course, — Alyona answered, averting her eyes. She couldn’t tell the truth: that after paying the utilities and buying medicine for Liza’s father, her bank card held only 3,200 rubles.
At the boutique “Silken Wind,” they were greeted by the aroma of vanilla and champagne. A spacious hall with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, soft light, girls twirling in puffy dresses before their curator mothers. Alyona felt her throat tighten. Everything here breathed luxury — even the dust motes dancing in the beams of light looked golden.
— Mom, look! — Liza tugged her to the display where a lavender dress hung, with a lace bodice and a skirt embroidered with rhinestones. — It’s like a fairytale!
A saleswoman, in a flawless suit with a swan-shaped brooch, was already hurrying toward them.
— Good morning! This is our new arrival. For special little girls, — her smile was dazzling, but her eyes clearly said: you don’t belong here.
When Liza tried on the dress, Alyona froze. Her daughter looked like a princess from her own childhood dreams — the same ones that had faded when, at nine, she had begged her mother to buy her “just something pretty” before a school play. But the price… 28,500 rubles. Half a month’s salary.
— Do you have something simpler? — Alyona asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
The saleswoman scoffed, adjusting her gloves:
— We don’t carry “simpler.” This isn’t a market. Surely you don’t want your daughter to look like… well, you understand.
Liza, who had heard everything, lowered her head. Alyona felt something sharp and dark tearing in her chest.
— I’m not a queen to pay as if for a throne, — she said quietly but firmly enough that the saleswoman stepped back. — And my daughter shouldn’t feel less than others because of money.
The woman yanked the dress from Liza’s hands as if it were burning her.
— Then you belong at “Children’s World” by the square. This place isn’t for you.
Night.
At home, after putting Liza to bed, Alyona sat by the window. City lights flickered outside, while memories replayed in her head.
She recalled the evening when Rita, her best friend since fifth grade, had called her in tears: “Alyon, help me! Bring this bag to the entrance by seven, I’m late for the doctor.” She hadn’t asked what was inside. She should have. At the police station, the bag turned out to be filled with “white sugar” — drugs. Rita had sold her out for a large sum to pay for her mother’s surgery. Alyona had served two years in Vorkuta, where she learned to sew — not for the soul, but to survive. It was there she realized the world was split between those who kicked you down and those who offered a hand.
And then Artem appeared. He worked at the mine, but unlike others, he didn’t see her past as a stigma. “You are not your mistake,” he’d say, placing an apartment key before her. “You are what you build tomorrow.” They married at city hall without a dress or fireworks, but with a promise: “We’ll be poor, but together.” When Liza was born, Artem sat by her crib at night, singing lullabies he had learned from his grandmother.
Then came that night. The “Glubinnaya” mine collapsed like a house of cards. Artem remained underground. His name was listed among the dead.
“If only he were alive…” — the thought cut like a knife.
Suddenly Alyona’s gaze fell on the sewing machine, a gift from a fellow inmate, a seamstress. “You’ll need this when you build a new life,” she had said.
Hours later.
Alyona sewed.
The fabric she had bought with her last rubles at a stall near the subway seemed dull and coarse, but she transformed it into a wonder. Each stitch — a prayer. Each embroidery — a battle. She wove into the skirt the glitter from an old garland, used lace from her mother’s wedding dress for the bodice. By morning, the dress shimmered like stardust.
— Mom, am I… a princess? — Liza spun before the mirror, her eyes sparkling with tears.
The birthday.
At the “Golden Lion,” the air reeked of expensive perfume and disdain. In her homemade dress, Liza looked like a fragile butterfly among gaudy peacocks. Oksana Semyonovna, clad in a 70,000-ruble gown, approached Alyona with a shark’s smile.
— You do realize this doesn’t match the dress code? — her voice dripped honey and poison. — Don’t ruin the children’s celebration.
Liza heard the girls’ laughter: “Look, her dress is like a maid’s!” She tore the ribbon from her hair and threw it to the floor.
— Let’s go home, Mom…
As they walked down the wet sidewalk, a black car pulled up beside them. A man in a sharp suit stepped out. Alyona would not have recognized him — the years had turned Artem into a stranger: gray at the temples, a scar on his cheek, eyes heavy with pain. But when he embraced Liza, the girl cried out: “Daddy! You came back!”
The story he told over tea.
After the mine collapse, they had found him underground, pressed against a wall. Rescuers thought him dead, but his heart was still beating. At the hospital he lost his memory, and in the pocket of his dead friend’s jacket they found someone else’s documents. Years of searching, trying to get home… But when he returned, the apartment was sold, and Alyona was gone.
— I thought you’d died in a fire, — he whispered, stroking Liza’s head. — And then I heard how you sewed…
The ending.
The next day, Oksana Semyonovna apologized. But Alyona only smiled:
— Our daughter knows that true beauty is in how you treat people.
Artem bought tickets to the circus — the place where Liza first saw real princesses. On the way home, the girl asked:
— Dad, does a dress made of stardust really exist?
— Yes, — he replied, looking at Alyona. — It’s sewn from love.
And in that dress, Liza never again felt poor.
Epilogue.
A year later, in that same boutique, a corner opened called “Dresses for the Brave.” They sold outfits sewn by Alyona and other mothers who chose to create instead of being humiliated. In the display window hung Liza’s first dress — with garland sparkles and embroidery of two birds flying through a mine tunnel.
The sign read: “Real queens aren’t afraid to be themselves.”
And every time a girl in such a dress walked into class, the mothers stopped arguing about prices. Because they knew: before them wasn’t a child in a cheap outfit, but a little conqueror whose heart beat in time with love.