— And just imagine, this cleaning lady left dirty streaks on the huge windows! Such negligence is intolerable! — Ninell Bronislavovna, the mother of Denis’s future bride, exclaimed indignantly, her voice sharply cutting through the silence of the upscale restaurant.
The chandeliers, sparkling like ice, reflected in the crystal glasses, the violin played a quiet melody, but Ulyana felt a cold chill run down her skin.
— I made it perfectly clear to Denis: only top-class specialists should work in our new office on Prospekt Mira!
The office. Panoramic glass walls from floor to ceiling. Ulyana knew them inside and out. Every night, from midnight to six, she washed them, erasing fingerprints of strangers, traces of careless luxury.
That very «negligent cleaning lady» being so disdainfully discussed now — was her.
Her fingers, gripping a heavy silver fork, trembled. The fork fell with a dull clang onto the marble.
— Oh, sorry, — Ulyana murmured, feeling heat flood her cheeks. She awkwardly bent down to pick it up.
She felt Denis tense. His gaze, quick and irritated, slid over her. He had been on edge all evening, afraid of every word, every movement she made. She bent again awkwardly.
And at that moment, beneath the spotless white tablecloth, she saw her hands. Despite a recently done manicure — the first in ten years — and expensive cream, nothing could hide the truth.
Gray stains ingrained in the skin, tiny cuts from harsh cleaning chemicals, yellow calluses on her palms. These hands — a map of her life. Hands that bought her son his first books, washed his clothes, paid for his education, held him in childhood when he was sick.
When Ulyana straightened up, her eyes met the cold, piercing gaze of Ninell Bronislavovna. She did not look her in the eyes. Her attention was fixed on the hands, which Ulyana hastily hid in her lap.
And then she saw it — Denis’s face twisted. It was not just shame. It was panic. Fear of being exposed. And at that moment he struck — at her, at his own mother.
With a strained, almost servile smile, he loudly and deliberately cheerfully said, addressing Ninell but aiming every word at Ulyana:
— My mom is a real gardening fan! I tell her, «Put on gloves!» but no, she loves touching the earth with her hands. That’s just how simple-hearted she is.
Ulyana’s chest tightened, and everything stopped. He didn’t just lie. He publicly disowned her — her work, the life she dedicated to him. He turned her years of hard labor into a quaint village pastime, to please these people.
She slowly stood up. The violin’s music suddenly sounded alien, false, grating.
— Excuse me, I’m not feeling well. I need to go.
She left without waiting for dessert, leaving behind surprised looks, Denis’s embarrassed mumbling, and icy silence. Walking the streets lit by city nightlights, she felt dirtier than ever before.
Not because of chemicals under her nails, but because of shame — sticky and bitter — unleashed on her by her own son. He took away her last thing — her dignity.
It all began a week before that dinner. Denis called, and in his voice — the voice Ulyana had heard since the first days of his life — there were strange, cold notes.
— Mom, I want to introduce you to Milana’s parents. It’s important.
— Of course, son, I’d be happy to, — she answered simply.
— No, you don’t understand, — he interrupted sharply. — It’s not just dinner. It’s like an interview. My career depends on it. Her father is an influential man. They’re from another world. A completely different one.
Ulyana fell silent. A heavy, icy anxiety spread inside.
— You have to look… appropriate. Wear that blue dress I gave you. I’ll transfer money — go to a salon, get your hair and nails done. And most importantly… — he hesitated, and the pause pierced her like a blow.
— Please don’t say what you do for work. Not a word about cleaning, the factory, or the market. Nothing. I told them you’re retired, that you have a dacha, that you take care of flowers. You’re a sweet, modest woman. Just smile, nod, and speak as little as possible. Please.
— Son… are you ashamed of me? — she whispered, barely moving her lips.
— Mom, don’t start! — he shouted. — It’s not shame! It’s smart calculation! Do you want me to stay in this lousy place my whole life? I have a chance! Don’t ruin it!
She hung up. What could she say? That since Denis’s father, a handsome student, heard about the pregnancy at eighteen and said «that’s your problem» before disappearing, her life had ceased to be her own?
Memories rose like nightmares: her young self scraping gum off a school cafeteria floor smelling of sour cabbage. Her thirty-year-old self, in a bright vest, breaking ice at the entrance at four in the morning, then rushing home to get her son ready for school.
She didn’t remember the last time she rested. She remembered nights at the chemical plant where the chlorine stung her throat, but she needed to buy Denis sneakers so he wouldn’t be teased.
She gave up love, sleep, herself. She remembered Valentin — a kind bus depot driver who brought tea to her tiny room and shyly asked her to the movies. She just shook her head: no time. Need a math tutor.
When her son entered university, she took another job — cleaning entrances in a luxury building to buy him a laptop. Her whole life was a race where the prize was his success.
And now he asked her — to disappear. To hide everything she had done, like a shameful secret. And she agreed. For his chance, she was ready to become invisible.
The day after the dinner, she called him. He didn’t answer. An hour later he called back. He was ready.
— Well, happy now?! — he yelled into the phone, not letting her speak. His voice trembled with rage and hurt. — You destroyed everything!
— Denis… because of the fork? — she whispered.
— What does the fork have to do with it?! — he shouted. — You dropped it on purpose! So everyone would see your hands! To make me look like the son of some cleaning lady! To humiliate me! Couldn’t you just be quiet like I asked?
— I didn’t…
— What «didn’t»?! Milana is shocked! Her parents now look at me like I’m a liar! Ninell Bronislavovna asked: «Denis, is your garden by any chance on the roof of the office center?» Do you understand who you disgraced?!
He screamed, and she was silent. Inside, a cold, sticky heaviness grew. He wasn’t just ashamed. He hated her — for being his past. For wanting to erase it.
— Enough! I have to fix this! Don’t call me. I’ll contact you if I decide it’s necessary, — and he hung up.
He never thought it necessary to contact her. Neither a week later nor a month after. Ulyana learned about his lavish wedding, to which she was not invited, by chance — from a former neighbor, Aunt Valya. She eagerly pulled out her phone and showed her photos:
— Look, Ulyana, what a groom you have! And the bride is just a picture! They say the dress was brought straight from France!
Ulyana looked at the photos: her son, slick-haired, smug, standing next to an exquisite girl in white against the backdrop of a mirrored hall drowned in flowers. At that moment, she felt something warm and alive inside extinguish forever. Something called hope.
After that meeting with the neighbor, Ulyana seemed to fall into a thick fog. She went to work, mechanically cleaning strangers’ floors and walls, but inside was emptiness. The pain, sharp and burning, gradually turned into a dull, muffled ache — like a splinter that can’t be pulled out. She lost weight, aged, stopped answering calls, disappeared from life as if she never existed.
One night, finishing cleaning a restroom in another business center, she looked up at her reflection in the mirror. It gleamed — clean, without a single drop. And in it — she. Not a woman. A ghost.
Dull eyes, sunken cheeks, downturned lips. The face of someone betrayed, erased, forgotten.
And suddenly — a click. Somewhere inside. The pain receded, giving way to cold, clear rage. Rage like ice, like stone.
“Well then,” she thought, looking at herself in the mirror, — for the first time in a long time her gaze was direct, firm like steel. — “I will show them what true cleanliness is. Not the kind seen by the eyes, but the kind felt by the soul.”
The next day she went to Petrovich — the foreman, a stern but fair man who had always valued her perseverance.
— Petrovich, I’m leaving.
— Where to? — he was surprised. — Retirement? You still have strength.
— I’m starting my own business, — she replied calmly.
He snorted, looking her up and down.
— And what kind? You don’t have a penny.
— But I have hands, — said Ulyana, — and brains. And most importantly — honesty. That’s enough.
She quit all her side jobs. She mortgaged her tiny apartment — the last thing she owned — and got a modest loan. With that money she bought professional equipment: a steam generator, a powerful vacuum, the best German cleaning supplies.
The first employees — Maria and Galina — came to her out of old friendship. Maria — a single mother who fled an abusive husband. Galina — a quiet woman laid off from a factory after thirty years of service.
— Girls, I won’t be able to pay much right away, — Ulyana said, gathering them in her kitchen. — But I promise: we will work as if every order is our last chance. No compromises. Either perfect, or not at all.
— What should we name the company? — Maria asked.
Ulyana thought. Then smiled for the first time in a long while — genuinely, brightly.
— «Clear Conscience,» — she said. — Because that’s the only thing that can’t be stolen, bought, or taken away.
Their first job was an apartment after unscrupulous tenants. The smell was so bad that other cleaning companies refused to even enter. Ulyana took on the job, offering a price half as much.
Two nights in a row they didn’t sleep. Scraping floors, cleaning mold, washing grease off walls. When the owner came — a tired woman with two children — she froze on the threshold.
The apartment shone. It smelled of freshness, cleanliness, new life.
— How did you do it? — she whispered, touching the windowsill as if afraid it would disappear.
— With a clear conscience, — Ulyana answered, handing her the bill.
The owner left a glowing review in the neighborhood community. Recommended them to everyone. Word about «Clear Conscience» spread through the city — like a legend. A small company that took on what others deemed impossible.
Ulyana didn’t pay for advertising. Her reputation was her ad. Impeccable quality. Taken to perfection. She took on cleaning after fires, industrial workshops, restoring abandoned mansions.
And with each order, each «thank you,» each earned penny, she grew stronger. Her shoulders straightened, her gaze hardened, her soul lightened. She no longer hid. She was Ulyana Andreevna — founder and owner of «Clear Conscience.»
Two years passed. Denis’s father-in-law’s empire continued to grow, and his company moved into a new office — the city’s most luxurious skyscraper. Panoramic windows, marble floors, air soaked with the scent of money and success.
For the final cleaning after renovations, the assistant, on partners’ glowing recommendations, called the best cleaning company in town — «Clear Conscience.» Known for its perfection and ability to work on the toughest sites.
— Finally! — Ninell Bronislavovna’s voice rang out in the shining lobby. She theatrically swept a finger over the glass counter. — I hope these famed cleaners won’t disappoint. After the builders, it was a real mess! Denis, make sure the owner personally checks everything. I want to see impeccable results for such a price.
— Of course, mom, — Denis replied, adjusting his tie. — They say she’s very demanding.
At that moment, the glass doors smoothly opened. A woman entered the lobby.
Dark blue pantsuit, flawless hairstyle, elegant wristwatch. Behind her — a confident man in a sharp suit holding a tablet.
Ninell Bronislavovna and Denis straightened up, convinced they were facing an important person.
— Good afternoon, — Ninell began, stretching her smile.
The woman stopped. Slowly surveyed them with a cold, precise gaze, without a hint of emotion.
Ninell’s smile froze. Denis paled. His lips trembled as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t.
It was Ulyana.
But not the one they remembered. Not the one they were ashamed of. Before them stood a woman with the dignity of a queen. Strong, composed, confident. There was no pain in her eyes. There was strength.
— Mo… mom? — Denis breathed out as if seeing a ghost.
Ninell grabbed his hand convulsively. Her face twisted — from shock, fear, sudden realization: they were wrong. Deeply wrong.
Ulyana did not look at them. She turned to her companion.
— Viktor, check the baseboard joints and ventilation grilles. Full report in five minutes.
— Will do, Ulyana Andreevna, — the man replied respectfully and walked through the office.
Then Ulyana put on a thin white glove, approached the panoramic window, ran her finger along the windowsill. The glove remained clean. She took it off and handed Denis a leather folder.
— The site is delivered. Quality meets «Clear Conscience» standards. Documents and invoice are here. My assistant will contact your payment department.
Denis looked at her. At her hands — well-groomed, with a flawless manicure. At her posture. At her calm. And couldn’t utter a word. Horror, regret, and bitter realization read in his eyes: he had lost not only his mother — he had lost himself.
— All the best, — Ulyana said and, without looking back, headed for the exit.
At that moment, she reclaimed everything. Dignity. Pride. The right to live. To her place in the world.
Her foreman Viktor — reliable, silent as a rock — already held the car door open for her. He looked at her with admiration, respect, and a warm, almost familial smile.
And when Ulyana stepped out into the sunlit street, she felt for the first time in many years: her happiness was not somewhere in the future. It was here. It was within her. It was real.
