The rain drummed against the windows of the St. Petersburg apartment when the doorbell rang. Emma lifted her eyes from her laptop and glanced at the clock in surprise—half past eleven at night, on a Wednesday. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

Through the peephole she saw a blurred figure with a suitcase. Her heart tightened unpleasantly—something about that silhouette seemed familiar.

“Who is it?” Emma asked without opening the door.

“Emma, it’s me. Open up.”

Her mother’s voice. Emma froze, listening to her own feelings. Anxiety, irritation, surprise—all tangled into a tight knot somewhere in her chest. She slowly slid off the chain and opened the door.

Her mother stood on the threshold with a battered blue suitcase Emma remembered from childhood. Her face was gaunt, dark circles under her eyes, her hair disheveled by the rain. She wore the old coat she’d been wearing for the last five years.

“May I come in?” her mother asked, not waiting for an answer and already stepping over the threshold.

Emma silently moved aside. Her mother dragged the suitcase into the hallway, shook the droplets from her coat, and only then looked at her daughter.

“What are you staring at like that? At least make some tea.”

Emma went to the kitchen and turned on the kettle. Her hands moved automatically—she took out two cups, tea leaves, sugar. Her mother settled at the table with a heavy sigh.

“Your apartment’s not bad,” she said, looking around. “Small, of course, but just right for one.”

“Thanks,” Emma replied dryly. “What happened?”

Her mother was silent for a moment, then waved a hand.

“Oh… I came to visit my eldest daughter. Is that not allowed?”

“It’s allowed. At eleven at night, on a Wednesday, with a suitcase.” Emma set a cup of tea in front of her. “Say what happened.”

Her mother took a sip and winced.

“Hot.”

“Mom.”

“Your sister got married. She and her husband are living in our apartment now, and I’m moving in with you.”

Silence fell like a heavy curtain. Emma sat down opposite her, studying her mother’s face. She avoided Emma’s gaze, stirring sugar in her cup with great concentration.

“Just like that?” Emma finally asked. “You just up and moved?”

“What’s so complicated? You’re my daughter. You have a spare room.”

“I have a bedroom and a living room,” Emma corrected her. “I work there. I work from home a lot.”

“So what? I won’t bother you. You’ll pull out the sofa bed, and it’ll be fine.”

Emma stood up and paced the kitchen. In her head, a picture was slowly taking shape—one her mother clearly had no intention of painting voluntarily.

“Sarah’s been married for four months,” Emma said. “I know. You called me then and told me how beautiful the wedding was, how happy you were. And now it’s September. What changed?”

Her mother pressed her lips together.

“She had a baby. A month ago. A boy.”

“Congratulations. I’m an aunt now.”

“And I,” her mother lifted her eyes, and something like despair flickered in them, “am now a grandmother without an apartment.”

“Tell me everything. From the beginning.”

Her mother sighed and leaned back in her chair.

“Sarah got pregnant. It just happened. That… Jake, that’s his name. He works as a manager in some store, earns pennies. No place of his own, lives with his parents in a studio. Or lived. When Sarah found out she was pregnant, they decided to get married. I was happy—I thought at least she’d have some stability.”

“And he moved in with you.”

“Where else would he go? There’s no room at his parents’, and we have a two-room place. I thought, well, we’ll manage. They’re young, just starting out, they need help. Sarah’s always been dreamy—I thought she’d settle down with Jake.”

Emma smirked but said nothing. Dreamy. A nice word to describe Sarah’s endless stream of hobbies and plans, none of which she ever saw through.

“Then the baby was born,” her mother went on. “And it started. The baby cries constantly, day and night. Sarah doesn’t get any sleep, she’s on edge. Jake comes home tired from work, and there’s the baby screaming, Sarah demanding help. They started fighting. Every day. About money, the housework, who’s more exhausted.”

“And you?”

“I help as much as I can. I watch the baby, cook, clean. But Sarah says I do everything wrong. That I give too much advice. And Jake looks at me like I’m a burden—I don’t work, my pension is small. They hint that I’m just another mouth to feed.” Her mother’s voice trembled. “And recently they told me outright: maybe you could move out somewhere? At least for a while. They say there isn’t enough space.”

Emma listened and felt something cold and vicious slowly flare up inside. She stood and walked to the window. The rain had intensified, drops running down the glass in crooked tracks.

“So Sarah threw you out of your own apartment,” she said without turning around.

“She didn’t throw me out—she asked…”

“Threw you out.” Emma turned back. “Whose apartment is it? Yours? Or already signed over to Sarah?”

Her mother looked away.

“To Sarah. I transferred it last year. I thought it would be the right thing. To help my daughter. With her own place, she’s a more eligible bride. You don’t need anything—you’re doing fine.”

“I see.” Emma nodded. “And now you’ve come here. To me. The one who ‘doesn’t need anything.’”

“Emma, you’re my daughter. My own. Are you really not going to let your mother in?”

“‘My own,’” Emma repeated. “Interesting word. Let’s remember, Mom, how that used to work.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I remember my childhood perfectly well. How you doted on Sarah. How you bought her the best of everything, and I got what was left. How you took her to dance, to music lessons, to English, and told me, ‘We don’t have money for both; you’ll have to manage somehow.’ How you explained that Sarah is beautiful, she needs to look good, and me, well, I wasn’t blessed with looks anyway, so why spend the money?”

“Emma, don’t…”

“No, I will.” Emma’s voice was even, almost calm, but inside she was boiling. “You always made a choice. And you always chose Sarah. Because she was pretty, because you hoped she’d marry well and pull both of you out of poverty. And I was the backup plan. A gray mouse who was supposed to help, keep her head down, and be grateful just to be tolerated.”

“That’s not true! I loved you both…”

“Don’t lie.” Emma sat back down across from her and looked her straight in the eyes. “You didn’t love me. You tolerated me. There’s a huge difference. I saw the way you looked at Sarah—with pride, with hope. And at me—as a failure. As a mistake of nature who didn’t live up to expectations.” Her mother stayed silent, lips pressed tight. Her face showed she was searching for arguments and finding none. “I remember when I was in ninth grade and got a certificate for a math competition,” Emma continued. “I brought it home, proud. You looked at it and said, ‘So what? That won’t help in life. If only you were pretty like Sarah.’ I remember crying into my pillow at night so you wouldn’t hear.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you…”

“But you did. Constantly. With every word, every look. You invested all your strength and money in Sarah as if she were a project. And I was supposed to stay afloat on my own. And you know what? I did. Without your help. In spite of your expectations.”

Emma stood and paced the kitchen.

“I moved to Petersburg. Got into university on a scholarship because I studied hard. Worked nights as a waitress to rent a room in a dorm and not ask you for money. Studied without coming up for air. Then I got an internship at a company. They took me because I was the best. I worked more than anyone, learned everything I needed, moved up. And I made it.”

“I know, you did great…”

“No, you don’t know.” Emma stopped and braced her hands on the countertop. “You have no idea what I went through. How many sleepless nights, how much effort. How every day I had to prove to everyone and to myself that I was worth something. How terrified I was of messing up, because I had no backup runway. No one to catch me, understand? No one to rely on. Only myself.”

Her mother stared into her cup in silence.

“And when I bought this apartment,” Emma’s voice softened, “it was my victory. A small two-room place in a bedroom community, but mine. I earned it. Myself. And for the first time in my life I felt at home. That it was my place, where no one judged me or compared me to Sarah.”

“I’m happy for you, honestly…”

“I’m not.” Emma straightened. “I’m not happy you’re here. Because I know why you came. Not to visit your beloved daughter. But because the money ran out, Sarah kicked you out, and I’m the last option.”

“That’s not true!”

“It’s exactly true.” Emma sat back down and looked her mother in the eyes. “Tell me honestly: in all these years, did you ever call me just because? To ask how I’m doing? Not on my birthday, not on holidays—just because?”

Her mother opened her mouth, then closed it.

“No,” she said quietly.

“You see. To you, I was a gray mouse who simply existed somewhere out there. And now you’ve come to me not because you missed me or worried about me. But because you have nowhere to go.”

Suddenly her mother began to cry. Soundlessly, tears just streamed down her cheeks.

“Emma, I’m your mother. Are you really going to throw me out?”

“Did you love me?” Emma asked. “Can you remember even once when you felt love for me?”

Her mother was silent. For a long time. Then said quietly:

“I tried…”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It was hard for me. We were poor, your father wasn’t there. I raised you both alone. I thought Sarah was our chance. She was so pretty, I thought she would marry a good man and life would get easier for all of us. And you… you were smart, capable, but not pretty. I thought you’d have to fight your own way through everything. And that my love wouldn’t help with that.”

“But it would have,” Emma said softly. “Do you know how? I wouldn’t have grown up feeling I wasn’t good enough. That I didn’t deserve to be loved as I am. That love had to be earned. It took me years to realize there was nothing wrong with me. That I’m not ugly, not a failure. That I have a right to happiness simply because I exist.”

Her mother sniffled.

“I’m sorry.”

“Too late.” Emma stood. “Much too late. You made your choice thirty years ago. You put everything into Sarah, and that was your right. But don’t come to me now asking for what you never gave.”

“You’re throwing me out?”

“I’m telling the truth.” Emma opened the fridge, took out a bottle of water, and took a sip. “You want me to save you? Feed you, shelter you, comfort you? But you haven’t earned that. You weren’t a mother to me in the way I needed. You were the project manager for a venture called ‘Sarah.’ And I was the background, a faceless extra.”

“So you’ll abandon me? Like Sarah?”

“No.” Emma shook her head. “I’m not Sarah. I’ll help you. Because I’m kinder than you were to me. I’ll give you money for a rental for a couple of months. I’ll help you find a job, if you want. But you won’t live here.”

“Why?”

“Because this is my place. My refuge. I built this life without you, and I like it. And I don’t want you to wreck it. I don’t want to become that gray mouse again, the one who has to please everyone and expects nothing.”

Her mother looked at her with wide eyes.

“You’ve changed.”

“No. I’ve become myself. The person I couldn’t be around you.”

“You’re cruel.”

“I’m honest.” Emma sat down opposite her. “Listen. You can stay for tonight. Tomorrow I’ll help you find housing. I’ll give you money. But after that you’ll leave. And if you want there to be any kind of relationship between us, you’ll have to build it from scratch. From zero. Not as a mother to a daughter who owes you something. But as one person to another.”

“What about Sarah?”

“Sarah is your project. Your investment. Deal with her yourself. You signed the apartment over to her, you raised her like a princess whom everyone owes. Now reap what you sowed.”

Her mother covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook. Emma watched her and felt a strange mix of pity and relief. Pity for a woman who had been wrong all her life. Relief that she had finally said everything she had wanted to say for so many years.

“I thought you’d understand me,” her mother said through tears.

“I do understand you. That’s exactly why I’m refusing. You gambled your whole life, put everything on Sarah. You lost. That’s your choice, your responsibility. Not mine.”

“But I’m your mother!”

“No.” Emma shook her head. “You’re the woman who gave birth to me. That’s not the same thing. A mother is someone who loves, supports, believes. You simply lived nearby and waited for me to become useful.”

A heavy silence fell. Her mother cried, her face buried in her hands. Emma sat opposite, breathing evenly, calming her pounding heart. She had done it. She had said everything she had wanted to say for so many years.

At last her mother raised her head.

“You’ll never forgive me?”

“I don’t know.” Emma shrugged. “Maybe someday. But right now I need to forgive myself first. For waiting so long for your love. For believing I could earn it. For not leaving earlier.” “So I’m leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’ll help with the housing and the money. Once. After that, you’re on your own.”

“And Sarah?”

“Sarah is your daughter. My sister. But I’m not obligated to clean up the consequences of your mistakes. You wanted her to grow up a princess? That’s what you got. You wanted her to make a good marriage? It didn’t happen. That’s not my fault and not my responsibility.”

Her mother stood slowly.

“Where do I sleep?”

“In the living room. The sofa folds out. The linens are in the wardrobe.” Emma pointed the way.

Her mother silently took the suitcase and shuffled into the room. Emma stayed in the kitchen. She sat down and laid her head on her arms. Her whole body shook with the emotions that had spilled out. She cried softly, almost soundlessly. She cried for the childhood she never had. For the love she never received. For the mother she had lost, though in truth, she had never really had one.

But through the tears something else broke through. Relief. Freedom. She had done it. She had said “no.” And the world hadn’t collapsed. She didn’t die.

The next morning Emma got up early. She brewed coffee and sat at her computer. She found several rental options—cheap but decent. Then she opened her banking app and transferred money to her mother’s card, enough to pay for three months of housing.

Her mother came out of the room pale, with red eyes.

“Good morning,” Emma said. “I found you a few apartments. Look and choose. I transferred the money. It’ll cover three months. After that you’ll need to look for a job or sort things out with Sarah.”

Her mother nodded silently and looked at her phone screen.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Emma took a sip of coffee. “This is the last time I’m helping like this. If you want there to be a relationship between us, you’ll have to make an effort.”

“I understand.” Her mother paused. “Emma, I really didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… didn’t know any other way.”

“I know. But that’s not an excuse. Just an explanation.”

“Are you happy?” her mother suddenly asked.

Emma thought for a moment.

“Yes. I’m happy. I have a good job that I love. My own apartment. An interesting life. I’m pleased with myself. That’s more than many have.”

“And your personal life?”

“That’s none of your business.” Emma smiled, without malice. “But if you’re curious—I have a boyfriend. We’ve been seeing each other for six months. Maybe it’ll work out, maybe not. But I feel good with him.”

“I’m glad.”

“Thank you.”

They spent another hour in silence. Her mother packed her things; Emma worked at the computer. Then Emma ordered a taxi and helped carry the suitcase.

At the door her mother turned.

“Can I call you sometimes?”

Emma hesitated.

“You can. But only if you really want to talk. Not to ask for help.”

“All right.”

“And Mom.” Emma looked her in the eyes. “If you ever want to talk honestly—about the past, about what happened—I’m ready. But only honestly. No excuses, no manipulation.”

Her mother nodded and wiped away her tears.

“I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

The taxi drove off. Emma closed the door and leaned her back against it. She exhaled. Long and slow. Then she went into the living room and opened the window. Fresh air rushed in, carrying away the stale smell of the past.

She went back to the kitchen, poured herself more coffee. She sat by the window and looked at the gray Petersburg sky. The rain had stopped; rays of sun broke through the clouds.

Her phone vibrated. A message from a colleague about tomorrow’s meeting. Then one from a friend inviting her to an exhibition over the weekend. Life went on. Her life, the one she had built herself.

Emma smiled. She finished her coffee

. She opened her laptop and dove into work. Into her life. Into her world, where she was not a gray mouse, not a backup option, but herself. Simply herself. And that was enough.

In the evening Sarah called. Emma stared at the name on the screen for a long time. Then she declined the call. She typed a short message: “Don’t call. Sort it out yourselves.”

The reply came almost immediately: “You’re selfish! How could you throw out your own mother?!”

Emma smiled sadly. She blocked the number. She turned off her phone. She’d deal with it tomorrow. Tonight she just wanted to be alone. In her apartment. In her life. In her world, where she was, finally, at home.