I’m Paula, a widowed cleaner doing my best to raise my 12-year-old son, Adam. One day, he came home in tears after attending a birthday party thrown by Simon, the son of my wealthy boss, Mr. Clinton. Adam had dressed proudly in a thrift store shirt, but the other kids mocked him for being “a cleaner’s son.” They gave him a mop, made him wear a janitor’s vest in a cruel game, and served him cake on a plastic plate—laughing that “poor kids don’t need forks.”

Furious, I confronted Mr. Clinton, but instead of apologizing, he fired me. I was devastated—until the next day when my coworkers went on strike in protest. They demanded my reinstatement.

Mr. Clinton publicly apologized, admitting his failure. I accepted—not for him, but for the message it sent. Dignity isn’t about money. And Adam now knows his mother will always stand up for him.