After a long day at my dental clinic, my son Mark came home with an 8-year-old girl named Mia, whose teeth were in severe pain.
Seeing her swollen gums and silent suffering, I canceled my patients and treated her the next morning. Mark stayed by her side
the entire time. Later, her parents arrived—exhausted, ashamed, and unable to afford care. I told them there was no bill.
We shared a meal, stories, and healing. That night, Mark said, “I learned from you.” And I realized:
sometimes love is a dental visit, a bowl of soup, or simply a boy who knew when to help.
