After a long shift at my dental clinic, I was in the kitchen, savoring a rare quiet moment, when my 14-year-old son, Mark, came home—his voice more urgent than usual. He wasn’t alone. Beside him stood a tiny girl, about eight, holding her jaw in obvious pain. She looked scared, cold, and fragile. “This is Mia,” Mark said. “She’s in my school… she didn’t know who to ask for help. Her teeth hurt so bad, Mom. I didn’t know what else to do.” One look inside her mouth and I knew: severe decay, abscesses,

swollen gums—pain she should never have endured. She nodded silently when I asked if I could help her. That night, I canceled my morning patients. Mark stayed by Mia’s side, feeding her applesauce and offering quiet reassurance. I gave her pain relief and tucked her into the guest room. The next morning, I treated her in my clinic—multiple fillings, drained abscesses, a full cleanup. Through it all, she was silent but brave. When I finished, she smiled faintly and whispered, “Thank you, Aunt Nadia.” My heart nearly burst. That afternoon,