I’m Paula, a widowed cleaner doing everything I can to raise my 12-year-old son, Adam. One day, he came home crying after attending a birthday party hosted by Simon, the son of my wealthy boss, Mr. Clinton. Adam had been so excited to go, even choosing a thrift store shirt to wear. But when I picked him up, he was crushed. He tearfully told me how 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 party game, and served him cake on a plastic plate—laughing that “poor kids don’t need forks.” Furious, I confronted Mr. Clinton. Instead of apologizing,