Overworked, Underpaid, Unstoppable.

I’d wake up at 5 AM to embark on a grueling commute from Astoria, Queens, to Bayside (two trains, two buses, and a 15-minute walk) for a two-day-a-week, minimum-wage position cold-calling patients for overdue cleanings. I’d buy one bagel in the morning and eat half for breakfast, saving the other half for lunch. Yep, you read that right: a single bagel was my daily food budget.

While the rest of the team ordered lunch together, I’d quietly eat my half-bagel at my desk, pretending I wasn’t hungry for more. In truth, I was hungry, but not in the way you’d expect. I was hungry to learn, hungry to grow, and hungry for opportunity.

Mary was our office manager, but she was also the heartbeat of the practice. She noticed things, like how I never ordered lunch with the team. She never made it awkward. When she noticed I wasn’t eating enough, she’d casually leave “extra” lunch on my desk. “Can’t finish all this, Kyle,” she’d tell me. No production, no pity. Just quiet care that let me keep my dignity while making sure I was fed.

Mary fought for my raises before I knew how to fight for myself. She pulled me into meetings I had no business being in. Yet. She was playing a long game, and I was her investment.