I dressed like a homeless man and walked into my own restaurant to see how my employees treated people who couldn’t afford a decent meal. I expected some unfriendly attitudes and perhaps a few rude remarks. Instead, I uncovered something so alarming that I eventually had to contact the police

That spring, Brittany sent me a handwritten letter.

She explained that her community-service work at a food bank had forced her to confront her own impatience toward people who needed extra help.

One day, she’d assisted an elderly man with a cane, carrying his groceries all the way to the bus stop.

She wrote that she finally understood why her treatment of Mrs. Zielinski had been so hurtful.

I kept the letter.

I wasn’t ready to respond.

But I hoped she had truly changed.

Around that time, I made another major decision.

I sold Dolly’s Two.

The suburban restaurant was profitable, but I’d realized I no longer wanted to spend my life expanding a business while neglecting the people who made it meaningful.

Marcy asked whether I was certain.

“I opened Dolly’s to honor my mother,” I told her. “Then I got so focused on earning more that I forgot why I’d started.”