As I lay in bed, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of excitement and nervousness. Tomorrow was the day of my college entrance exam, and I had been preparing for it for months. My dream of becoming a doctor, inspired by my mother’s brave battle with cancer, was within reach. I set multiple alarms, determined not to oversleep and miss this crucial opportunity.
But fate had other plans. The next morning, I woke up to find that my alarms had been turned off. Panic set in as I realized I was running late. I rushed downstairs, still trying to process what was happening. My stepmother, Linda, was sipping her coffee, seemingly oblivious to my distress. When I asked her to take me to the exam center, she smiled and said, “Maybe this is a sign that you’re not cut out for med school.”
Her words cut deep, and I felt a surge of anger and disappointment. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it. With no other options, I decided to walk to the exam center, knowing I would likely miss the exam.
Just as I was about to give up hope, my little brother Jason appeared out of nowhere, saying, “Em, I got you covered. Help is on the way.” I was confused, but before I could ask any questions, I heard the sound of police sirens getting louder.
It turned out that Jason had seen Linda sneak into my room the night before and turn off my alarms. He had called the police, and they had arrived just in time to help me. The officers were kind and understanding, and they offered to drive me to the exam center.
We arrived just as the exam was about to start. The doors were closed, but one of the proctors noticed us and approached. The officers explained the situation, and the proctor’s expression softened. He hesitated for a moment before nodding and letting me take my seat.
A few hours later, I emerged from the exam room feeling relieved and proud. My little brother had saved the day, and I was grateful for his quick thinking and bravery.
When I got home, my dad was waiting for me, his face filled with concern. Jason had already told him everything, but he wanted to hear it from me too. As I recounted the events of the morning, my dad’s expression turned from concern to anger. He turned to Linda and told her to pack her bags – she was no longer welcome in their home.
Linda didn’t even try to apologize. It was clear she wasn’t sorry, and I didn’t feel any compassion for her. As I watched her leave, I felt a sense of closure and gratitude for my little brother’s timely intervention.
