That evening, as I prepared to go to bed, I set my alarms to ensure I wouldn’t oversleep for my college entrance exam. Becoming a doctor had been my dream ever since my mom passed away from cancer. Becoming an oncologist felt like the best way to honor her memory by helping others fight the same battle.
The next morning, I woke up peacefully—too peacefully. When I reached for my phone, I was horrified to find that my alarms had been turned off. The exam was starting in just a few minutes, and I was on the verge of missing my only chance to get into medical school.
Panicking, I threw on my clothes and rushed downstairs, where my stepmother, Linda, was casually sipping her morning coffee. I pleaded with her to drive me to the exam center. With a smug smile, she replied, “You should’ve set your alarm. Maybe this is a sign you’re not cut out for med school.”
Her words stunned me. It felt like she was happy about my failure.
With no other option, I started walking, knowing I’d never make it on time. Just then, my little brother, Jason, appeared. “Em, don’t worry. Help is on the way,” he said confidently.
Before I could ask what he meant, the sound of police sirens filled the air. Jason leaned closer and whispered, “Linda turned off your alarms last night. I saw her in your room.”
Linda didn’t even try to deny it. “I did,” she said unapologetically. “Your dad paying for med school is ridiculous. That money should go toward my beauty salon instead.”
As the police arrived, Jason explained the situation to them, pleading for their help. One of the officers, a kind and understanding woman, turned to Linda and asked if Jason’s claims were true. Linda denied everything, but the officer didn’t press further. Instead, she said, “We’re here now, and it’s our job to help. Let’s go.”
The officers rushed me to the exam center, arriving just as the exam was about to begin. Unfortunately, the doors were already closed. A proctor noticed our arrival and approached, confused. “The exam is starting, and you’re late,” he said.
Still shaken, I struggled to explain, but the officers stepped in and described how I had been sabotaged by a family member. The proctor’s stern expression softened as he listened. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded and allowed me to take my seat.
Hours later, I walked out of the exam room, relieved and proud—not just of myself but also of my little brother, my hero.
Back home, my dad hugged me tightly and apologized for Linda’s behavior. Jason had already told him everything, but he wanted to hear it from me too. As I recounted the events, his face turned red with anger. He looked at Linda and told her to pack her things. “You don’t belong here,” he said firmly.
Linda didn’t even bother to apologize. It was clear she felt no remorse, and I felt no sympathy for her as she walked out of our lives.