On the morning of my medical entrance exam, I woke up in a panic, realizing all my alarms had been turned off. Just when I thought all was lost, my 8-year-old brother stepped in, his bravery and quick thinking saving the day.
Becoming a doctor had been my dream since childhood, especially after my mother passed away from cancer. I wanted to help others like her, understand the disease that took her life, and give people a fighting chance. For years, I studied late into the night, preparing for this crucial exam that would bring me closer to my goal.
I did everything I could to wake up on time: I set three separate alarms and left my curtains open to let in the morning light. The night before, I thought of my mother and promised myself I would make her proud.
But when I opened my eyes the next morning, something felt off—it was still dark. Grabbing my phone, I froze: it was 9:55 a.m., just five minutes before my exam started. All my alarms had mysteriously been disabled.
In a rush, I dashed down the stairs, frantically searching for my stepmother, Linda, begging her for a ride. She regarded me coolly, sipping her coffee with a smirk. “You’re late already,” she said dismissively. “Maybe you’re just not cut out for medical school.”
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