On the morning of my medical entrance exam, I woke up in panic — my phone read 9:55 a.m. All three alarms I’d set the night before had been mysteriously turned off. The exam was at 10. My dream of becoming a doctor the dream I’d held since losing my mom to cancer — was slipping away.

I ran downstairs, begging my stepmom for a ride, but she sat calmly at the table with her coffee. With a smirk, she said, “Maybe you’re just not cut out for med school. If you can’t wake up on time, how will you ever save lives?”

My heart sank. Then, my 8-year-old brother Jason stepped forward, his small voice trembling but steady: “I saw her. She turned off your alarms last night. She didn’t want you to go.” Linda’s smirk vanished, but before she could respond, sirens wailed outside. Jason looked at me and whispered, “I called the police. They’ll get you there.”

Within minutes, officers were rushing me to the exam center. I made it inside just as the doors were closing. I sat down, took a deep breath, and thought of my mom. I wouldn’t let anyone steal this chance. When I got home, Jason told our dad everything. His face flushed with anger as he turned to Linda. “Pack your things. You will not sabotage my daughter’s future.” That night, Linda was gone — and I knew, without a doubt, that Jason had saved more than just my exam. He’d saved my dream.