“You are brilliant,” Megan told me one night, dropping a stack of textbooks onto the table. “Your biological parents called you average. We are going to prove them so wrong they never recover from it.”
She enrolled me in advanced online classes. She hired a math tutor with money she did not have. After twelve-hour hospital shifts, she stayed up late helping me study.
My anger became fuel.
I wanted to become a doctor. I wanted to be like Dr. Collins. I wanted to be like Megan.
By sixteen, I was taking college-level classes. I earned straight A’s. I scored higher on the SAT than Ashley ever had.
When it was time to apply to college, I had one dream.
“Columbia University,” I told Megan, staring at the brochure. “Their pre-med program is incredible. But it’s so expensive.”
“Apply,” Megan said immediately. “We will figure out the money.”
