I found a part-time job, and aside from classes, I spent every waking moment in the library. I barely even returned to the dorm to sleep. Despite spending six months at home taking care of my mom—feeding her, cleaning her, and acting like a full-time nurse—none of that wiped away the knowledge I'd worked so hard to retain. I could still recall every detail I'd studied.
Now, more than ever, I was itching to put everything I knew into practice. But before I could fully dive into my studies, my phone blew up with call after call. At first, I answered, but soon enough, it was just one aunt or another, all trying to guilt-trip me into going home.
I remembered why I stayed to care for my mom in my past life. One reason was my grandmother, who raised me. I always wanted to repay her once I was older and earning money. But one night, she went to bed and never woke up again. It was my first encounter with death, and it left me treasuring the fact that I still had both my parents.