My Mothers Smile!

I used to hate my mother for being the janitor at my school. Kids would laugh and call me “the maid’s son,” and every time I saw her pushing that heavy cleaning cart down the hallway, humiliation hit me like a punch. I avoided her like my life depended on it—turning away when she waved, changing direction the second I spotted her mop bucket, pretending I didn’t know her when my classmates snickered. Shame settled into my bones so deeply that school stopped being a place to learn and became a daily battlefield. When I got accepted into medical school,…

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