My little brother
It was the third time I had called my little brother, and he wasn't answering. Growing concern began to grip me. I knew my brother was prone to epileptic seizures, and sometimes he would end up alone at home. Usually, one of his roommates was almost always around. I might have stopped worrying about him; after all, he was 22 years old, but he was still my little brother. I had always looked out for him, as our parents were not very present, too absorbed in their careers. They often returned home very late, and I was tasked with keeping an eye on my little brother. There were times when it was burdensome. As a teenager, there were many evenings when I would have preferred to go out with my friends rather than having to watch over the little rascal. However, I tried never to let my displeasure show towards my little brother. It wasn't his fault but rather that of our parents.
