The first and last time I cheated on an exam was the day I got the news my grandpa passed away. 

Maybe it was  pure coincidence, nothing special, but I want to believe it was fate, something controlled by God Himself. 

Cheating was something never allowed in my family and the word never appeared in my vocabulary, unless it was to describe a student trying to get something over on others. I despise it, and despise anyone who would attempt to do it. It was the sacred place nobody I’ve known ever dared step foot in. 

But that one afternoon changed the story utterly. 

Each year our school holds an annual term exam for the school to see where students are at. The exam was divided into four parts: Vocabulary, Reading Comprehension, Writing, and Quantitative Mathematics. The parts that involved English skills I always aced. It was easy. I always get above average. But it was the Quantitative part that I was anxious about. 

It seemed that there was always some question that stumped me and stopped me from getting an above average score. I just couldn’t figure out why. 

I really wanted to fake a sickness to get out of this test. But I couldn’t think of any possible sickness or injuries that I could have. Maybe a stomach ache, a headache, nausea even. 

The teacher’s voice dragged me back to reality -“The Quantitative test begins now.”

I tried to solve every single question but got stuck on the last one, where we had to use linear functions to arrive at an answer. I scribbled down everything I could think of that might’ve helped, but still couldn’t come up with the answer that corresponded with one of the choices offered.

I leaned back to stretch, hoping that it would help me refocus on the question and pull in the correct answer from out there somewhere. And as if God was reading my mind, the straight A student sitting next to me raised up her paper for a final check. And there it was right in front of me - the answer from the best student in the class sitting right there for the taking, like a ripe plum hanging off a branch. 

I couldn’t describe how I felt at that moment. Emotions mixed together in a cauldron of morality. Ecstasy, fear, indecision. My inner devil and angel each grabbed a shoulder to sit on and began to debate. 

The devil nudged me, “Take your chance while you have it. Grab her answer. You know she’s definitely got it right.”

The angel then grabbed the microphone for her turn, screaming at the top of her lungs, “NO! You can’t do that! That’s being lower than a snake. Remember your principles!”

I let them battle it out. Eventually, the devil won out. I put her answer down on my paper and handed it in. 

I walked out of the room, experiencing a new feeling. It was called guilt, I learned later. A mixed feeling of regret and shame. I felt my stomach flutter, in the worst possible way. If there was a hole ion the ground I would have dug deeper in order to steal away forever and vanished into thin air. I tried to comfort myself, saying that everyone cheats once in their lifetime and that no one saw it. It was true, no one would ever find out if I don’t tell. But no amount of excuses will numb my guilt. 

I pushed through the rest of the day and ran home immediately after the last bell rang.

I stopped at the corner and organized myself before turning onto the road leading to our house. I walked as casually as I could and I was ready to greet my mother in her usual place inside the kitchen. 

Instead, I found her sitting on the front porch, staring into space. I eyed her for a bit and passed by. On the kitchen table I found an opened letter. It was from my grandma. 

Grandma wrote in obviously hurried handwriting, “Your Grandpa passed away this morning.” 

Everything went blank in front of me. Something crumbled inside. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Tears fell silently, one by one. The same feeling I felt earlier came back to me. A dreadful feeling of guilt. I didn’t even have the chance to talk to him for the last time. There was so much left unsaid. And now he just left and he’s not coming back.

I gently put down the paper and walked back out to the front. 

My mom still sat there, the same way she’d been for at least an hour. I sat beside her. Her hand was on her knee, so I reached out mine and squeezed hers. She looked at me and chuckled bitterly, “You know, we even thought of phoning him a couple of days ago. But we missed our chance to say goodbye.”

My mind rewound to me cheating on the test earlier that day, a day when my grandpa passed away without even giving me a chance to let him know that I loved him. Then something occurred to me, and I realized what it was. 

So I looked at her and said, “Yeah. Too late.”