Hyomi sighed for what felt like the nth time that day. There she was, confined to the small hospital room with a heart and brain wave monitor attached to her. The loud beeping of the machine muffled the sound of the doctors and nurses outside. She had this itching suspicion that she was attached to the machine not because the doctors wanted to monitor her, but rather because it was very useful in preventing her from eavesdropping into conversations that the doctors wanted only her parents to hear. She was lying there motionless except for when she blinked or turned her head to look at the monitor of the machine. Everything appeared to be normal to her, but then again the machine was just like the doctors. It only told her what she already knew and nothing more than the obvious.

Her gaze shifted towards the door to her room. It was slightly open, leaving only a small crack between the door and the frame. The crack wasn't wide enough for her to watch the small group of people huddling outside of her room, but it was enough to allow her to listen in on what they were talking about. And what they were talking about wasn't meant for her ears.

But she wanted to know.

She was tired of not knowing and being told lies and kept out of the loop.

She wasn't a child any longer. She was in high school and old enough to know what was wrong with her. Her parents protected her like a shield from the truth, afraid that the truth would only upset her. They didn't need to hide it from her. Hyomi already knew much more than they did about her health. She already knew that things were much worse for her than what they said.

"How is she, Doctor Hwang?" Her father's voice drifted into the room from the crack. "Is she getting better?"

A tense silence followed afterwards. Hyomi could hear the deep sigh her doctor let out and she knew that he didn't have anything good to tell her parents.

"Doctor Hwang?" Her mother whimpered. "Please ... Please tell me you have some positive feedback for our Hyomi. Tell me she's getting better."

"I'm sorry." The doctor apologized. His voice sounded strained and Hyomi could hear the disappointment in his voice. "We've only taken a few tests so far so what I tell you right now isn't a hundred percent certain. Compared to Hyomi's improvements in the past month, it appears that her results have fallen again. Her heart isn't beating as strong as it used to and after testing her stamina, it appears as though she has gotten weaker as well. Shortness of breath, trouble breathing, and chest pains accompany the smallest things. I'm afraid her condition is worsening."

"How is this possible? Just last month you told us that she was improving and that she had a better chance of getting better permanently." Hyomi closed her eyes as her father's voice rose in anger and frustration. "She's supposed to get better ... My baby girl ..."

"Yeobo ..."

She could hear Dr. Hwang trying to console her parents, get her father to calm down and not make a scene in the middle of the hospital. That was all he really could do for him. A doctor can only do so much before things are out of his control. Hyomi didn't blame him for anything. She had a feeling a long time ago that all he could really do was slow down the rate at which she was reaching her impending fate.

"What about the donor? I thought you found one." Her mother uttered.

"The heart that we received wasn't a match for Hyomi. It went to another patient on the list for transplant." The doctor explained. "It's difficult to find a right match for her. AB blood type is hard to come across with organs and not too many of people with that blood type are registered as organ donors. Most of the time, the organs are donated to science or they are in such bad condition from age or accident that we can't accept them for transplant. We will keep looking for a match for her, but I cannot ensure that we can find one in time."

The sound of paper being flipped through reached her ears and she sighed to herself. They were looking at the test results from the first