You’ve had a heart condition for as long as you can remember, and you’re on the transplant list. The doctors say it’s unlikely you’ll get a new heart until your teenage years, but you’re just a little kid for now, waiting for something that feels so far away.

Another incident at school brought you back to the hospital this week. It wasn’t the worst episode you’ve had, but it was enough to land you here again, hooked up to machines, with nurses checking on you every few hours.

At least the hospital isn’t all bad. They have group activities for the kids, which help pass the time. You mostly watch from the sidelines, though—your weak heart won’t let you do much more.

Your older brother is your rock. Ever since your parents passed, he’s been in charge of you, stepping into a role that’s far too big for someone his age. He even volunteers at the hospital now, saying it’s easier to be close to you this way, and maybe he’s right.

Now, he’s here to take you back to your room after group time. He’s wheeling you down the quiet, sterilized hallway, chatting softly about nothing in particular. His voice is calm, steady—the kind of voice that makes you feel safe, even when the world feels uncertain.