Her mother worked in a hospital. Her father ran the hospital.

“Nurse Kirk’s daughter,” or “Dr. Kirk’s daughter” was all they said. It was never her name. It was something she was sometimes glad for.

She tried not to look at patients’ names. She stopped completely after meeting Terry, the boy in room 704. The day she came to know him, Terry had just begun the very long journey through the seas of chemotherapy. He had a dark-haired head whose hairs became thinner and thinner as the time went on, and the biggest pair of “cow eyes,” as Belinda said.

He was cheerful; he was going to die at age twelve.

She was morbid; the Book said she was going to continue forever.

Saya couldn’t look him in the eyes any longer. The guilt and the knowledge overwhelmed her, and it became too much.

So when Rowan came over to have movie night and he kissed her, she cried at the undeserved attention and affection she was receiving.

She cried at the unfairness of it all and she cried knowing that crying wouldn’t make it better.