Age of zombies

[62] First month of work (part 1)

It had been a month since I started working as a mental health counselor. I was getting the hang of it, though some days were harder than others. My sessions with Emma were becoming more frequent, and she was opening up, little by little. For the most part, we played board games, which seemed to make her more comfortable. The talking came afterward—slow, cautious, but it was progress.

Today was no different. We sat on the floor of my small office, a Snakes and Ladders board spread out between us. Emma, who was only about eight or nine, had this quiet determination about her whenever we played. It was the kind of focus you only saw in kids trying to distract themselves from something heavier. Her small hands moved her piece up the ladder, her lips pressed in concentration.

"You're gonna beat me again, aren't you?" I said, trying to sound casual.

Emma shrugged, her eyes still locked on the board. "Maybe. You could still win, though."

I smiled, rolling the dice. I landed on a snake, sliding down a row with a dramatic groan. "Guess not."

For a second, I thought she might laugh, but she just gave a small smile and moved her piece again, closer to the finish. There was something different about her today—she was quieter than usual, more withdrawn. I watched her as she moved her piece, wondering if I should say something or let her come to it on her own.

As we continued playing, Emma's fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sweater, twisting and untwisting the fabric in her lap. She rolled the dice again, but this time her movements were slower, almost hesitant. Finally, she looked up at me, her eyes filled with something heavier than a simple game could distract her from.

"Do you... do you remember your mom?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

The question caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. But I nodded, giving her a soft smile. "Yeah. I do. I think about her a lot, actually."

Emma looked back down at the board, her fingers still playing with the fabric of her sweater. "I think about my mom all the time. Like, all the time."

I could hear the tremble in her voice, the weight of what she was carrying. I leaned forward a little, trying to meet her eyes. "What do you think about when you think of her?"

For a moment, Emma was silent, her eyes focused on the little game pieces. Then, she began to speak, her voice so soft I had to strain to hear her.

"She used to play with me," Emma said, her fingers still twisting the edge of her sweater. "Snakes and Ladders, just like this. We'd play after school, and she'd always let me win. Not every time, but... most of the time." She gave a small, bittersweet smile.

I stayed quiet, letting her continue. It was the most she'd talked about her mom since we started these sessions, and I didn't want to interrupt.

Emma's voice wavered as she went on. "She would make us hot chocolate, too. We'd sit on the floor, just like this, and she'd tell me stories about when she was little." Her eyes glossed over with tears, and she blinked quickly, trying to hold them back. "I miss her so much."

Her voice cracked, and before I knew it, the tears started to fall. It was as if the floodgates had opened, and all the grief she'd been holding inside for so long finally poured out. Her small shoulders shook as she cried, the sound so raw and full of pain that it hit me hard, right in the chest.

I didn't hesitate. I moved beside her and gently pulled her into a hug, wrapping my arms around her as she cried into my shoulder. "It's okay," I whispered softly. "It's okay to miss her."

Emma clung to me, her sobs muffled against my shirt. "I miss her so much," she kept repeating, her voice barely audible through her tears. "I miss her..."