When did all of this happen?
How did we let it happen?
Her sister wondered as she sat across from a therapist's office- hands folded too tightly in her lap.
She couldn't remember the exact moment her little sister began to slip away.
There was no single fracture, no dramatic collapse. Just change- slow and merciless- unfolding right in front of her.
It had started small.
Like a forest fire.
Bigger clothes at first- harmless, even flattering. She looked very good in them.
Then came skipped meals. Workout apps multiplying on her phone. Fewer outings. More excuses.
And now?
She was hollow. A zombie down to her bones.
Was it something I said? her sister wondered.
That was her torment.
Meanwhile, her little sister was having the time of her life inside the session room.
She wasn't talking.
She was sitting quietly, legs swinging, eyes bright- far too calm for someone everyone was so worried about.
So when the woman in dark clothes appeared, it barely registered.
The woman glanced from the girl to the therapist before settling into a chair beside her.
"Did I miss much?"
The little girl shook her head, smiling. "We were just getting to the good part."
"The guessing game," the woman said, nodding.
The girl leaned forward, animated. "What do you think she'll recommend?" she asked, turning to the woman. When there was no immediate answer, she continued.
"Breathing exercises? A feelings journal? Talking to my sister because she cares?"
The woman frowned.
"Don't mock her," she said quietly. "Your sister does care."
The girl went still.
Then she asked, softer this time,
"Then why am I talking to a stranger instead of her right now?"
The woman tilted her head. Her voice sharpened.
"Because I'm always around you. She's terrified- terrified of losing the only good thing in her life."
The girl scoffed. "But I'm fine. I'm not suicidal or anything."
"It's not about wanting death," the woman replied.
She looked closer- at the girl's soul.
It was thinning. Fraying. Slipping.
Too late, and it would be lost forever. No rest. No closure.
"It's about you fading," the woman continued. "Fading on them. On me."
She paused.
"Your body craving more is your problem. Your mind begging for attention isn't my concern. But your soul?" Her voice dropped. "It's exhausted. It doesn't know what to do anymore. It's tired of being ignored."
She leaned closer.
"And I won't let it disappear."
The girl stared at her.
"Why have you never said this before?"
The woman hesitated.
"Because… I don't always know these things" she admitted. "But I know you needed to hear it now."
The girl buried her face in her hands and cried.
"My own soul hates me…"
The therapist watched in stunned silence, moved by what she assumed was a breakthrough- acceptance, self-awareness, release.
She gently offered a box of tissues.
"How does it feel," she asked kindly, "to let the tears fall?"
The girl didn't know how to answer that.
But she knew how empty it felt without Death beside her.
The woman in black- quiet, severe, strangely indulgent- had always shown up. Every time. Without fail.
She was the only one who never left.
Her best friend.
Could she tell that to the therapist?
No.
So she stayed quiet.