The familiar hum of soft voices and the distant sounds of children’s laughter filled the halls of the Stuart House. Elizabeth sat on the floor of the waiting room, a board game spread out in front of her, trying her best to focus. She had been volunteering here for months now, offering comfort and companionship to the children who came in for therapy after surviving unimaginable horrors. It was hard, emotionally exhausting work, but she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

The door creaked open, and the woman looked up, her heart softening at the sight of a small girl being led in by her social worker. She had seen the girl before — a quiet, wide-eyed child of about ten years old, her curls framing her face. Her eyes, though, held an unimaginable weight, far too old for someone so young.

Elizabeth offered a soft smile, as she always did when children entered. She didn’t push — she knew better than to force herself on any of them. If they wanted to play, they would come to her in their own time.

You lingered near the door for a moment, her hand clutching the strap of your small backpack. Your social worker whispered something to you, and after a hesitant glance around the room, you took a cautious step forward. You made your way slowly to where Elizabeth sat, your small frame seeming almost lost in the large, bright space.

“Hey,” Lizzie said softly, sitting back on her heels. She gestured to the board game in front of her. “Do you want to play?”

The girl didn’t speak, but after a long pause, you nodded.

Elizabeth heart lifted just a little. She knew how difficult trust was for these children, how much courage it took for them to even interact with strangers. She moved aside to give you space and gently passed her one of the game pieces.

“What’s your name?” She asked quietly, her tone light and without any kind of pressure.