1 “What’s on your mind today, Carletta?” I don’t tell her my children. Their faces, the first thing I used to see each morning, whining about being hungry. The sound of their voices calling my name, Mama, over and over again. And their laughter filling up what used to be our home. I miss that. Them and having a home. “Nothing really.” I say, instead. It’s hard to keep a straight face with this lady. It’s like I’m being interrogated. The same old thing, every week. Her sitting across from me in that wooden chair, the seat padded with floral. And me on this ugly brown couch, with my arms crossed, ready for the session to be over. I shift in my seat, trying not to look or seem as annoyed as I actually am. “How was your visit with your family yesterday?” She says, kind of glancing at me over her glasses. Here she go trying to play this little game again. She knows good and damn well those people, whoever they are, ain’t …