Monica screamed loudly, her small body stiff with anger as she faced Yuri. Her eyes were wide, sharp with frustration, and her mouth opened in a furious cry that echoed through the room. She leaned forward, teeth showing, not to hurt, but to warn. In her tiny world, anger had only one language, and she spoke it loudly.
Yuri froze, surprised by her sudden explosion. He hadn’t meant to upset her. Maybe he touched her toy, maybe he stood too close. To Monica, it didn’t matter. Her feelings were big, overwhelming, and impossible to hold inside. She stamped her feet, screamed again, and lunged forward, trying to bite, driven by raw emotion rather than intention.
Hands rushed in quickly, separating them before anything happened. Monica fought the air, still screaming, chest rising fast. Her anger wasn’t calm or controlled. It was messy, emotional, and fueled by fear of losing something she cared about. Tears followed the screams, spilling down her cheeks as the rage cracked open into distress.
Yuri backed away, confused and hurt, while caregivers focused on Monica. She was held firmly but gently, rocked until her breathing slowed. The screaming softened into sobs. Her jaw relaxed. The urge to bite faded as safety returned.
Mom spoke softly, explaining boundaries, teaching her that anger didn’t need teeth. Monica listened through sniffles, head resting on a shoulder. She wasn’t bad. She was learning.
Mom later brought Yuri close again, slowly, carefully. Monica watched him, still wary, but calmer now. She reached out, not to bite, but to touch. A quiet moment replaced the chaos.
That loud, angry scream wasn’t cruelty. It was a lesson in progress. Monica was growing, learning how to handle feelings too big for her small body. With patience and love, her anger would one day become understanding, and her screams would turn into trust.
