Ricky’s cry filled the small room as dawn light slipped through the window. He had just woken, belly empty, patience gone. Tiny hands clenched and unclenched, searching the air for his mother. Each second without milk felt endless, stretching his hunger into panic.
Mom hurried nearby, warming the bottle, whispering reassurance. Ricky did not understand preparation. He only knew need. His cries grew louder, breathy, urgent, eyes shining with tears that rolled down his soft cheeks. He kicked weakly, calling her again and again.
She moved faster, heart racing with guilt and love. The smell of warm milk finally reached him, and his cries paused, replaced by sharp hiccups. When Mom lifted him, he grabbed her shirt, clinging as if afraid she might disappear again.
The bottle touched his lips. Relief washed over his face instantly. His mouth latched eagerly, sucking with desperate focus. The room softened. His shoulders relaxed. The crying faded into quiet gulps, then gentle sighs. Hunger loosened its grip.
Mom watched him closely, stroking his head, counting his swallows. She felt the tension leave her own body too. These moments were exhausting, but precious. They reminded her how completely Ricky depended on her.
Milk dribbled from the corner of his mouth as he slowed, eyelids fluttering. His hands relaxed, fingers curling around hers. Soon, his sucking became lazy, comfort replacing urgency.
When the bottle emptied, Ricky let out a small satisfied sound and rested against her chest. The storm was over. Hunger had turned into warmth, fear into safety.
Mom held him a little longer than necessary, breathing in the calm. Ricky slept, full and peaceful, unaware that his cries had been answered by rushing steps and endless love, every single time he called. Morning light returned, promising care, routine, patience, and another feeding soon today.
