Baby Linda lay curled on the cool floor, her tiny chest rising unevenly as soft cries escaped her lips. What looked like a small wound had slowly turned into pain, and now her bright eyes were dull with sickness. Her mother noticed something was wrong when Linda refused milk, turning her face away with a weak whimper. Panic filled the air as Mom gently lifted her, whispering comfort while checking the injury again and again.
The wound wasn’t big, but to a newborn, even a little hurt feels like a mountain. Linda trembled, clinging weakly to Mom’s fingers, her cries sounding more tired than loud. Mom cleaned the wound carefully, her hands shaking with fear and love. Every touch made Linda flinch, and every flinch stabbed Mom’s heart deeper.
The room felt silent except for soft sobs and worried breathing. Mom stayed beside her without rest, warming milk, wiping tears, and rocking Linda through the long hours. Linda’s body felt warm, her energy fading, but she still searched for Mom’s face, needing reassurance more than food. When Mom pressed her gently to her chest, Linda calmed slightly, listening to the familiar heartbeat.
As night fell, exhaustion wrapped around them both. Mom whispered promises into Linda’s ear, promising she would be okay, promising she was not alone. Slowly, Linda’s cries softened into fragile breaths. Her tiny hand tightened around Mom’s finger, holding on with the last of her strength.
In that quiet moment, fear and hope mixed together. Love became medicine, patience became prayer. Mom stayed awake, guarding her baby through the darkness, believing that morning would bring healing. For Linda, even in pain, her mother’s warmth was enough to keep her fighting, one small breath at a time. Love never leaves her side.
