Roanaldo’s tantrum came out of nowhere, like a sudden storm in a quiet sky. One moment he was calm, the next he was yelling at the top of his lungs, tiny fists clenched, face red with fury. There was no reason anyone could see, but inside his small heart, everything felt wrong.
He screamed loudly, shaking with anger, his voice echoing through the room. His legs kicked, his tail flicked wildly, and his eyes burned with tears that refused to fall. Roanaldo didn’t want toys. He didn’t want milk. He didn’t even know what he wanted. He only knew the feeling was too big to hold.
Mom rushed to him, alarmed but gentle. She scooped him into her arms, rocking softly, whispering his name again and again. But Roanaldo yelled louder, pushing against her chest, arching his back, crying as if the world had betrayed him. Her comfort made him angrier, not calmer.
Still, Mom didn’t stop. She held him close, steady and warm, letting his screams crash against her patience. She rubbed his back, kissed his head, and stayed silent when words didn’t help. Roanaldo cried until his throat grew tired and his body slowly weakened.
Minutes passed. The yelling softened into broken sobs. His fists loosened. His breathing slowed. Without realizing it, Roanaldo leaned into her, resting his heavy head against her shoulder. The anger drained out, leaving only exhaustion.
Mom kept rocking, never scolding, never leaving. She understood something Roanaldo couldn’t yet explain. Sometimes little hearts explode without warning. Sometimes feelings don’t need reasons.
Soon, Roanaldo went quiet. His eyes closed, damp lashes resting on flushed cheeks. Safe in his mother’s arms, the storm finally passed.
In that silence, Roanaldo learned comfort doesn’t always stop the noise immediately. Sometimes love simply stays, holding space, until the noise fades on its own.
