Baby Ricky woke suddenly from sleep, his tiny body jolting with fear. The warmth he remembered was gone. No soft arms. No familiar heartbeat. His eyes flew open, wide and shiny, searching the space around him. Mommy was not there.
His little lip trembled.
At first, Ricky made small sounds, confused and shaky. He turned his head left, then right, hoping to see her face. But the room stayed quiet. The emptiness felt too big for his tiny heart. Fear rushed in, followed quickly by hunger twisting deep inside his belly.
Then he cried.
The cry burst out loud and sharp, filling the room. Ricky screamed with all the strength his small chest could hold. His arms flailed wildly, hands opening and closing as if trying to grab his mom from the air. Tears streamed down his cheeks, soaking his face as his cries grew louder and more desperate.
He wasn’t just crying for milk.
He was crying for comfort.
For safety.
For Mommy.
His stomach ached, making every cry more painful. Hunger and loneliness mixed together, turning his fear into panic. Ricky’s body shook as he yelled, voice cracking, breath coming fast and uneven. He kicked his tiny legs, red-faced and exhausted, but unable to stop.
Moments felt like forever.
Finally, hurried footsteps approached. The sound alone made Ricky cry harder, hope and desperation colliding in his chest. Gentle hands lifted him up, and the familiar warmth returned. Ricky sobbed loudly against her, clinging with all his strength, afraid she might disappear again.
Mommy held him close, rocking softly, whispering comfort. The bottle came next. The moment milk touched his lips, Ricky latched on desperately. His cries stopped instantly, replaced by fast, hungry gulps.
With every sip, his body relaxed. His breathing slowed. The fear melted away.
Milk filled his belly. Mommy’s arms filled his heart.
When he finished, Ricky sighed deeply, eyes fluttering closed. Safe again, full again, he rested quietly, learning that even after the loudest cries, Mommy always comes back.
