Every morning, Mom prepared herself before touching Minea’s wound. She washed her hands slowly, took a deep breath, and reminded herself to be gentle. Minea had been hurt before—small, fragile, and scared—but now she was safe. Healing had become part of their daily routine.
Minea lay quietly as Mom cleaned the wound, though her eyes still watched closely. At first, she used to cry, her body tensing at every touch. Pain and fear had taught her to expect the worst. But Mom never rushed. She spoke softly, her voice steady, letting Minea know she wasn’t alone.
Day after day, the wound began to change.
What was once red and swollen slowly softened. The edges closed little by little. Each time Mom cleaned it, she noticed the improvement—less pain, less flinching, more trust. Minea noticed too. Her cries turned into small whimpers, then into quiet watching, and finally into calm stillness.
Mom applied medicine carefully, then covered the wound with clean cloth. She kissed Minea’s head gently every time, as if sealing the care with love. Minea’s body relaxed more with each passing day. Her eyes no longer filled with fear when Mom came close. Instead, they followed her movements with calm curiosity.
Healing was not fast. Some days were harder than others. But progress was real.
Soon, Minea started moving more freely. She played a little longer. She slept more peacefully. The wound, once a painful reminder, became smaller, lighter, almost forgotten. Mom smiled when she saw fresh skin forming—strong, healthy, alive.
It wasn’t just the wound that healed.
Trust healed.
Fear healed.
Hope returned.
Through patience, consistency, and gentle love, Mom showed Minea that pain doesn’t last forever when someone stays. And with every careful cleaning, every soft word, Minea grew stronger—inside and out—getting better and better with each new day.
