Baby Minea screamed the moment the cold medicine touched her wound.
Her tiny body jerked, hands flailing, eyes squeezed shut in pure panic.
To her, the sharp sting felt endless, like danger had suddenly arrived without warning.
She cried not only from pain, but from confusion and betrayal she could not name.
Mom held her gently but firmly, heart twisting with every cry.
She whispered apologies, even though she knew the medicine was meant to heal.
Minea didn’t understand healing; she only understood hurt.
Her screams echoed, raw and desperate, filling the room with urgency.
The wound was small, but the fear was enormous.
Minea kicked and arched her back, trying to escape the sensation burning her skin.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, soaking her fur, her breath coming in broken gasps.
She searched her mother’s face, silently asking why this was happening.
Mom paused, wiping her own tears away.
She slowed her hands, warmed the cloth, and spoke softly, explaining with calm tones.
She kissed Minea’s forehead again and again, letting love speak louder than pain.
The medicine went on gently now, carefully, patiently.
Minea’s cries softened into whimpers.
Her grip tightened around Mom’s finger, choosing trust over fear.
The sting faded, replaced by warmth and steady breathing.
Mom wrapped her close, rocking side to side, never letting go.
Soon the screaming stopped.
Minea rested against her mother’s chest, exhausted, eyes half closed.
The wound was clean, protected, and already beginning to heal.
More importantly, so was Minea’s heart.
Pain had passed, but comfort remained.
In that quiet moment, Minea learned something small yet powerful.
Sometimes love hurts for a second, so safety can last much longer.
And in her mother’s arms, even pain could end in peace.
Trust returned slowly, wrapped in warmth, patience, and unwavering maternal devotion
