Max was not actually starving, but in his little world, waiting felt like suffering. The moment he realized snack time was delayed, his face changed completely. His lips pushed forward, eyes watered instantly, and a loud dramatic cry burst out as if something truly terrible had happened.
He threw his tiny body backward, then forward, calling for mom again and again. Every cry sounded urgent, emotional, and full of protest. His hands waved in the air, demanding attention, demanding snacks, demanding comfort. Max believed his voice was powerful, and today he planned to use it without mercy.
Mom was nearby, preparing food calmly, but Max did not want patience. He wanted snacks now. Each second felt unfair. His cries turned into a full tantrum, mixed with angry squeaks and heartbreaking sobs. He looked at the door, hoping mom would appear faster if he cried louder.
When mom finally stepped closer, Max paused for half a second, checking if his drama worked. Seeing her, he cried even harder, just to make sure she understood how serious the situation was. His tears rolled, but his eyes stayed alert, watching every movement.
Mom spoke softly, telling him to wait. Max shook his head, completely disagreeing. Waiting was unacceptable. Snacks were life. Love was snacks. Everything depended on snacks.
At last, mom brought the food. The crying stopped instantly. Max grabbed his snack with relief, sniffed once, and began eating like nothing had happened. His face relaxed, eyes calm, body peaceful.
The drama was over.
Mom watched him with a tired smile. Max was quiet now, satisfied and proud. In his mind, the tantrum was necessary. He had called. Mom came. The system worked. Tomorrow, Max would test it again, believing that love always answers
