Kasky sat alone on the cold floor, his tiny hands gripping the edge of the mat where his mother had just been. The warmth was gone. The familiar smell faded. In that instant, confusion turned into anger, and anger quickly became heartbreak. His eyes widened, lips trembled, and a sharp cry burst from his chest.
He did not understand why mom left. In Kasky’s world, being alone meant danger. He screamed loudly, throwing his small body forward, then backward, calling her with every breath he had. His face tightened, brows furrowed, tears spilling fast as his voice echoed through the room.
Each second felt heavier. He crawled toward the doorway, slipping slightly, then stopping to cry again. His cries were not just noise; they were questions. Why did you leave? Where did you go? Don’t you hear me? His anger mixed with fear, making his tiny chest rise and fall quickly.
Kasky slapped the floor with his hand, frustrated and helpless. He wanted to be held, to feel mom’s heartbeat, to know he was safe. The room felt too big without her. Even the toys nearby could not distract him. Nothing mattered but mom.
When she finally returned, Kasky saw her shadow first. His crying paused for a heartbeat, then exploded louder, as if releasing everything he had held inside. He stretched his arms upward, shaking, demanding comfort.
Mom picked him up gently. Instantly, his body softened. His cries melted into quiet sobs as he pressed his face into her chest. His anger vanished, replaced by relief. He clung tightly, afraid she might disappear again.
Mom rocked him slowly, whispering softly. Kasky’s breathing steadied. His eyes closed halfway. The world felt right again.
In that moment, Kasky wasn’t angry anymore. He was just a baby who needed reassurance that love would always come back when he called.
