Selena was furious long before sleep arrived. Her tiny face tightened with frustration, eyes sharp and wet as she searched the room for her mom. Every sound made her hope rise, and every silence crushed it again. Mom had walked away, not far, but far enough for Selena’s heart to feel abandoned.
She protested at first, screaming with all her strength, tiny arms pushing the air as if trying to pull mom back. Her voice echoed, sharp and desperate. No answer came. The anger stayed, heavy and hot in her chest. She crawled a little, then stopped, energy draining from her small body.
The floor felt cold. The room felt too big. Selena lowered herself down slowly, legs tucked under her, arms bent awkwardly. She lay flat, belly down, arms and legs spread slightly—like a little frog frozen in place. Her face turned to the side, cheek pressed against the mat, eyes still open, still watching.
Tears slid quietly now. No more screaming. Just soft, broken breaths. She was still angry, but exhaustion was stronger. Her tiny fingers twitched once, then relaxed. The fight left her body without her choosing.
In that lonely position, sleep crept in. Not a peaceful sleep, but a tired one. Her brows stayed furrowed even as her eyes closed. She dreamed of warmth, of being held, of familiar arms that never left.
Mom returned later and stopped in her tracks. Seeing Selena asleep like that—small, alone, curled in quiet sadness—made her heart ache. She knelt down gently, touching Selena’s back with care.
Selena didn’t wake. She only sighed softly, as if she felt the presence she had been waiting for all along.
Anger fades quickly in babies. Loneliness lasts longer. That night, Selena slept like a tired little frog, not because she wanted to, but because she had no strength left to wait.
