The room was quiet, but filled with soft tension.
Tiny Chorda lay still, her small body slightly curled as her mom carefully prepared the treatment. A small wound on her belly needed attention, and though it wasn’t big, it hurt enough to make her uneasy.
Chorda’s eyes were already glossy.
The moment the cool touch of the antiseptic reached her skin, she flinched.
Then came the cry.
A soft, tender sound at first—“Mm… eh…”—but it quickly grew into gentle sobs. Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks as her tiny hands moved slightly, unsure where to go, unsure how to stop the sting.
“It’s okay… I know, I know,” her mom whispered, her voice calm and full of care.
The smell of Betadine filled the air as she continued gently, making sure the wound was clean. Every touch was careful, slow, trying not to cause more pain than necessary.
But Chorda still cried.
Not loudly.
Just softly, heartbreakingly.
Her body trembled a little, her face turning toward her mom as if asking why does it hurt?
Her mom paused for a moment, brushing a tear away with her finger. “Almost done… you’re so brave,” she murmured.
Chorda’s cries softened into small sniffles, her breathing shaky but calmer as the treatment finished. The sting began to fade, replaced slowly by the warmth of her mom’s presence.
Then—gentle arms lifted her.
She leaned in immediately, still teary, but comforted.
Because even though it hurt…
She wasn’t alone.
And sometimes, healing comes with tears—but also with love that stays close through every moment.
