It was a calm, sunny afternoon in the yard, and the gentle rustling of the trees provided a soothing backdrop to the peaceful scene. On the stone table, sitting in the middle of the garden, were Milo and his mother. In front of them sat a small plate of freshly peeled mangosteen, the soft white flesh glistening in the sunlight. It was one of Milo’s favorite fruits—usually he would be thrilled to snack on it. But today was different. Today, Milo wasn’t interested in food. He just wanted to cling tightly to Mommy, refusing to let go.
“Come on, Milo,” Mommy coaxed gently, holding a piece of the fruit toward him. “Have a bite. You love mangosteen.”
Milo, sitting in her lap, merely shook his head. His small arms were wrapped tightly around her, his little body pressed close against hers. He wasn’t upset, not exactly, but there was a cloud of stubbornness hovering over him. His lips were set in a firm pout, and his face nestled against Mommy’s chest as if he could block out the world just by staying close to her. No matter how many times she offered him the fruit, he didn’t budge.
“Are you not hungry, sweetheart?” Mommy asked, her voice soft and patient, though a hint of concern flickered in her eyes. Milo always loved snack time, especially when it was mangosteen, but today he seemed determined to ignore the food altogether. Instead, he tightened his grip, pulling himself closer to her.
He wasn’t crying, but there was a heaviness in the air between them. Milo’s mood was a quiet storm—no tantrum this time, just the quiet insistence that he needed Mommy more than he needed anything else. His small hands grasped her tightly, his head resting under her chin as he made it clear that no amount of coaxing would make him let go.
“Alright, no more mangosteen for now,” Mommy sighed softly, setting the piece of fruit back on the plate. She wrapped one arm around Milo, gently stroking his back, feeling the weight of his little body pressing into hers. He was warm, snug, but she could sense the tension in him—the kind of tension that only arose when he was feeling particularly clingy. It wasn’t unusual for Milo to have days like this, days when he didn’t want to do anything but stay attached to her as if being apart for even a moment would cause him distress.
Milo shifted slightly, making a small sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. He wanted to be close, to feel the comfort of his mother’s arms around him, and nothing else would do. He didn’t know why he felt this way—he just did. Some days were like that, where even the tastiest treats couldn’t distract him from the need for comfort. His small fingers fidgeted with Mommy’s fur, pulling gently at it as if he were reassuring himself that she was really there, that she wasn’t going to make him sit alone or push him away.
“Milo, what’s wrong?” Mommy asked again, though this time, she didn’t offer the fruit. Instead, she hugged him close, kissing the top of his head. “Do you just need a little extra love today?”
Milo didn’t respond in words. He simply buried his face deeper into her chest, his breathing slowing as the warmth of her embrace began to calm him. There was something soothing about the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, something that told him everything would be alright. He wasn’t angry like he had been during some of his past tantrums. He just wanted to stay close, to feel safe in the arms that had always been there for him.
For a long while, they sat like that—Mommy holding him gently, rocking him slightly as the sun continued to shine down on them. The plate of mangosteen sat forgotten on the table, the fruit no longer important in the moment. What mattered was the quiet bond between mother and son, the unspoken understanding that sometimes, even without words, they knew what each other needed.
Eventually, Milo relaxed fully into her embrace, his body growing heavier as he let go of the tension that had been clinging to him all afternoon. His eyes fluttered closed, and soon, he was softly dozing in her arms. Mommy smiled, her fingers brushing through his fur as she watched him sleep. She knew Milo’s moods well—knew that he would wake up later, more cheerful, more willing to eat and play. But for now, she held him close, letting him feel the security of her presence.
