The afternoon sun lit up the little room where Chamroeun stood, his tiny body tense, his face scrunched into a storm of emotion. His milk bottle sat nearby, warm and ready, but untouched.
“Chamroeun,” Dad called gently, holding the bottle out with a smile. “Come here, baby. Drink your milk.”
But Chamroeun didn’t move.
He stood stiff and still, his lips quivering. Then—
a sudden loud scream burst from his chest, full of sadness, frustration… and confusion.
Tears welled in his big eyes as he looked at Dad—not with anger, but a deep, wordless ache. He wasn’t hungry for milk…
He was hungry for something else.
Attention. Comfort. Love.
Earlier that day, Dad had been busy cleaning and organizing the room. Chamroeun had waited patiently. But now that Dad was finally free, offering milk instead of cuddles, something inside the little monkey broke.
He stomped one foot, let out another dramatic cry, and covered his face with both hands.
Dad paused. Then slowly, gently, he set the bottle down and knelt beside him.
“Hey… are you mad at Daddy?” he whispered.
Chamroeun peeked through his fingers, tears rolling down.
Without another word, Dad scooped him up, cradled him close, and rocked him gently. No scolding. No milk. Just the soft rhythm of a heartbeat and warm arms wrapped around a sad little soul.
After a few minutes, Chamroeun sniffled, nestled in tighter… and reached one hand toward the bottle.
Because sometimes, the heart needs filling before the stomach.
