Tiny Maoming, no more than a few days old, sat curled up on a hanging swing made of rope and cloth. It swayed gently in the breeze, but there was no joy in the motion—only the sound of a baby crying.
His soft cries echoed in the quiet space.
“Eeeh… eeeeh…”
His tiny hands gripped the edge of the swing, his face scrunched in sadness, his body trembling. He looked left… then right… then up. But the one he longed for most—his mother—was nowhere to be seen.
He didn’t understand why she was gone.
He didn’t understand why he felt cold, or why his belly ached with hunger.
He only knew that when she was near, everything felt okay.
But now, all Maoming had was the swing… and his tears.
A gentle caregiver watched from a distance, heart breaking at the sight. They had rescued Maoming just a day ago—orphaned, abandoned, still wet with the scent of birth. He was safe now, but his heart still searched for the one it lost.
As he cried, he leaned forward, arms reaching out into empty air—hoping, just maybe, Mom would come if he just cried hard enough.
But instead of his mother… soft arms wrapped around him.
The caregiver lifted Maoming from the swing, pressing him gently to their chest. His sobs slowed, then turned into little whimpers. The swing swayed empty now, but in the arms of his new protector, Maoming found a new warmth.
He didn’t understand yet—but he would learn.
Love comes in many forms.
And for now, that swing would wait.
Because Maoming?
He wouldn’t be crying alone anymore.
