Tiny Aba was just a few days old, fragile like a fallen leaf. His body still curled tightly, as if trying to remember the warmth of the womb. Every noise startled him. Every shadow made him flinch.
But more than anything—he couldn’t stand being alone.
That morning, Mom stepped just a few feet away to prepare his milk. But to little Aba, it felt like she had disappeared forever.
His big round eyes searched desperately, and then…
“EEEEH! EEEEEEH!”
His cry pierced the quiet room, full of panic and sadness. His tiny arms reached up into the air, trembling, begging to be held. His legs kicked in helpless little bursts. He didn’t want milk. He didn’t want toys. He just wanted her arms.
Mom turned quickly, rushing to him.
“I’m here, sweetheart! I’m right here!”
She scooped him up into her chest. The moment his body touched hers, his crying stopped like magic. His tiny head buried into her neck, his hands gripped her shirt, and his heart slowed its frantic beat.
She kissed his fuzzy head and rocked him gently.
“Shh… Mommy’s got you. Always.”
In that hug, Aba felt the world melt away. No fear. No loneliness. Just love—warm, safe, and close.
He didn’t need words.
His cry had said it all:
“Pick me up, Mom… I need you.”
And she had answered. Without hesitation.
