In the soft morning light, tiny Yoya sat on the floor, legs folded, eyes wide and watery. Her tummy growled, and her face was full of pleading as she stared at her mom standing by the counter.
Mom was mixing the milk—slowly, carefully, making sure it was just the right temperature. But to Yoya, it felt like forever.
“Eeeh! EEEEHHHH!”
Yoya let out a sharp cry, loud enough to shake the quiet house.
She crawled a few steps forward, reaching her little hands toward the bottle she couldn’t yet see. Her lips quivered. The hunger was real, and so was her sadness. Every second that passed felt like a lifetime.
Mom looked over and gave her a smile.
“Just a minute, sweetheart,” she said gently, still stirring.
But Yoya didn’t understand. Her world was hunger and waiting. Her cries grew louder, echoing through the room. She rolled on her back, kicking her tiny legs in protest, as if that would somehow make the milk come faster.
Finally—Mom turned around, warm bottle in hand.
Yoya saw it and gasped, crawling with renewed strength. She reached up, eyes locked on the prize. The moment the nipple touched her mouth, the crying stopped. She latched on instantly, her whole body relaxing with each sip.
Mom sat down, cradling her, softly stroking Yoya’s fuzzy little head.
“You’re such a dramatic girl,” she whispered with a smile. “But I love you even more for it.”
Yoya blinked up, sleepy and satisfied now, the storm already forgotten.
In that small moment, all was right in her world again.
Because to Yoya, love came in warm arms and sweet milk—just when she needed it most.
