The evening air was still, yet the sound of Yuri’s cries echoed through the small room. Her tiny face was flushed, eyes squeezed shut as tears streamed down her cheeks. Her little belly rumbled — she hadn’t eaten in hours, and the hunger was becoming too much for her to bear.
Yuri clung to the soft blanket beneath her, kicking her legs in frustration. She turned her head side to side, searching for the comfort she longed for. Her cries grew louder, almost desperate, as if each tear was a plea for someone to understand her pain.
From the kitchen, Mom quickly rushed over, hearing the heartbreaking wails. She knelt beside Yuri, gently touching her cheek. “It’s okay, my little one,” she whispered softly, though Yuri’s sobs continued. Without wasting a moment, Mom began preparing her warm bottle of milk.
Yuri could smell it — her tiny nose twitched, and her cries turned into impatient whimpers. She reached out with her small hands, but Mom reminded her to wait just a few more seconds. Finally, the bottle was ready.
The moment it touched her lips, Yuri latched on, drinking eagerly. Her eyes slowly opened, looking up at Mom with a softer, relieved gaze. The warmth of the milk filled her empty belly, and her cries faded into quiet gulps.
When she had enough, Yuri rested her head against Mom’s chest, her breathing calm and steady. Mom held her close, rocking her gently, grateful to soothe her pain.
For Yuri, that moment was more than just feeding — it was safety, warmth, and love wrapped in her mother’s arms.
