Linda’s tiny hands clutched the tree trunk, her wide eyes filled with fear. Mom stood close by, gently encouraging her to take her first steps upward. But to Linda, the tall tree looked impossible, and every attempt felt like too much.
Her little body trembled as she tried, slipping down again and again. Each slip brought a new wave of frustration, until her eyes welled up with tears. Soon, her cries broke out—loud, sharp, and heartbreaking. She screamed for Mom, her voice carrying desperation, as though begging her to stop this challenge.
Mom, however, stayed calm. She didn’t scold; she only nudged Linda forward with gentle guidance, knowing that climbing was part of her life. But for Linda, it felt cruel. Every push toward the tree made her sob louder, her tiny heart aching with fear and confusion.
The cries grew so dramatic, her little chest heaving with each breath. She pounded the ground with her hands, refusing to move, her voice echoing through the trees. Yet, in those tears was not just anger—it was fear of the unknown, fear of falling, and fear of being left alone in something new.
At last, Mom scooped her up for comfort. Linda clung tightly, burying her wet face into Mom’s chest, her sobs slowly quieting. Though the training wasn’t easy, it was filled with love—a tough lesson wrapped in a mother’s patience.
That day, Linda cried her heart out, but she also took her first step toward bravery.
