Little Fifa lay on the floor, his tiny body twisting and trembling as loud cries filled the room. His face was red from screaming, his arms reaching out desperately. He wasn’t throwing a tantrum—he was simply hungry. His small body, still too fragile and weak, needed milk to feel safe and strong again.
Each cry grew sharper, almost like a scream for help. His chest heaved, his hands clutched at the air, and his legs kicked helplessly against the ground. The seizure-like motions came from his exhaustion and panic, his tiny body not yet able to cope with the strong waves of hunger.
Mom rushed over, her heart aching as she scooped him up from the cold floor. She stroked his back gently, whispering soft words of comfort. But Fifa’s cries didn’t stop. He pressed his head against her chest, searching desperately for milk, trembling in her arms as if afraid she wouldn’t feed him in time.
Quickly, she prepared the warm bottle. The moment the teat touched his lips, Fifa latched on instantly, drinking with fierce determination. His cries faded into small gulps, his shaking body slowly settling down as warmth spread through him.
Tears still glistened on his cheeks, but his eyes closed halfway in relief. His tiny fingers gripped mom’s hand tightly, as if thanking her for saving him from despair.
Mom kissed the top of his head, holding him close even after he finished. She knew moments like this were fragile reminders of how much care he needed to survive. Fifa might have been small and weak, but with love and milk, he would keep fighting.
