Little Ronaldo lay sprawled across the soft bed, his tiny arms stretched out and his small chest rising and falling with each trembling breath. The house was quiet, too quiet for a baby who depended on warm cuddles to feel safe. As soon as he realized Mom wasn’t beside him, his face crumpled, and a deep, heartbreaking cry burst out of him.
His little legs kicked helplessly against the blankets.
“Eeehh… Mmmmaa!” he wailed, voice trembling with panic.
The emptiness around him made everything feel bigger, colder, and scarier. Without Mom’s touch, the silence felt like a giant shadow pressing on his tiny heart.
Ronaldo rolled onto his stomach and buried his face into the sheets, but even the soft fabric couldn’t calm him. He lifted his head again, mouth wide open, tears slipping down his cheeks. He wasn’t angry—he was lonely, confused, and desperate for the warmth he trusted most.
He crawled a few inches forward, hoping Mom would magically appear, but when she didn’t, he cried even louder, his tiny fingers gripping the blanket for comfort he couldn’t find.
Then, faint footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Ronaldo froze.
His breath hitched.
Could it be…?
The moment Mom stepped into the room, Ronaldo’s entire body softened. His cry became a desperate, shaky call as he reached his arms toward her.
Mom hurried to him, scooping him up gently. The second her arms wrapped around him, Ronaldo pressed his face into her chest, his sobs melting into soft whimpers. She rocked him slowly, whispering soothing words while running her fingers through his fluffy hair.
Within moments, his tiny body relaxed completely.
His breathing steadied.
His eyes fluttered.
Ronaldo wasn’t crying anymore.
He was home—in Mom’s arms, where loneliness couldn’t touch him
