Baby Lika was usually a cheerful little girl, always hopping toward her mother with bright eyes and tiny chirps. But this morning, everything felt wrong. She woke up alone on the soft grass, the warm scent of her mom missing from the air. At first, Lika blinked sleepily, expecting Mommy to appear with her gentle hands. But as seconds turned into minutes, her small chest tightened with fear.
She stood shakily, looking left, then right, her little arms stretching out as if reaching for someone who wasn’t there. The moment she realized Mommy wasn’t close, the panic hit her all at once. Lika’s face crumpled, her mouth opened wide, and a heartbreaking cry burst out. It was the kind of cry filled with confusion, fear, and longing — the sound only a lost baby can make.
She stumbled forward, searching frantically. She sniffed the ground, climbed a small root, then slid back down, her tiny body trembling. Every time a leaf rustled or a bird chirped, she snapped her head up, hoping it was Mommy answering her. But the world around her stayed quiet.
Her cries grew louder, sharper — a full tantrum fueled by fear. She rolled onto the grass, kicking her small legs, pounding her hands, desperate for comfort. She didn’t want food. She didn’t want toys. She wanted the warmth of her mother’s chest, the sound of her heartbeat, the safety she knew better than anything in the world.
Just when Lika’s voice began to fade from exhaustion, she heard footsteps — soft, familiar ones. She froze. Her eyes widened. And then Mommy appeared through the bushes, worry written all over her face.
Lika didn’t hesitate. She threw herself into Mommy’s arms, tears pouring down but finally melting into relief.
Her world was safe again.
