Morning should have been peaceful, but the moment Dad stepped toward the counter to prepare milk, Monica’s temper exploded like a storm. She spotted Minea sitting quietly nearby, waiting patiently as always. Something in Monica’s fiery little heart snapped the second she felt attention drifting away from her.
With a loud shriek, she charged straight toward Minea, tiny hands ready to start yet another fight. Minea backed away, startled, unsure why the anger appeared so suddenly. Dad turned his head for only a second, but that was enough—Monica was already in full attack mode.
Her cries were sharp, filled with jealousy and frustration. She couldn’t stand the idea of Minea getting milk before her. To Monica, every second Dad spent prepping the bottle felt like a personal betrayal. She swiped at Minea, pushing her with wild, uncontrolled tantrum energy.
Minea let out a soft frightened squeal, shrinking away from the chaos. She never wanted to fight. She only wanted her morning comfort and a calm moment with Dad. But Monica’s jealousy burned hotter with every passing second, echoing loudly through the room.
Dad rushed in, separating them quickly. He lifted Minea to safety first, trying to soothe her trembling little body. Monica screamed even louder at that—jealousy raging like fire. Her face scrunched, lips curled, fists clenched as she stomped on the floor demanding attention.
Dad knelt down, holding out a gentle hand to her. Even through the tantrum, she stepped closer, desperate for reassurance. He spoke softly, calming her bit by bit, reminding her she was loved. Slowly her breathing eased, tantrum melting into whimpers.
When the milk was finally ready, both girls were placed side by side again.
Minea drank quietly.
Monica stayed alert, still pouting—but calmer.
And Dad watched them, hoping tomorrow would bring a gentler morning.
