Baby Ronaldo sat alone in the quiet room, his tiny body curled inward as fear slowly crept over him. The place where Mom usually stood was empty. At first, he waited calmly, eyes watching the doorway. But as time passed and she didn’t return, his chest tightened. A soft whimper escaped his mouth, trembling with sadness.
Ronaldo looked around again and again, hoping to see her familiar shape. Nothing. His whimper grew into a cry, thin and shaky. Tears filled his wide eyes as panic took over his small heart. He didn’t understand where Mom had gone. All he knew was that she was gone, and the silence felt heavy and scary.
He rocked back and forth, hugging his own arms as if trying to comfort himself. His cries grew louder, filled with longing. Each sound was a call for Mom, begging her to come back. His breathing became uneven, and his body shook with fear. Being alone felt too big, too painful for someone so small.
Ronaldo crawled toward the doorway, stopping every few steps to cry again. He listened carefully for footsteps that never came. His sadness deepened, turning into exhaustion. Slowly, his cries softened into broken sobs. He lay down on the floor, eyes still fixed on the door, refusing to give up hope.
Just as his strength faded, familiar footsteps approached. Ronaldo lifted his head, heart pounding. Mom appeared. In an instant, he screamed once more—not in fear, but relief. She rushed to him, lifting him into her arms. Ronaldo clung tightly, crying hard against her chest. The fear melted away. Mom was back. He was safe. The sadness vanished, replaced by warmth and trust. That moment taught him something powerful—waiting is scary, but Mom always comes back. And in her arms, Ronaldo finally felt whole again.
