Marry screamed loudly, the sound sharp and demanding, echoing across the yard. She was spoiled, everyone knew it, but today her fear felt real. The moment mom stepped away, Marry panicked. Her tiny feet moved fast, faster than anyone expected, as she ran toward her mother calling out with all her strength.
“Mom! Mom!” her cries seemed to shout, though only broken sounds came out.
Her arms stretched forward, fingers opening and closing, desperate to be lifted. Tears streamed down her cheeks while her chest heaved. Marry wasn’t hurt or hungry. She simply couldn’t stand being apart. For her, distance felt like abandonment.
Mom turned quickly, startled by the urgency. She saw Marry running, stumbling slightly, nearly falling in her rush. Guilt struck instantly. She knelt down and opened her arms wide. Marry didn’t slow. She crashed into mom’s chest, clinging tightly, sobbing as if she had been lost for hours.
Mom held her firmly, rubbing her back, whispering calm words. Marry screamed once more, then buried her face against mom’s shoulder. The crying faded into shaky breaths. Her body relaxed little by little, comforted by familiar warmth and smell.
People nearby shook their heads, smiling softly. “So spoiled,” they said. But mom knew better. Spoiled didn’t mean heartless. It meant Marry loved deeply and felt things strongly.
Mom stayed seated, not rushing away again. She rocked gently, letting Marry calm completely. The little one sniffed, wiped her wet face against mom’s shirt, and finally looked up. Her eyes searched mom’s face, checking she was still there.
Satisfied, Marry rested quietly, holding a finger tightly. The screaming was over. The fear was gone.
That day, Marry learned nothing new. But mom did. Sometimes, running fast and crying loud is simply a child saying, “Please don’t leave me.” And listening matters.
