Baby Jasmine’s cry shattered the quiet house the moment the door closed. She was tiny, dramatic, and full of feelings too big for her body. Sitting alone, she threw her head back and screamed for her mom to come home. The sound was loud, urgent, and aching, echoing through every corner. To Jasmine, silence meant danger, and waiting felt endless.
Her arms flailed wildly as tears streamed down her cheeks. She kicked the floor, spun around, and cried louder, believing her voice could guide mom back faster. Caregivers hovered nearby, worried, offering comfort and toys, but Jasmine rejected everything. No hug felt right. No hand felt safe. Only mom could fix this ache.
Time moved slowly. Jasmine’s screams cracked into sobs, then rose again with renewed strength. Her small chest heaved, breath uneven, eyes searching the doorway again and again. She curled forward, hugging herself, trembling from fear more than anger. Being without mom made the world feel too large.
Finally, familiar footsteps sounded outside. Jasmine froze, then screamed with all her remaining energy. When the door opened and mom appeared, Jasmine rushed forward, crying harder before collapsing into waiting arms. Held close, her cries softened, her body relaxed, and her breathing slowed. Home had returned.
Later, milk warmed her belly and peace filled her eyes. Jasmine clung quietly, exhausted from loving so fiercely. The house felt safe again, glowing with calm and routine. Her dramatic cries were never bad behavior. They were devotion, fear, and trust combined. In mom’s arms, Jasmine slept, certain she would never be lost again.
Even in dreams, she listened for footsteps, but none were needed anymore, because love stayed. Morning would bring laughter, play, gentle feeding, and another day of growing strong together, where mom remained close, patient, and always ready to return home.
