Chichi whimpered beside the mat, clutching her bottle with both hands. Hunger made her shaky, and fear made her quiet. She had waited patiently, watching the door, believing comfort would arrive. Instead, Pavpav burst in, eyes sharp with jealousy. In a blink he snatched the bottle, the plastic clattering as milk sloshed away. Chichi gasped, reaching out, confusion flooding her face.
Pavpav slapped her arm once, quick and careless, then turned away. The sound felt louder than it was. Chichi froze, stunned, tears gathering fast. She didn’t understand games or rivalry. She only knew the bottle was gone. Her cry broke loose, thin at first, then rising, calling for help.
Caregivers rushed over, voices calm but firm. Pavpav was guided aside, his anger named, his hands stilled. Chichi was lifted gently, pressed to a warm chest. She sobbed hard, shaking, pointing toward the bottle, telling the story the only way she could.
The bottle returned, cleaned and warm. Chichi hesitated, afraid it would vanish again. A soothing hum steadied her breathing. When the nipple touched her lips, she latched on, drinking with urgent relief. Her shoulders softened. The world slowed.
Nearby, Pavpav watched, chastened. He was given space, then a turn to drink later, learning boundaries without shame. A quiet talk followed, about waiting, sharing, and gentle hands.
When Chichi finished, she sighed and rested her head against a steady arm. Her tears dried. Safety wrapped around her again. The room settled into peace, lessons learned softly. In that moment, care spoke louder than conflict, proving that protection, patience, and kindness can mend small hearts after sudden trouble.
Tomorrow, trust will grow as routines return, bottles are shared fairly, tempers cool, and guidance remains constant, reminding everyone that gentle rules protect friendships and keep little families safe together always nearby.
