Selena woke up with a sharp ache in her belly, the kind that makes the whole world feel wrong. Her eyes opened wide, round and shiny, and before she could even cry, she smelled it—warm milk mixed with banana. In that second, hunger took control of her tiny body.
The moment Selena saw the bottle in mom’s hand, she forgot everything else. No anger. No tiredness. Only need. She pushed herself up clumsily, legs shaky but determined, and started running. Her steps were fast but uneven, little feet slapping the floor as if time itself was chasing her.
She made small desperate sounds, not full cries, just breathy whines coming from deep inside her chest. Her arms stretched forward again and again, fingers opening and closing, trying to catch the bottle before it disappeared. Her mouth was already open, tongue moving, ready.
Mom was surprised by how fast she came. “Wait, Selena,” she said softly, but Selena couldn’t wait. Hunger made her brave. Hunger made her strong. She stumbled once, almost falling, but she caught herself with both hands and pushed forward again, eyes locked on her prize.
Drool dripped from her lips as she reached the table. She stood on her toes, bouncing slightly, frustration and craving mixing together. Her chest heaved. Her whole body shook with effort. This wasn’t greed. This was survival in a tiny form.
Finally, mom knelt and brought the bottle down. Selena grabbed it with both hands instantly, pulling it close like it might be taken away. The nipple touched her mouth, and she latched on hard, drinking fast, greedily, desperately.
Her breathing slowed after a few sips. Her eyes softened. Her shoulders dropped. The wild hunger faded into comfort. She leaned against mom’s hand, still holding the bottle tightly, afraid to lose it.
Mom stroked her head gently. Selena didn’t look up. She just drank, and drank, and drank—safe at last.
In that short run, Selena wasn’t just chasing milk. She was chasing reassurance, warmth, and the promise that she would not be hungry anymore.
