Tiny FIFa was curled up in her soft straw nest, her eyes blinking rapidly as her little stomach rumbled with hunger. The morning sun peeked through the trees, but all she could think about was milk. Her tiny fingers trembled, and with a sudden burst of energy, she let out a sharp, seizure-like cry—high-pitched and desperate.
Her cry echoed through the shelter, sending a wave of urgency to everyone nearby. Her tiny body shook as she kicked her legs, writhing in frustration. She didn’t understand why mom wasn’t there yet with her milk. To her, those few minutes felt like forever.
She curled tighter into herself, crying harder, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her cries turned to whimpers, and her lips quivered as little sobs escaped. Every small movement seemed to cost her more energy, and her head flopped to the side. Her eyes searched frantically, hoping mom would appear with that warm bottle she needed so badly.
Then, just in time, mom arrived.
Holding the bottle close, mom scooped little FIFa gently into her arms. FIFa instantly reached out, latching onto her with all the strength she had left. The moment the bottle touched her lips, her body calmed. Her cries stopped. Her tiny hands gripped the bottle as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
Milk flowed into her mouth, and her eyes closed slowly with comfort. Mom cradled her close, stroking her little back, whispering soft sounds of love and reassurance.
The storm inside FIFa faded. Her breaths steadied. Her tiny belly filled, and peace returned to her tiny heart. With one last soft sigh, she rested quietly in her mom’s embrace, safe and warm—no longer hungry, no longer crying, just deeply loved.
