The sun had started to set behind the trees, casting long golden shadows across the backyard. Tiny A Tong, just a few weeks old, sat trembling on the wooden bench near the old swing. His small fingers gripped the edge tightly as he looked around with wide, tear-filled eyes.
“Mommy…?” his soft voice squeaked, barely louder than the wind.
No answer came.
He shuffled nervously, his tail curled tightly around himself. The last time he saw his mommy, she was walking toward the house — just for a moment, just to get something. But too much time had passed, and now the world felt too big… too silent.
A Tong began to cry.
Not loud at first, but sharp and heartbreaking — the kind of cry that came from fear, confusion, and the deep ache of feeling forgotten.
“EEHHH… EHHH… Mmmmaaa…”
His tiny voice echoed between the trees.
He climbed down and wandered toward the path, peeking behind flower pots, looking under the table, calling out again and again. But the yard was empty. The sun dipped lower, and the sky turned soft pink.
And then — footsteps.
A shadow appeared by the door.
“A Tong?” a voice called gently.
He froze. His ears perked up. That voice…
Mommy!
He dashed across the grass, arms stretched, crying even louder — but this time with joy. His mommy knelt down just in time to catch him as he leapt into her arms, clinging tightly, his cries now muffled into her chest.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” she whispered, holding him close.
For A Tong, the fear melted away. He didn’t need anything else in the world.
Just Mommy’s arms… and the warm safety of being loved again. 🐵❤️
