The sun was dipping low, casting golden light over the shallow river. Daddy had taken little Bonto to the riverbank that evening to gather snails for dinner. He told him, “Stay close, baby. Don’t go near the water.”
But Bonto was curious—tiny feet wandering just a few steps too far.
While Daddy bent over a rock, digging through the mud for snails, Bonto reached out to grab a floating leaf. His tiny hand stretched, his foot slipped—and suddenly, splash!
The cold river swallowed him.
Bonto let out a panicked scream as the current dragged him a few feet. The water wasn’t deep, but he was so small, so light. His arms flailed. His soft cries turned desperate.
“Daaaaddy!!”
Daddy’s heart stopped. He turned and saw his baby drifting—eyes wide with fear, clinging to a half-submerged branch. “Bonto!”
Without a second thought, Daddy dropped the bucket and dove into the river, water splashing as he rushed to scoop Bonto into his arms. The baby clung to his chest, coughing, soaked, shivering.
Daddy held him tightly, tears mixing with the river water. “I’m so sorry. I was right here. I should’ve never looked away.”
Bonto whimpered, pressing his face into Daddy’s neck, seeking warmth, safety, forgiveness. His tiny body still shook, but he was safe now. Held. Protected.
Back on the riverbank, Daddy wrapped Bonto in his shirt, forgetting about the snails. Dinner could wait.
His baby almost slipped away—because he got distracted.
