She was just a few days old—a tiny, fragile newborn, eyes barely open, body trembling with weakness. Her mother was gone, lost to circumstances no one could explain. All that remained now was a soft blanket, a warm bottle… and a pair of kind human hands trying to help her survive.
They named her Lina, a name as gentle as her spirit.
But Lina didn’t understand what was happening. She didn’t recognize the soft cloth or the strange scent. She didn’t know these arms, this quiet house, or the new voice whispering sweet things to her.
All she wanted… was her real mother.
When the caretaker brought the bottle of warm milk to her lips, Lina squeaked—a small, confused cry. She sniffed it, nuzzled it briefly, but instead of drinking, she began to cry. Loud, sharp, heartbreaking sobs.
“Eeeeh! Eeeeeh!”
She wasn’t rejecting the milk—she was rejecting the change.
The unfamiliar.
The sorrow of losing the only world she ever knew.
The caretaker’s eyes filled with tears too. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here now.”
She gently rocked Lina, bringing the bottle back slowly, offering comfort before nourishment. With time, Lina opened her mouth—just a little—and took a hesitant sip.
Then another.
And another.
Her cries softened but didn’t stop. She drank between sobs, grieving and surviving at once. Wrapped in soft warmth, she was beginning a new life… and learning, slowly, that love can still grow, even after loss.
She didn’t know it yet, but she was safe.
She was wanted.
And from this moment forward, she’d never be alone again.
