Every time the milk bottle appeared, baby Luna lost control.
It wasn’t just hunger—it was desperation. The moment her tiny eyes spotted the bottle in Dad’s hand, her voice would erupt into sharp, urgent cries. Her little fingers would reach out, her body shaking with excitement, frustration, and impatience all at once.
Dad sighed gently, kneeling beside her, trying his best to calm her tiny storm.
“Luna, baby, it’s coming… just a second,” he whispered, holding the warm bottle close but not yet giving it. He wanted to test the temperature, make sure it was safe—just right for his precious girl. But Luna couldn’t understand.
To her, milk meant love. Comfort. Safety.
And she needed it now.
Her screeches grew louder, her tiny feet stamping the floor, arms swinging for the bottle. Dad gently touched her head, tried rubbing her back, humming softly like he always did.
But Luna was too overwhelmed.
Tears streamed down her little face as if the wait was forever. She didn’t know Dad was doing his best. She only knew she could see her favorite thing in the world—but couldn’t reach it.
Finally, the bottle was ready.
“Here you go, sweetheart.”
Luna snatched it quickly, holding it with both trembling hands. Her cries stopped instantly. The first drop soothed everything. Her body relaxed. Her wide, teary eyes slowly closed in relief as she drank deeply, pressed against Dad’s chest.
Dad kissed her forehead softly and chuckled.
“You’re always a little drama queen, aren’t you?”
But inside, he felt proud. Because no matter how many times Luna cried, he’d always be there—doing whatever it took to calm her world.
