Atong was placed on the cold wooden table and rage burst from his tiny chest instantly.
His cry exploded sharp and desperate, echoing off the walls like a wounded siren.
He kicked with all his strength, furious that warm arms had suddenly disappeared.
The world felt too big, too high, too far from the safety he trusted.
Tears streamed endlessly down his face, mixing fear and anger into burning heartbreak.
Mom stood close, steady and calm, watching without rushing to rescue him immediately.
Atong slammed his little hands on the table, demanding to be lifted back again.
His body shook with outrage as his scream cracked into painful trembling sobs.
Each breath came fast and broken, like he was fighting the whole world alone.
Mom spoke softly, her voice slow and gentle, trying to teach patience through distance.
Atong didn’t understand lessons, only the sudden loss of comfort burned inside him.
Painful minutes passed like hours while his anger slowly drained into aching exhaustion.
His cries weakened into whimpers, tiny fists unclenching as strength slipped from his limbs.
The table no longer felt like an enemy, only a place where tears had fallen.
Mom waited one last heartbeat, ensuring the storm truly faded before stepping closer.
Then warm hands lifted him, and relief crashed over his body like sudden rain.
Atong clung desperately to her shirt, still sobbing but no longer screaming in fury.
His breathing slowed, matching her steady rhythm as safety wrapped around him again.
Anger melted into tired hiccups, the battle ending inside his trembling chest.
