Ronaldo was gently placed on the soft bed, but to him it felt like sudden betrayal.
The warmth of Mom’s arms vanished in an instant, replaced by space that felt cold and unfair.
His eyes widened, lips trembling before a loud, dramatic cry erupted from his tiny chest.
He flung his arms outward as if reaching across an impossible distance back to safety.
The bed was soft, yet it felt like rejection to his fragile newborn heart.
Tears poured quickly, hot and heavy, streaking down his cheeks in shining lines.
His little body arched in protest, refusing to accept the separation even for a moment.
Ronaldo’s cries filled the room, sharp with anger and aching need for comfort.
Mom stood nearby, watching with a heavy heart, knowing this lesson would not be easy.
Ronaldo kicked the blanket away as if it were the cause of his misery.
He searched wildly for her face through his tears, desperate for familiar reassurance.
Each second on the bed felt like a lifetime to his frightened newborn mind.
His screams slowly cracked into sobs as exhaustion began to replace pure fury.
Tiny fingers curled into fists, trembling with the last of his protest.
Even in anger, his eyes never stopped searching for Mom’s shadow.
Mom finally moved closer, unable to bear the sound of his heartbreak any longer.
The moment her hands touched him, his body stiffened in one final angry shake.
Then suddenly he collapsed into her arms, all fury melting into desperate relief.
His sobs softened into broken hiccups as his breathing slowly began to steady.
Ronaldo clung tightly to her shirt as if afraid the bed might steal her again.
Mom held him close, whispering softly until the storm inside his chest faded.
His eyelids fluttered heavy with leftover tears and tired emotion.
The dramatic anger that once ruled him faded into quiet fragile calm.
The bed was forgotten, the fear dissolved, only safety remained in warm arms.
Ronaldo rested finally, still upset but wrapped once more in the comfort he trusted most.
