From the moment morning light touched the room, tiny Ronaldo crawled toward the front door with trembling determination. Mom had left for the market early, and the quiet house felt too big, too empty, and too unfamiliar without her warm presence. He pressed his small body against the doorway, as if the last place he saw her would somehow bring her back faster.
His cries began softly at first—short, confused whimpers that echoed through the empty room. But as minutes stretched into hours, those quiet calls grew louder, sharper, filled with fear and longing. Ronaldo placed both hands on the wooden door, shaking it gently as if begging it to open on its own.
Every sound from outside made him freeze. A rustle. A footstep. A distant voice. Each one made his eyes widen with desperate hope. But each time the noise faded, leaving him disappointed and more heartbroken than before. Tears dripped onto the floor beneath him, forming tiny wet circles around his trembling feet.
He lowered himself to the ground, curling beside the door as though staying close would keep him connected to Mom. The loneliness was overwhelming. He buried his face into his arms, crying so hard his small body shook with each breath. No toy, no blanket, no soothing touch could calm him. Only Mom.
Time passed slowly. His cries eventually softened from exhaustion, turning into weak, broken sobs. Still, Ronaldo refused to move. Even when hunger twisted in his belly, even when his eyes drooped from lack of sleep, he stayed right where she left him.
Then—footsteps approached.
Ronaldo’s head snapped up. His eyes widened, breath catching in his chest. The door opened.
And the moment Mom stepped inside, all his fear burst into relieved cries as he crawled straight into her waiting arms.
