Chamroeun had just finished playing, his little legs tired and his tiny belly rising and falling with soft breaths. He sat cuddled against Daddy’s chest, warm and comfortable, not wanting to move even an inch. But Daddy needed to wash him—Chamroeun had gotten sticky again after rolling around happily on the floor.
“Chamroeun, stand up, baby,” Daddy said gently, lifting him a little.
But Chamroeun clung tighter.
He curled his toes, tucked his chin, and pressed his whole body against Daddy as if the request was too much for his tiny heart. His eyes widened, sparkling with confusion and worry. He let out a soft whine, shaking his head slowly as if saying, Please… not yet…
Daddy smiled and tried again, placing his hands under Chamroeun’s arms to help him stand. But Chamroeun’s legs trembled, refusing to straighten. He held onto Daddy’s shirt with both hands, pulling it toward his chest like a lifeline.
“Come on, my boy,” Daddy whispered. “Daddy just needs to wash your body.”
But Chamroeun didn’t understand. All he felt was the fear of losing the warmth he was wrapped in. His little fingers tightened even more, clinging with all the strength he had. His breaths turned shaky, and he let out a tiny cry that pierced Daddy’s heart.
Daddy stayed still for a moment, rubbing Chamroeun’s back in slow circles.
“It’s okay, baby… Daddy’s right here. I won’t let you go.”
Chamroeun peeked up, still unsure, still trembling—but Daddy’s voice softened his fear.
Daddy lifted him gently and stood him on his tiny feet. Chamroeun wobbled, leaned into Daddy for balance, and finally stood—just long enough for Daddy to wash him tenderly.
And the whole time, Chamroeun kept staring up at Daddy, making sure he never once went far.
