Baby A Tong sat on the wooden table, his tiny body trembling with frustration and sadness. His little hands pressed against the surface as he leaned forward, searching the room with worried eyes. The moment he realized Mom wasn’t nearby, a soft, heartbreaking whimper slipped from his lips.
At first, he tried to stay brave. He looked toward the doorway, hoping she would appear. But as the seconds passed and the silence grew heavier, A Tong’s face tightened with anger. His tiny mouth pulled into a pout, and soon the whimpers grew louder, sharper, filled with confusion and hurt. He didn’t understand why she wasn’t picking him up.
He shuffled back and forth on the table, restless and upset. Every small sound made him jerk his head up, expecting Mom’s voice. But when it wasn’t her, his little chest tightened again. He slapped the table with one tiny hand, letting out an angry cry that echoed through the room. He wasn’t just sad—he felt abandoned, even if only for a moment.
A Tong leaned forward, stretching his arms toward the edge as if trying to move closer to anywhere Mom could be. His whimpers turned shaky, filled with desperation. The table felt too big, too empty, without the warmth of his mom holding him close. Tears began gathering in the corners of his eyes, making his little face even more pitiful.
Just when he was about to cry harder, Mom returned. A Tong froze, staring at her with a mix of anger and relief. Then he rushed toward her, letting out one last sharp whimper before collapsing into her arms. Mom hugged him tightly, whispering soft comforts. His trembling slowly faded.
Pressed safely against Mom’s chest, A Tong finally calmed, knowing she wasn’t gone—she was right here with him.
