Atong sat on the floor, small hands shaking, eyes searching every corner for the one person he needed most. The moment Mom stepped away, his face twisted in panic, and the storm exploded. A sharp, dramatic cry burst from his chest, loud enough to fill the whole room with fear and frustration. He didn’t want toys. He didn’t want comfort from anyone else. He wanted Mom.
He threw his tiny body backward, rolling and kicking in a full tantrum. His cries rose higher and higher, cracking with desperation. Each scream carried one message only—pick me up. His fists pounded the floor as tears streamed endlessly down his cheeks. Atong’s chest heaved as if the pain inside him was too big for his small body to hold.
Every sound made him look up quickly, hoping it was her footsteps. When it wasn’t, his cries turned angrier. He stretched his arms upward, fingers opening and closing, begging the empty air. His voice grew hoarse, but he refused to stop. Giving up meant accepting she might not come, and Atong wasn’t ready for that fear.
Finally, exhaustion began to steal his strength. The tantrum slowed into broken sobs. His body trembled as he curled forward, still crying, still waiting. And then—Mom appeared. Atong froze, eyes wide, breath caught. In one desperate motion, he crawled toward her, letting out one final cry before collapsing into her arms.
Mom lifted him immediately, holding him close against her chest. Atong clung tightly, sobbing softly as his heartbeat slowed. The drama faded, the fear disappeared, and all that remained was relief. He wasn’t ignored. He wasn’t forgotten. He was exactly where he belonged—in Mom’s arms.
