The forest was unusually quiet when the newborn baby entered the world, wrapped in fragile breaths and tiny trembling cries. The oldest mother, worn by time and many seasons of survival, looked down at her newborn with tired eyes. Her body was weak, her movements slow, and her heart heavy with a difficult decision she never wanted to face.
The baby sensed something was wrong. From the very first moments, the newborn grew an.gry and c-r-y, kicking tiny legs and clenching small fists in the air. The cries echoed through the trees, loud and desperate, as if the baby already understood that comfort was slipping away. The sound was not just hunger or fear—it was a call for love, warmth, and reassurance.
The oldest mother turned her face aside. She knew she did not have the strength she once had. Years of caring, protecting, and sacrificing had taken their toll. Food was scarce, danger was everywhere, and her body could barely support herself, let alone a fragile newborn. Leaving felt cruel, but staying felt impossible.
As she slowly stepped away, the baby’s cries grew stronger. The newborn reached out instinctively, tiny hands grasping at empty air, refusing to accept abandonment. The anger in the cries mixed with heartbreak, filling the forest with raw emotion. Even the wind seemed to pause, listening to the painful moment unfold.
The mother stopped one last time and looked back. In that silent glance lived regret, love, and sorrow. Though she walked away, her heart did not. The newborn continued to cry, not knowing why warmth had vanished so suddenly.
This moment reminds us how fragile life can be, and how choices made in weakness can leave deep echoes. The newborn’s cry was not just anger—it was a plea to be seen, to be held, and to be loved, even when love feels too heavy to carry.
