In a small, quiet room, the silence was broken by a sound no one ever wants to hear — the heartbreaking cry of a baby. Baby Yuri, tiny and fragile, lay wrapped in a worn blanket, his face scrunched in pain, tears streaming down his cheeks. His tiny fists were balled tightly, shaking near his ears as he cried out with all the strength his little body could gather. The hunger in his belly was sharp and unforgiving, and he didn’t understand why the pain wouldn’t stop.
His sobs came fast, loud, and desperate — not soft whimpers, but the kind of deep, aching cries that come from real need. His mouth opened wide in a silent scream before the next breath tore from his lungs in another shuddering wail. His face turned red, then darker, the strain of his crying too much for his young body.
Yuri kicked his legs weakly, trying to fight off the aching emptiness inside him. His cries weren’t for attention or comfort — they were pure, instinctive calls for survival. He was hungry, and he didn’t know why no one was answering. The pain was too big, too cruel for someone so small.
The tears kept falling, mixing with spit and soft gasps, his body trembling with exhaustion. His cries slowed only for moments as he caught his breath, only to return stronger, sharper, more urgent. It was the sound of innocence in distress — a helpless baby pleading with the world to be seen, to be fed, to be held.
Anyone who heard it would feel their heart twist. Because Baby Yuri wasn’t just crying — he was breaking, one sob at a time.
