Polino was a small boy with big eyes and an even bigger love for milk. Of all the things in his little world—his wooden toys, his favorite blanket, the sunbeam that slid across the living room carpet each afternoon—nothing mattered quite as much as that cold, creamy drink.
Unfortunately for him, it seemed that today was destined to be one long, tragic story of wanting milk and not getting any.
The morning began innocently enough. Polino shuffled into the kitchen, hair a mess and pajamas slightly twisted from sleep. He rubbed his eyes and spotted his mother near the counter, busy preparing breakfast. He noticed the milk carton sitting right there, practically glowing with promise.
His heart leaped.
Today will be perfect, he thought.
“Mom,” he said, stretching the word into a sweet plea. “Can I have some milk?”
His mother, without turning from the stove, answered, “Not right now, Polino. Breakfast first.”
The words hit Polino like a cold wind. No milk? No milk? It felt like the universe had tilted sideways. But he tried to be brave. He sat at the table, poked at his toast, and waited. Maybe after breakfast, he thought. Maybe she’ll change her mind.
But breakfast ended, and still she said, “Not yet, Polino. I need to finish something.”
Polino watched in disbelief as she placed the milk back into the refrigerator. The door closed with a soft thunk—a quiet little heartbreak.
The rest of the morning was filled with tiny tragedies. When Polino went to show his mom his drawing, she was on a phone call. When he tried to tug her sleeve, she gently brushed him aside. When he pointed toward the fridge, she shook her head: “Later, sweetheart.”
Always later.
Polino wondered if “later” was a real time or just a parent word that meant “never but in a nice voice.”
Trying a new strategy, he approached her with exaggerated politeness. “Mom,” he said formally, “may I please have some milk now?”
She gave him a tired smile. “You’ve already had juice today. Let’s wait until lunch.”
Lunch! That was hours away. Hours without a single sip.
Poor Polino dragged himself to his room like a soldier returning from battle. He sat dramatically on the floor, staring at nothing, imagining a world where milk flowed like rivers and no mother ever said the dreadful words not yet.
After a while, he decided action was needed. Dramatic action. Epic action. He marched to the kitchen again, his very small feet making very serious sounds on the tile.
“Mom,” he declared, “I am extremely thirsty.”
She laughed lightly. “Would you like some water?”
Polino gasped. Water?! Water was the opposite of milk. Water was the enemy of joy. But he tried not to cry; heroes don’t cry. Instead, he accepted the water with the expression of someone who has given up all hope.
He stared at the glass. He sipped it. It tasted like disappointment.
The afternoon stretched on. Polino played with his toys, wandered through the apartment, even looked out the window as though the milk might magically appear on the horizon. Anything could happen, after all. Daily life was full of surprises—mostly unpleasant, but surprises nonetheless.
At last, when the clock ticked toward late afternoon, Polino decided to make one final attempt. He didn’t beg this time. He didn’t pout. He didn’t whine.
He simply walked up to his mom, placed his tiny hands gently on her knees, and whispered: “Mom… I just miss milk.”
That was the moment she finally looked at him. Really looked at him. His big, hopeful eyes. His small, patient posture. The sincerity of a boy who had endured an entire day of denial with the determination of a hero.
“Oh, Polino,” she sighed softly. “You’ve been so patient today.”
Her hand ruffled his hair. She stood, walked to the refrigerator, and finally—finally—opened the door.
Polino held his breath.
She reached inside.
She brought out the milk.
A beam of light seemed to descend from the heavens. Choirs of angels probably sang. The world made sense again.
She poured the milk into his favorite blue cup and handed it to him.
“There you go, sweetheart.”
Polino seized the cup like a treasure. He took one long, glorious sip. Cold. Creamy. Perfect.
At last.
He looked up at his mother with total forgiveness and said, “Thank you.”
And she smiled, kissed the top of his head, and replied, “You earned it.”
Polino nodded. Yes. He certainly had.
