That morning in the Angkor Wat forest felt different from the very beginning.
The ancient trees stood tall and quiet, their roots twisting through the earth like veins of history. Soft sunlight filtered through the leaves, and the air carried the smell of damp soil and wild flowers. It was the kind of place where emotions surface easily — where truth has no place to hide.
Libby stood there holding Baby Rainbow, but her body was stiff, unsure. She wanted to do the right thing, but fear was written all over her face. Baby Rainbow was small, fragile, and restless, letting out tiny cries that echoed softly through the forest. Libby kept looking around, as if hoping someone else would take over.
She didn’t know how to care for a baby yet.
And that’s when Katrina stepped forward.
Katrina didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t criticize. She simply watched — quietly, carefully — the way someone does when they truly understand that learning takes time. Her eyes softened as she saw Libby’s struggle, and she knew this moment mattered.
“Katrina,” Libby whispered, her voice shaking, “I’m scared I’ll do something wrong.”
Katrina smiled gently, the kind of smile that makes you feel safe without saying a word. She moved closer and knelt beside Libby, lowering herself so they were at the same level.
“You don’t need to be perfect,” Katrina said calmly. “You just need to be present.”
Baby Rainbow cried again, louder this time. The sound pierced the quiet forest. Libby froze.
Katrina reached out slowly and guided Libby’s arms. “Support the head,” she said softly. “Feel her breathing. She’s telling you what she needs.”
Libby took a deep breath and followed Katrina’s guidance. Her hands trembled, but she didn’t pull away. For the first time, she really looked at Baby Rainbow — not as a responsibility, but as a life depending on her.
Something changed in that moment.
Baby Rainbow felt the difference immediately. Her crying softened. Her tiny fingers curled around Libby’s thumb, holding on with surprising strength. The baby’s body relaxed, resting against Libby’s chest as if she finally felt understood.
Tears welled up in Libby’s eyes.
“I didn’t think I could do this,” she said quietly.
Katrina placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Everyone needs to learn sometime,” she replied. “Caring isn’t something you’re born knowing. It’s something your heart learns when it opens.”
The forest seemed to pause with them. Even the birds grew quiet, as if giving space to the lesson unfolding beneath the ancient trees.
Libby gently rocked Baby Rainbow, mimicking Katrina’s movements. Each motion became more confident, more natural. The fear that once controlled her hands slowly faded, replaced by tenderness.
Baby Rainbow looked up at Libby with wide, trusting eyes.
In that gaze was everything — innocence, need, hope.
Libby smiled through her tears. “I’m here,” she whispered to the baby. “I won’t leave you.”
Katrina watched silently, knowing her lesson had landed. She hadn’t taught Libby with words alone — she had taught her through patience, presence, and compassion.
“This,” Katrina said softly, “is how love grows.”
As time passed, Libby no longer asked questions with panic in her voice. She adjusted the baby’s blanket, wiped her tiny cheek, and hummed a quiet tune. The transformation was undeniable.
Baby Rainbow had found comfort.
And Libby had found courage.
When they finally stood to leave, Libby held Baby Rainbow close, no longer unsure, no longer afraid. Katrina walked beside her, a calm strength at her side.
That day in the Angkor Wat forest wasn’t just about learning how to care for a baby.
It was about learning how to care at all.
Sometimes, we all need someone like Katrina — someone who understands that love is taught gently, and that every heart deserves the chance to learn.
And Baby Rainbow? She slept peacefully, unaware that she had just changed two lives forever.
