Two books broke my heart when I was teeny. The first was Black Beauty, which upset me so much I couldn’t finish it (and therefore missed the happy ending). The other was Beatrix Potter’s Pigling Bland. The idea that he had to leave his mother and never see her again was unbearable to me.
No one thought to take me to see Bambi, thank goodness. That would have finished me off. I remember watching it as an adult with Eldest and crying my eyes out. I explained to her in a choked voice that his mother had died and that now he would live with his father. Eldest was far more accepting of this than I was.