In the heart of a dense tropical forest, where sunlight pierced through the leaves like golden spears and the sounds of chirping birds echoed from the treetops, a small troop of monkeys swung freely from branch to branch. Among them was a young mother named Sela. Her fur was a beautiful chestnut brown, and her amber eyes often looked alert and watchful. But lately, something in her demeanor had changed.
At her side clung a tiny, trembling newborn—her own baby. The infant, barely a few weeks old, was small and frail, with soft, pale fur that still looked fluffy and unfinished. He had just started opening his eyes to the world, but what he saw most often was not love—it was rejection.
From the moment he was born, Sela seemed distant. She didn’t groom him the way other mothers did. She didn’t cradle him closely or nuzzle him with warmth. Most devastating of all, she refused to let him nurse. Whenever the tiny baby tried to crawl toward her chest, whimpering weakly for milk, Sela would snarl and push him away.
At first, the troop thought she was just overwhelmed. Motherhood can be difficult, especially for younger females. But it soon became clear: this was not just detachment. Sela despised her baby.
The others in the troop kept their distance. No one wanted to interfere. That was the way of nature. If a mother rejected her baby, others wouldn’t risk angering her to help. It was cruel, but it was how the jungle worked.
One morning, under the thick canopy of trees, Sela grew more agitated than usual. The baby, now more desperate than ever, tried once again to climb onto her belly, crying out in soft, pleading whimpers. He hadn’t eaten in a full day, and his fragile body trembled from weakness.
But Sela didn’t respond with compassion.
She turned with sudden rage, grabbed the baby by the scruff of his neck, and yanked him harshly away. His tiny limbs flailed helplessly as she dragged him across the ground, scraping his soft belly against the rough dirt and twigs.
She threw him aside.
He rolled once, twice, and came to a stop beside a root. The baby cried out—loud, piercing, and heartbreaking. His voice cracked from exhaustion, and his wide eyes searched the surroundings for help, for comfort, for anything.
But there was only silence from the troop.
Sela turned her back to him.
The baby tried to crawl again, shakily, toward the only source of warmth he knew—his mother. But she turned, hissed, and struck him across the face with her paw. It wasn’t a powerful blow by adult standards, but for the tiny infant, it was crushing. He whimpered, dazed, and fell back into the dirt.
He lay there, crying softly now, his cries fading into weak whines that barely stirred the air.
Rain began to fall—not hard, but steady. The forest darkened slightly under the cloudy sky, and the baby, soaked and shivering, looked even smaller now. He curled into himself beside a stone, water dripping from his fur, eyes wide and fearful.
Hours passed. The troop moved deeper into the forest, leaving the baby behind.
He tried to follow.
With shaking legs and heavy eyelids, he dragged himself forward, inch by inch, but his limbs buckled. He collapsed.
He called out—one last desperate scream for his mother—but there was no answer.
The baby lay there for what felt like forever. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and every time he blinked, it was slower, heavier.
In his mind, there was only confusion. Why did she hit me? Why didn’t she love me? All he wanted was her touch, her milk, her warmth. But instead, he had been beaten and left alone.
By nightfall, the forest grew cold. The baby was still alive, but barely. He hadn’t moved in hours. Every now and then, a soft whimper escaped his lips. His stomach rumbled from hunger, and his limbs twitched weakly.
And then—a sound. Footsteps.
He opened his eyes. In the distance, Sela had returned.
For a moment, hope sparked in his tiny heart. Maybe she had changed her mind. Maybe she had come back to love him. Maybe—
But no.
Sela only came to gather some food she had forgotten. She barely glanced at him. When he cried out again, so faintly, she looked at him—not with love—but with disgust.
And then she left again.
The baby’s cries stopped.
He no longer had the strength.
He lay curled in the mud, too weak to move, too cold to shiver. His eyes half-open, staring into nothingness. The jungle around him carried on as if nothing had happened—birds flew, insects buzzed, and the wind rustled the leaves.
But there, under a tree’s roots, was a story of pain, of rejection, of a baby who only wanted love and received cruelty instead.
His heartbeat was still there, faint and slow. But he was now living only in silence, waiting for something—anything—to take away the ache.
Perhaps another monkey might find him. Perhaps not.
But that night, as the stars peered through the breaks in the clouds, the forest bore witness to the tragedy of a baby unwanted. His cries had once filled the air, loud and pure.
Now, there was only quiet.
And the lingering memory of a little soul who cried for love and was left in the dirt.
