The river was calm that morning, reflecting the tall trees like a quiet mirror. A mother monkey sat on a low branch near the water, holding her child close to her chest. The baby was restless, twisting and pulling, eager to explore everything around him. His small hands reached for leaves, light, and movement, while his feet kicked with impatient energy.
The mother tried to steady him. She was tired. The night before had been long, and hunger weighed on her body. She shifted her grip, just for a moment, trying to adjust him more comfortably on her arm.
That moment changed everything.
The baby slipped.
His tiny body slid from her grasp and fell straight into the river below with a sharp splash.
For half a second, the world stopped.
Then the baby screamed.
It was not a soft cry. It was an angry, shocked, frightened scream that tore through the air. His mouth opened wide as water splashed around him. His arms flailed wildly, and his cries were filled with rage and fear, as if he could not believe what had just happened.
The mother’s heart exploded with panic.
She shrieked loudly and leapt from the branch without thinking. Her body hit the water hard, sending waves in every direction. She grabbed her baby immediately, pulling him up against her chest as he continued to cry, louder and angrier than before.
The baby coughed and screamed, his face red, his body shaking. He beat his tiny fists against his mother’s chest, furious and terrified, as if blaming her for the sudden cold and fear.
The mother held him tightly.
“I’m here, I’m here,” her body seemed to say as she wrapped her arms around him. She climbed quickly back to the riverbank, dripping wet, her fur heavy with water. She sat down and pulled the baby close, pressing him into her warmth.
But the baby was still angry.
He cried with all his strength, his voice hoarse and sharp. His mouth opened wide again and again as he screamed, as if releasing all the fear trapped inside him. He kicked and twisted, refusing to calm down.
The mother gently touched his head, his back, his shaking arms. She licked the water from his face and fur, cleaning him carefully. Her eyes were full of worry and guilt. She had made a mistake, and she knew it.
Other monkeys gathered nearby, watching silently. No one blamed her. Accidents happened, especially with curious, restless babies. Still, the mother lowered her head, her body tense with regret.
Slowly, very slowly, the baby’s cries began to change. They were still loud, but less sharp. His anger softened into exhaustion. His body relaxed just a little as the warmth of his mother’s chest surrounded him.
He sniffed, hiccupped, and cried again—this time softer.
The mother rocked him gently, back and forth, back and forth. She stayed still, refusing to move away from the water’s edge, as if guarding him from any danger that might return.
At last, the baby rested his head against her. His mouth stayed slightly open, breathing fast but steady. One tiny hand clutched her fur tightly, refusing to let go.
The river returned to calm.
The mother did not look away from her child. She held him closer than before, her arms firm and protective. She would not let that mistake happen again.
And the baby, though angry and frightened, was safe—held tightly in the arms that loved him most.
