The baby sat alone beneath the tree, his tiny body curled inward as if trying to disappear. His eyes were red and swollen from crying too much, and his chest moved in small, uneven breaths. He looked so small against the wide forest, so fragile it felt unfair.
He did not understand why everything hurt.
His stomach was empty. His body was tired. But the worst pain was inside his heart. He kept looking up, searching the branches again and again, hoping to see the face he needed most.
“Ma… ma…”
His mouth opened wide as he called, his voice breaking. The sound came out thin and weak, like it had already cried too many times. Each call carried hope, and each moment of silence after it felt like something inside him cracked a little more.
His mother was gone.
Not just away. Gone in the way babies don’t understand but feel deeply. Gone in the way that leaves warmth missing from the air.
Earlier, he had been safe. He remembered clinging to her fur, feeling her heartbeat, listening to her breathing. Then there was fear, noise, confusion—and suddenly, he was alone.
The baby cried harder.
Tears rolled down his cheeks, soaking his fur. His small hands clenched and unclenched as if trying to hold onto a memory. His body shook with sobs that came from deep inside, sobs too big for such a tiny chest.
The forest did not answer.
Birds flew overhead. Leaves rustled. Life continued, uncaring. The baby screamed again, anger mixing with fear now. Why wasn’t she coming? Why wasn’t anyone coming?
His throat burned. His voice grew hoarse. Still, he cried.
Eventually, his strength began to fade. The cries turned into soft whimpers. His mouth stayed open, gasping for air between sobs. He leaned against the tree trunk, too weak to stand properly anymore.
Flies buzzed near his face. He swatted them away weakly, then gave up. His head drooped forward. His eyes blinked slowly, heavy with exhaustion.
He was so tired.
Cold crept into his small body as the sun shifted. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to feel warm. He rocked gently, copying the movement his mother used when she comforted him.
But it wasn’t the same.
His cries became quiet now—small, broken sounds that barely carried. Still, he whispered for her, as if afraid to stop.
“Ma…”
His voice cracked completely.
A deep sadness settled over him. His body slumped further. For a moment, it looked like he might give up, like the crying had taken everything he had left.
Then a shadow moved nearby.
The baby lifted his head quickly, hope flashing in his tired eyes. He cried again, louder than before, forcing his body to respond.
An adult monkey appeared slowly, cautiously. She was not his mother. She smelled different. She moved differently.
The baby cried harder, confused and desperate. He reached out, his tiny hands shaking, still calling for the one who would never answer.
The adult hesitated, heart heavy as she watched his pain. Then she stepped closer and gently touched his back.
The baby broke completely.
He sobbed loudly, pressing himself into her, his mouth open in raw grief. His small body shook violently as all the fear, hunger, and loneliness poured out.
She held him.
Not replacing his mother. Not fixing the pain. Just holding him so he would not be alone with it.
The baby continued to cry, but now there was warmth beneath him. A heartbeat. A presence.
His heart was broken.
But it was still beating.
And in that fragile space between loss and survival, the baby clung to life—one soft breath, one tear, one moment of comfort at a time. 💔🐒
