Title: A Cry Too Loud – The Story of a Tired Mom and Her Lonely Baby
It was a warm, humid morning in a small rural village, where the sun rose slowly behind the trees and the rooster’s crow signaled the start of the day. Inside a tiny wooden house on the edge of the village, a baby’s cries shattered the silence of dawn.
His name was Lilo, a baby monkey barely a few months old. Lilo had big round eyes, soft golden-brown fur, and tiny fingers that curled into fists every time he cried. And he cried a lot. Not just soft, whimpering cries—he cried with his whole little body, loud and long, as if the world owed him comfort he wasn’t receiving.
His mother, Sari, sat in the corner of the hut, her arms crossed, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. She hadn’t slept well in days. Her mind was spinning with frustration, guilt, and anger—emotions she couldn’t understand, much less control. She loved Lilo, but today she felt something darker creeping inside her: resentment.
“Why can’t you just stop?” she muttered, her voice barely audible over Lilo’s screaming. “I feed you. I hold you. I try. And still, it’s never enough for you.”
The cries grew louder, echoing off the bamboo walls. Sari got up quickly, paced the floor, and looked out the window at the morning light. She had things to do—food to find, shelter to repair—but every time she tried to move, Lilo’s wails pulled her back like chains.
She picked him up again, rocking him in her tired arms.
“Shhh… please, Lilo, just a few minutes of quiet. Just breathe…”
But Lilo only cried harder, arching his back, his tiny limbs flailing. Sari’s patience, frayed like a rope too tightly pulled, finally snapped.
“That’s it!” she snapped, setting him gently—yet firmly—on the soft blanket in the corner. “Cry if you want. I can’t do this anymore.”
She turned and walked out the door.
Alone
Lilo’s cries echoed even louder now, but Sari didn’t turn back. She walked into the trees, needing space, needing air. Tears welled up in her eyes as she made her way to a quiet spot near the stream. She sat on a rock and let herself cry too—not out of laziness or stubbornness like Lilo’s cries may have seemed—but from pure overwhelm.
“Am I a bad mother?” she whispered.
She had tried everything. Lilo refused to be comforted. He didn’t want to sleep alone. He didn’t want to be held either. He didn’t seem to want anything, or maybe he wanted everything—all at once. And Sari had run out of answers. She was angry, not at Lilo exactly, but at how powerless she felt. No one had taught her how to handle this. No one had told her that love could hurt this much.
Back in the hut, Lilo’s cries began to change.
Without his mother’s arms or presence, his sobs became confused. He wasn’t angry anymore—he was scared. The warmth was gone. The scent of his mother’s fur, the beating of her heart that always calmed him, was absent. And that emptiness frightened him more than anything.
He cried until his throat was hoarse, then let out small hiccuping sobs as his eyes darted toward the door. His little body curled up, seeking comfort that wasn’t there.
Lilo didn’t know what he had done wrong. He only knew that something he needed wasn’t coming. And so, in his own way, he waited and wept.
Meanwhile, Sari sat under the trees.
A bird chirped above her. The stream bubbled softly. For a few moments, she tried to listen to nature instead of Lilo’s cries, which still rang in her ears like an echo she couldn’t escape.
Her mind wandered back to her own childhood. She remembered her own mother, strong and quiet, who had raised her and her siblings without complaint. Or so it had seemed. But now, as a mother herself, Sari wondered—had her mother ever wanted to run away, too? Had she ever left the hut just to breathe?
And then came the guilt again. The heavy shame of leaving her baby. Of choosing silence over his need.
“But what about my need?” she whispered. “Does anyone see me? Care for me?”
A Neighbor Hears the Cry
Bun thoeun, [6/25/2025 8:09 AM]
Back in the village, a nearby monkey named Rani heard the loud, aching sobs coming from Sari’s hut. She hurried over and peeked in, alarmed to find Lilo alone, red-faced and trembling from crying.
“Oh no, little one,” Rani murmured, stepping inside.
She picked up Lilo and cradled him close. He buried his tiny face in her shoulder and, though the tears kept coming, his body began to relax.
A few minutes later, Sari returned. She paused outside the door, hearing not cries, but silence. Her heart jumped—was he asleep? Or something worse?
She opened the door to find Rani sitting quietly, holding her baby.
The two mothers locked eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Sari whispered immediately, her voice cracked and ashamed. “I just needed… I didn’t mean to leave him. I just… couldn’t anymore.”
Rani nodded. “You’re not the first to feel that way. And you won’t be the last.”
Sari sank to her knees. “He cries all the time. I try, I do everything, but it’s never enough. I feel like I’m failing.”
“You’re not failing,” Rani said gently. “You’re just alone. And tired. And tired moms need help, not judgment.”
The Turning Point
From that day on, Rani began checking in on Sari regularly. Sometimes she brought food. Sometimes she just sat and talked. And sometimes, when Sari needed to go to the river or take a nap, Rani would hold Lilo for a while.
Slowly, things changed.
Sari began to understand that Lilo wasn’t lazy. He wasn’t trying to be difficult. He was just sensitive. Overwhelmed by the big new world around him. And sometimes, like her, he didn’t know how to ask for what he needed. He cried not to annoy her, but to call out for safety, for love, for understanding.
And she began to heal too—by realizing that motherhood wasn’t meant to be done alone.
The Bigger Lesson
Weeks passed, and the cries became fewer. Lilo still had his moments—he still wailed when hungry or frightened—but Sari responded with more patience now, not because she was perfect, but because she wasn’t carrying the burden alone anymore.
The villagers, seeing her struggle, began talking more openly too. More mothers admitted they had also reached breaking points. Some had hidden it better. Others had also walked out of their homes, if only for a few minutes. And so, a small network of mothers formed, supporting each other in a way the village had never done before.
And Lilo?
He grew stronger. His cries changed into coos, giggles, and even the occasional babble. He wasn’t lazy. He just needed time—and love delivered with understanding.
Sari would often hold him now, not out of obligation, but with a peaceful heart. She would sing to him softly, and he would gaze up at her with those wide eyes that had once seemed so demanding.
Now, they just looked… grateful.
Final Words
This story isn’t just about a baby who cried too much or a mother who got angry. It’s about how close love can live next to exhaustion. How even the strongest hearts can break quietly under the pressure of parenting. And how walking away for a moment doesn’t mean giving up—it can mean gathering the strength to come back better.
No mother should carry it all alone. No baby should feel forgotten. And no family should be ashamed of needing help.
Sari learned, as many do, that love is not about never feeling tired. It’s about finding the courage to keep showing up, even after you walk away—especially after you walk away.
And Lilo? He learned that even when love steps outside for a moment, it always finds its way back home.
