He sat alone on a cold, flat stone near the edge of the forest, his tiny arms wrapped tightly around his thin body. His stomach growled softly, a dull pain that never seemed to go away. He looked around again and again, his eyes full of hope each time he heard a sound.
Maybe she was coming back.
Maybe this time.
But his mother was not there.
The baby didn’t understand why. He was too small to understand rejection, too young to understand neglect. All he knew was that he was hungry, tired, and scared—and the one he trusted most was gone.
Earlier that morning, he had followed her closely, just like always. When she moved, he moved. When she climbed, he climbed. His little legs struggled to keep up, but he tried hard. He always tried hard for her.
At the riverbank, she stopped.
The baby reached for her fur, instinctively seeking comfort. His fingers barely touched her when she pulled away. No warmth. No hug. No gentle sound. She didn’t even look back.
She jumped to another rock.
Then another.
The baby cried out—soft at first, then louder. His voice cracked with fear. He stretched his arms toward her, his face scrunched with desperation.
But she kept going.
She didn’t turn her head. She didn’t slow down. She didn’t care.
Now, hours later, the baby was still there.
His cries had grown weak. His throat hurt. Tears dried on his dusty face, leaving pale streaks through the dirt. Flies buzzed nearby, landing on his fur, and he was too tired to swat them away.
His belly was empty.
Milk never came.
Other monkeys passed through the trees above. Some glanced down. Some didn’t. None stopped. To them, he was just another small creature in the forest. But to himself, he was everything—and no one wanted him.
The baby tried to stand.
His legs shook violently. He took one step, then fell back down with a soft thud. The effort exhausted him. He lay there for a moment, staring up at the sky through the leaves, blinking slowly.
Why didn’t mom love him?
He remembered the warmth from before—long ago, or maybe it just felt long. The soft chest to sleep on. The steady heartbeat. The feeling of safety. Had that been real? Or was it only a dream?
A sharp sound nearby made him flinch.
He screamed again, panic filling his small body. His scream echoed, broken and frightened, a cry meant for his mother alone.
No answer.
The sun began to move lower. The air grew cooler. Shadows stretched across the ground, making everything look bigger and scarier. The baby curled into himself, trembling.
He sucked on his fingers, hoping for milk that wasn’t there.
Nothing.
His body was exhausted. His eyes burned. Each breath felt heavier than the last. Hunger gnawed at him, but more painful than hunger was the loneliness. Being alone hurt more than anything.
He looked toward the direction his mother had gone.
Still nothing.
No footsteps.
No call.
No love.
The baby monkey let out one last cry—quiet, broken, almost like a whisper. It wasn’t loud enough to travel far. It wasn’t strong enough to demand attention.
It was the sound of giving up.
He rested his head on the stone. His body was small, fragile, forgotten. The forest didn’t stop. Life went on around him, uncaring and endless.
Mom never care.
Mom never love baby.
And in that moment, the pity was unbearable—a tiny life abandoned, not because it was bad or weak, but simply because it was unwanted.
💔🐒
