Baby monkey Kiro lay flat on the ground, his small body stiff with anger and hurt. His brother had just pulled away, refusing the hug Kiro desperately wanted. To Kiro, that rejection felt heavy. His face twisted, and a loud cry burst out, sharp and full of emotion he couldn’t control.
He rolled slightly onto his side, pressing his cheek against the floor as if the cold surface could replace the warmth he missed. His tiny hands reached outward, grasping at nothing. The temper came quickly—kicks, shakes, and angry little grunts mixed with crying. Kiro didn’t understand why his brother wouldn’t hold him. He only understood the pain of being pushed away.
His brother stood nearby, unsure, watching quietly. Kiro’s cries grew louder, more dramatic, as if volume alone could change the answer. Tears soaked his fur, and his chest heaved with each breath. The ground felt too big, too lonely. Being denied comfort hurt more than any fall ever could.
Mom noticed immediately and came closer, kneeling beside him. She didn’t pick him up right away. Instead, she spoke softly, letting Kiro know she saw him, that his feelings mattered. Kiro cried harder for a moment, testing if anyone would respond. His brother stepped back, still not ready to hug.
Slowly, the tantrum burned out. Kiro’s cries softened into tired sobs. He turned his head toward Mom, eyes swollen and pleading. That was enough. Mom lifted him gently, holding him close. Kiro clung tightly, burying his face against her chest. His breathing slowed, the anger melting into relief. The brother watched, learning quietly. Kiro learned something too—not everyone can give comfort when he wants it, but Mom’s arms are always there when his heart feels broken. On the ground, Kiro felt rejected. In Mom’s arms, he felt whole again.
