The baby monkey stood still, lifting her small face toward the trees as a loud shout burst from her mouth. The sound echoed, sharp and aching, filled with longing. She wasn’t calling for food. She wasn’t calling to play. She was calling for her mom—the one who used to answer from the wild. Her eyes searched every movement, every shadow, hoping for a familiar figure to appear.
Again she shouted, louder this time. Her tiny chest rose and fell quickly as emotion took over. The wild felt close in her memory but impossibly far in reality. Leaves rustled, birds flew, but her mom did not come. Confusion mixed with sadness, and her voice cracked as she cried again, pouring all her missing into sound.
She paced in small circles, stopping suddenly to look up again. Her arms lifted instinctively, reaching for someone who wasn’t there. Each shout felt like a question—where are you? why aren’t you answering? The silence that followed hurt the most. It pressed heavily on her little heart.
Mom watched quietly from nearby, knowing this pain couldn’t be rushed away. She stayed close but let the baby express her loss. The crying softened into broken calls, weaker now, tired from hoping. The baby sank down, shoulders drooping, eyes still fixed on the wild beyond the fence.
Finally, exhaustion replaced the shouting. The baby leaned into Mom’s legs, no longer calling out, but still missing deeply. Mom lifted her gently, holding her close, letting her cry softly against a warm chest. The wild mom did not return—but love did not disappear. The baby rested, breathing slowly, comforted by arms that would stay. She still missed her mom, and always would. But in that moment, she learned something new. Even when the wild stays silent, she is not alone. Someone hears her cries. Someone answers with care. And that is how healing begins, one quiet breath at a time.
