The poor baby monkey lay flat on the cold floor, his tiny body stretched out with no strength left to move. His arms rested weakly at his sides, and his head tilted slightly as soft moaning sounds escaped his mouth. It wasn’t a loud cry. It was quieter, heavier—full of sadness and need. He was calling for his mom in the only way he could.
The floor felt hard and unfamiliar. Without warm arms to hold him, every second felt longer. His eyes opened and closed slowly, searching the space around him, hoping to see his mother’s face appear. Each time he didn’t see her, the moaning returned, trembling and tired. He wasn’t angry. He was lonely.
His small fingers curled and uncurled against the ground, as if trying to grab comfort from nothing. Hunger and fear mixed together inside his tiny body. He lifted his head once, then let it fall back down, too weak to keep it up. The world felt too big without mom nearby.
From time to time, he made a slightly louder sound, testing if anyone would answer. No one came right away. The baby’s breathing became uneven, chest rising fast, then slowing again. He pressed his cheek to the floor, eyes glossy with tears. All he wanted was care—warmth, milk, and the familiar feeling of being held.
Finally, gentle footsteps approached. The baby’s moaning changed, becoming softer but more hopeful. When caring hands lifted him from the floor, his body relaxed instantly. He clung weakly, burying his face into warmth. The moaning faded into quiet breaths.
In that moment, the baby learned something important. Even when left alone and scared, his call mattered. Someone heard him. Someone came. He was no longer just a lonely body on the floor. He was a baby who needed care—and finally, he received it.
