Near the edge of the jungle, where tall trees leaned toward a quiet river, the most pitiful baby monkey sat alone and cried. His tiny voice echoed between the leaves, sharp with fear and heartbreak. He clung to a low branch, shaking, his wet eyes searching desperately for the one face that never came back—his mommy.
The river flowed gently beside him, but its calm sound could not comfort his broken heart. Just hours ago, his mother had been there, holding him close, guiding him through the jungle. Then something happened. A loud noise. A sudden rush. And she was gone. The baby did not understand danger or loss. He only knew he was alone.
He cried again, louder this time, his small chest rising fast with panic. His hands reached into the empty air, as if his mommy might appear if he begged hard enough. Every shadow made him hopeful. Every rustle of leaves broke his heart again. Hunger twisted inside him, but fear hurt even more.
The jungle felt too big. The river felt too close. One wrong step, and the water could take him away. Weak and exhausted, the baby slid down to the ground, curling into himself. His cries softened into broken sobs, each one a question with no answer. Why didn’t she come back? Where was she?
As the sun began to lower, danger crept closer. Cold air touched his fragile body. Then, footsteps disturbed the leaves. The baby screamed in fear one last time.
Gentle hands appeared.
He was lifted carefully, wrapped in warmth, his cries fading into weak whimpers. He pressed his face against a chest, still calling softly for his mommy, even as safety found him.
That day, the jungle took his past, but kindness saved his future. Though his mommy was lost, love answered his cry. And beside the river where he had almost given up, the baby monkey was given another chance to live, to heal, and to hope again.
