Mom was busy grabbing a towel, moving quickly after the tag was done, her hands full of responsibility. For just a short moment, small BB monkey was placed gently into a small tub. To mom, it was only a second. To BB, it felt much longer.
The tub was smooth and unfamiliar. BB sat quietly at first, blinking, trying to understand where he was. His tiny body was still damp, his fur clinging softly to his skin. He looked around, eyes wide and searching, expecting mom to return immediately. The room felt bigger when her arms were gone.
A soft whimper escaped his mouth.
BB shifted his little feet, unsure if he should stand or sit. He hugged himself, tail curling close, instinctively protecting his fragile body. The sounds of mom moving nearby were comforting, but not enough. He wanted to see her. He wanted to be held.
His whimper turned into a small cry—thin, shaky, filled with need. He leaned toward the edge of the tub, peeking out, eyes following every movement. Each second without mom made his chest feel tighter. He wasn’t angry. He was confused. Why was he alone after everything?
Mom hurried back, towel in hand, and froze when she heard the cry. Her heart sank. She rushed over, speaking softly, letting BB see her face. The moment he recognized her, his cry changed. It became louder but lighter—relief mixed with emotion.
She wrapped him in the warm towel and lifted him from the tub. BB clung tightly, burying his face against her, tiny fingers gripping as if afraid she might leave again. His crying slowed into soft sniffles, then stopped altogether.
Wrapped in warmth, BB relaxed. His body softened. His eyes slowly closed, trusting once more. The tub was forgotten. The fear faded.
That brief moment became a quiet lesson. Even short separations feel big to tiny hearts. And sometimes, love isn’t about being perfect—it’s about coming back quickly, holding tighter, and reminding a small soul that they are never truly alone.
