The baby monkey clung tightly to the tree trunk, his tiny fingers shaking as they wrapped around the rough bark. Below him, the ground felt far away, unfamiliar, and frightening. This was the first time Mom had let him climb on his own, and his heart pounded so loudly he could feel it in his chest.
He looked down once and froze.
Fear rushed through his small body. His legs stiffened. His tail curled tightly around the trunk as if letting go would make the world swallow him. He let out a soft cry, high and shaky, calling for Mom without words. His eyes were wide, filled with panic and confusion. Why was she not pulling him back? Why was she letting him face something so scary?
Mom stayed close, watching carefully from below. Her eyes were gentle but firm. She didn’t rush to grab him. She knew this moment mattered. She made soft sounds of encouragement, lifting her arms just enough to remind him she was there.
The baby cried again, louder this time. His body trembled. He wanted safety. He wanted to go back to being held. But something inside him—small but brave—refused to let go completely.
He took a breath.
Slowly, carefully, he moved one hand higher. Then another. His feet followed, slipping once, making his heart race again. He cried, but he didn’t fall. Mom stayed ready, alert, trusting him just enough to try.
After a few painful seconds, he reached a small branch and clung to it desperately. His crying softened into whimpers. He had done it. Not perfectly. Not bravely. But honestly.
Mom climbed up then, pulling him close, wrapping him in warmth and reassurance. The baby buried his face into her fur, still shaking, but safe.
That first climb scared him deeply. But it also planted something new inside his tiny heart.
Courage.
Not the kind that feels strong—but the kind that keeps going even while crying.
