Baby monkey Kaskey cried the moment Mom turned to leave.
At first it was a sharp call, loud and demanding, meant to stop her steps. When she didn’t turn back, his cry exploded into something angrier, deeper, full of panic and rage mixed together.
Kaskey’s tiny body shook as he screamed. His face turned red, his mouth wide open, his voice cracking with emotion. He crawled forward, reaching out desperately, fingers grasping at empty air. To him, Mom leaving wasn’t normal. It felt dangerous. It felt like abandonment.
He slammed his little hands on the floor, crying harder each second. Tears streamed down his cheeks, blurring his vision. His anger grew because his fear was too big to hold inside. Why was Mom going away? Why wasn’t she coming back right now?
Mom had only stepped away briefly, but Kaskey didn’t understand time. One moment without her felt endless. His cries echoed through the space, raw and heartbreaking. He wasn’t being naughty. He was terrified of being alone.
Mom heard him. She stopped immediately. Her heart clenched at the sound of his screaming. She turned back quickly, calling his name softly. The instant Kaskey saw her, his cries rose one last time, as if releasing all the pain at once.
Mom rushed to him and scooped him up. Kaskey clung tightly, burying his face into her chest. His angry cries turned into heavy sobs, then shaky breaths. His body slowly relaxed, trusting warmth again.
Mom held him close, rocking gently, whispering reassurance. Kaskey’s tears slowed. His fists loosened. His breathing softened. The fear melted away, leaving only exhaustion and relief.
In her arms, Kaskey learned something important. Even when Mom steps away, she always hears him. And even the angriest cries are really just a small heart begging not to be left behind.
