The tiny newborn monkey lay on the soft blanket, its tiny body trembling as it let out a heartbreaking cry.
It was hungry. It was weak. And most of all, it was desperate for milk.
Its tiny hands reached out, searching for comfort, but there was nothing. No warm mama to hold it, no milk to soothe its empty belly.
“Eeeh! Eeeh! Eeeh!” The cries grew louder, echoing through the room.
The baby’s eyes were still half-closed, barely adjusting to the world, but its tiny mouth kept opening and closing, searching for food.
Then—footsteps approached.
A gentle hand scooped up the fragile baby, cradling it close. Warmth. Safety. Love.
“Shh, little one… I have your milk.”
The baby snuggled against the touch, its cries softening as the warm bottle was placed near its lips.
At first, it squeaked in frustration, but as soon as the first drop of milk touched its tongue—silence.
It latched on hungrily, drinking as if it had never eaten before.
The small belly, once tight with hunger, slowly filled. The tiny hands, once clenched in distress, relaxed.
And soon… the baby monkey drifted into sleep, full and safe at last.
