From the moment baby Lily was born, the world didn’t greet her with warmth—it greeted her with silence.
Her mother, Libby, was not like the others. While other moms cuddled, fed, and protected their newborns, Libby kept her distance. She rarely looked at Lily, let alone held her. The jungle nursery echoed with baby cries and happy chatter, but Lily’s corner stayed quiet—too quiet.
The other baby monkeys had mothers who carried them everywhere. Lily? She was left behind, sitting alone in the corner, her tiny eyes scanning for a warmth she never received.
She tried to crawl to her mom, only to be pushed aside.
She reached out for milk, only to be ignored.
Caretakers tried to help—gently feeding Lily, giving her warmth with soft blankets and toys—but they knew no human care could replace a mother’s love.
Lily grew quieter. She stopped crying.
She learned quickly that no one would come.
Sometimes, she just sat in her basket, sucking her thumb, staring at the other babies being groomed and cuddled. Her eyes were wide, innocent—but they carried deep sadness far beyond her tiny age.
Libby showed no affection, no protection. Some say she wasn’t ready to be a mom. Some say she never bonded with her baby. But no one could explain it—not to Lily.
Still, Lily waits. Every day.
For a hug.
For a glance.
For love.
