It was supposed to be bath time—a warm, gentle moment like always. But today felt different. Little Ricky, the baby monkey, sat all alone in the shallow tub, water barely reaching his belly. His tiny eyes darted around, searching, longing.
But Mommy wasn’t there.
Ricky let out a soft whimper, his lip trembling. He wrapped his tiny arms around his chest and sat still, barely splashing. His usual joy—those playful kicks, his bubbly giggles—was gone.
“Ee-ee…” he called out softly, over and over. No reply. Just silence.
He tilted his head toward the door, hoping. Every time someone passed by, he perked up—only to sink back down when it wasn’t her.
The water, once warm and comforting, now felt too cold without her touch. Ricky slid lower in the tub, curling up tightly, his back hunched and ears drooping. A tear rolled down his cheek, mixing with the bathwater.
Caretaker Anna peeked in and saw the sight—Ricky alone, quiet, and aching for his mother. Her heart melted. She walked over slowly, kneeling by the tub.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered, reaching out.
Ricky turned, eyes wide and wet, and flung himself into her arms, soaking her shirt. He didn’t care. He just wanted warmth. Comfort. Someone to hold him.
Anna wrapped him in a fluffy towel and held him close, swaying gently.
“You’re not alone, little one. Mommy isn’t here right now, but I’m here.”
Ricky rested his head against her neck, still sniffling, but finally calming.
That night, he slept curled in her lap, still clutching a soft cloth that smelled faintly like his mother. He would be okay. Slowly, love was finding its way back into his world.
