Tiny baby monkey FiFa sat on the soft blanket in the corner of the living room, his face buried in his little arms, tears soaking the fabric below. His whole body trembled with frustration and sadness—he had just been left alone.
Mom had gently set him down after breakfast to go prepare milk for the younger babies. But FiFa didn’t understand. All he knew was that Mom was gone, and it hurt.
He let out a sharp, broken cry, his chest heaving. His tiny hands clenched the edge of the blanket, and he rocked side to side, letting out an angry screech that echoed through the house.
“Fiii-Faaa!” Mom called from the kitchen.
But he didn’t want to hear it. He flopped over onto his side and rolled dramatically, kicking his little feet. He was furious. Why would Mom drop him like that? Didn’t she know he still needed her too?
Mom returned quickly with his bottle of warm milk, her eyes full of concern. “Oh baby, it’s okay. I’m here.”
FiFa looked up, face soaked, nose running. His eyes locked on the bottle—but he looked away, still sulking. Mom sat beside him and gently rubbed his back.
After a few moments, FiFa sniffled, then turned back, crawling into her lap with a quiet whimper.
She wiped his face, kissed the top of his fuzzy head, and offered the bottle once more.
This time, he took it.
As the warm milk soothed his tummy, FiFa let out a little sigh, eyes fluttering shut. His tantrum melted into peace, and in that quiet moment, he finally felt safe again.
