In the corner of a quiet yard, a tiny, skinny baby monkey sat alone, shivering slightly in the morning air. His frail body looked even smaller because he had lost his right hand—likely from a past injury that no one had seen happen. Now, the wound had healed, but the pain of loss lingered—not just in his body, but in his heart.
He cried softly, his voice cracking as he looked around for someone—anyone—to help him. His eyes were wide and filled with longing, as he struggled to stand with just one hand. The effort to move toward an empty feeding bottle nearby made him topple onto his side. But he didn’t give up.
Despite his weakness, the baby monkey pulled himself upright, using his left hand to cling to the edge of a basket. He had no strength, but hunger pushed him forward. His cries grew louder, echoing in the yard.
Finally, a kind human came rushing over, hearing the helpless sounds. They gently picked up the baby, holding him close and feeling how light and fragile he was. His bones were sharp under his skin, and his belly was empty.
They quickly warmed some milk and fed him drop by drop, supporting his tiny body. As the milk touched his tongue, he stopped crying. His small fingers clung tightly to the caregiver’s shirt, his only good hand not letting go.
Tears filled the rescuer’s eyes—not just from pity, but from the powerful will they saw in that tiny soul. Despite the pain, despite his missing hand, this baby monkey still had fight, still had hope.
And now, he would have love too. From this moment on, he wouldn’t cry alone anymore.
