Linda, the tiny baby monkey with the fiery spirit, had decided that today was not a day for separation. The moment her mom tried to step away, Linda’s little world collapsed. She let out a sharp squeal, her eyes widening with panic and stubborn frustration. Before anyone could react, she dropped straight onto the ground—arms spread, legs kicking, face pressed dramatically into the dirt.
Her tantrum had officially begun.
The caregiver reached out to scoop her up, hoping to calm her before she got herself worked into full chaos. But Linda twisted away, rolling onto her back and kicking her tiny feet in the air. She wasn’t hurt. She wasn’t scared. She was simply angry—furious that Mom was out of reach.
She pounded her tiny fists on the floor, squealing loudly, her little chest rising and falling with each dramatic cry. Her tail curled tightly against her leg, a sure sign she was overwhelmed by her own emotions. Every time someone tried to comfort her, she scooted away, pointing toward the direction Mom had gone, her message loud and clear: I want her, not you.
Her stubbornness was legendary.
Minutes passed, her cries echoing like little heartbreak bells. The caregiver tried everything—calling her name softly, offering her favorite cloth, even placing a warm hand on her back. Linda refused all of it. Her tiny face was wet with tears, her breaths coming in quick hiccups.
Then, her mom reappeared.
Linda froze mid-sob. Her ears perked. Her eyes lit with sudden hope. In one swift motion, she sprang up and scrambled into her mother’s arms, clinging as if she would never let go again.
Mom hugged her tightly, stroking her soft fur. Linda buried her face into her chest, finally calm.
All she wanted was her mom—nothing else in the world mattered.
