Ronaldo, the tiniest of the baby monkeys, sat on the cool floor with his arms wrapped around his little legs, trembling softly. His mom had stepped away only for a moment, but to him, it felt like forever. The second he realized she wasn’t beside him, his tiny heart cracked open with sadness he couldn’t understand.
At first, he tried to be brave. He looked around the room with wide, watery eyes, hoping she might suddenly appear. But when he saw only empty space, his lip began to quiver. A lonely whimper escaped him—small, shaky, filled with heartbreak. He lowered his head, pressing his forehead against his knees as if hiding from the world might somehow bring her back faster.
The caregiver approached gently, offering her hands, but Ronaldo didn’t move. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t throwing a tantrum. He was simply lonely. Painfully, deeply lonely. His tiny chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, each one followed by a soft cry that sounded too big for such a small body.
He tried to call out—just one little squeak for Mom—but the sound cracked halfway through. It hurt him to cry, yet he couldn’t stop. His world felt empty without her warmth, her familiar scent, the way she held him close when he was scared.
Minutes felt like hours for the tiny baby. He lay down on the floor at last, curling into a tight ball, tears dripping silently onto the blanket beneath him. Every so often he lifted his head, hoping… listening… waiting.
Then, footsteps.
Ronaldo’s ears perked. His head shot up. His breath caught in his throat. The moment he saw her—his mom—he let out a sob so full of relief it echoed through the room.
He scrambled into her arms, clinging to her fur with all the strength his tiny body had.
His loneliness ended the moment he felt her heartbeat again.
