The newborn baby monkey lay trembling on a soft cloth, her tiny body no bigger than a hand, fur still thin and fragile. She should have been safe in her mother’s arms, dreaming softly, but instead she faced something she didn’t understand — pain. A deep wound on her delicate tail needed to be cleaned, and though it was necessary for healing, her little heart only felt fear.
Mom slowly approached with warm water and gentle cotton. Her hands were soft, but the moment she touched the injured tail, the baby let out a sharp scream — small but filled with pain that broke any heart listening. Her tiny mouth opened wide, eyes squeezed shut, and a cry burst out, pure and helpless. She pulled her legs in, shaking, trying to escape the sting she couldn’t bear. Every dab of cleaning made her body jolt. She didn’t know it was for her good — she only knew it hurt.
Mom whispered softly, stroking her head, “Just a moment, baby… just a little longer.” She paused often to comfort her, letting her settle before cleaning again. The newborn screamed again, high-pitched and heartbreaking. She reached toward Mom’s chest, begging for safety, but Mom had to finish — infection would be worse than the momentary pain.
As the wound became clean, Mom gently applied medicine. The baby cried weaker now, exhausted from the struggle, her voice no longer fierce but trembling like a tiny broken bell. Mom finally lifted her close, wrapping her tail carefully and kissing her head with warmth and love. The baby curled against her chest, sobbing softer, feeling her heartbeat — strong, safe, familiar.
Little by little, the cries faded. Her eyes closed, not from peace yet, but from exhaustion and trust. She knew pain was fading, and Mom was there — always.
