The little orphan baby monkey sat curled in the corner of his new home, tiny chest rising with fast, shaky breaths. Everything was unfamiliar — the sounds, the smell, even the gentle hands that rescued him. Just yesterday, he had been clinging to his mother in the forest. Now, she was gone, and all he had was fear. His cries were soft at first, like whimpers from a broken heart, then slowly turned into louder sobs that echoed through the small room.
He didn’t understand why the world suddenly changed. He wanted fur against his face, warmth beneath his fingers, a heartbeat he recognized. Instead, he felt strange blankets and heard voices he didn’t know. His tiny hands reached out as if hoping his mother might return, but only empty space waited. He cried harder, body shaking with grief too big for someone so small.
The caregiver watched from a short distance, knowing he needed time. With slow patience, they moved closer, placing a warm cloth and a soft bottle of milk near him. The baby stared through teary eyes, unsure. Hunger tugged at his belly, but fear held him still. After a long pause, he leaned forward and took a tiny sip. Warm milk touched his tongue — comforting, familiar, like a memory of love. His cries softened, replaced by gentle gulping.
The caregiver sat beside him, humming softly, offering a finger to hold. The baby hesitated, then wrapped his hand around it — fragile, trembling, trusting just a little. He finished his milk, eyes drooping with tiredness. Slowly, he climbed onto the caregiver’s lap, tucking himself under the chin like he wished it were his mother’s.
He fell asleep there, breathing deeply at last. He was still an orphan — but no longer alone.
