The cart rattled softly beneath him, but the sound could not drown his cries. The baby monkey sat trapped among bags and blankets, tiny chest heaving, mouth wide, voice breaking into sharp, pleading screams. He reached both arms toward daddy, fingers shaking, eyes burning with tears that spilled and soaked his cheeks.
Daddy stood close, talking, busy, distracted. Each moment he did not pick him up felt like a deep betrayal. The baby kicked the cart, angry and helpless, tail curling tight as frustration flooded his small body. His cries grew louder, rougher, filled with a raw demand only comfort could answer.
People passed by. The cart kept rolling. Still no arms came. The baby slapped the cart’s edge, then froze, stunned by his own fear. His voice cracked into sobs, breath hitching, ribs fluttering fast. He wasn’t being naughty. He was terrified of being left behind.
He leaned forward, almost toppling, desperate to close the distance. Daddy finally turned, surprised by the intensity. For a second, the baby’s hope flared bright. He screamed once more, a final call, face red, eyes locked.
But daddy hesitated again.
That pause broke him. His body collapsed inward, shoulders shaking, cries turning thin and broken. He pressed his forehead to the cart, hands gripping fabric like anchors, as if holding on could keep his heart from falling apart.
At last, daddy reached down. Strong hands lifted the tiny body free. The baby clung instantly, burying his face into a familiar chest, sobs fading into shaky breaths. Anger melted into relief. Fear loosened its grip.
Held close, the world softened. The cart, the noise, the waiting vanished. All that remained was warmth, safety, and the quiet truth every baby knows: love is not optional. It is survival. Even now he sleeps trusting daddy fully.
