In the quiet depths of the jungle, a mother monkey named Luma cradled her belly with hope. For months, she had protected and nurtured the tiny life growing inside her. She had imagined the day she would finally hold her baby, grooming its tiny fur, keeping it warm, and hearing its soft cries for milk.
But fate had a different plan.
One afternoon, as the sun cast golden rays through the trees, Luma felt something was wrong. A sharp pain surged through her body, and she curled up on a thick branch, clutching her stomach. Her cries of distress echoed through the jungle, sending her troop into a hushed silence.
Hours passed, and as the evening fell, Luma’s body trembled with exhaustion. Then, it happened. A tiny, fragile form entered the world—but it did not move. It did not cry. Luma stared in confusion, gently nudging the baby, waiting for it to breathe. But there was nothing.
A deep sadness filled her eyes as she picked up her lifeless baby and held it close to her chest. She rocked back and forth, whispering soft coos, refusing to believe her little one was gone.
The other monkeys watched in sorrow, but none dared to approach her. They understood. This was a mother’s grief, a loss that could never be undone.
For hours, Luma carried her baby, unwilling to let go. But as the night deepened, she finally placed the tiny body on a soft bed of leaves, grooming it one last time.
With a heavy heart, she lifted her gaze to the sky. A tear slipped down her furry cheek as she let out a sorrowful call—a mother’s final goodbye.
And then, she walked away.
