The sun had just peeked through the leafy trees when the baby monkey, Lino, found himself alone on the forest floor. His mother had gently placed him down to search for food nearby, but to Lino, it felt like abandonment.
His small body started to tremble with frustration. His arms flailed, and tears welled up in his wide eyes. With a loud cry that echoed through the trees, Lino launched into what looked like a full-blown seizure of emotion—rolling, kicking, and shaking in a dramatic display of baby monkey anger.
“Eee-eee!” he screamed, his tiny voice cracking from the force of his cries.
Nearby, a few older monkeys glanced over with amused curiosity. Lino’s tantrum was the kind that every mother monkey knew too well—dramatic, loud, and impossible to ignore. He pounded his fists gently against the ground, his fur dusty and ruffled from rolling around.
But just as the little monkey seemed to reach peak meltdown, there was a rustle in the bushes. Mom was back, carrying a small fruit in her hand. She froze for a moment, watching the chaos her baby had become. Then, with a sigh and a loving smirk, she walked over.
As soon as Lino saw her, he stopped mid-squeal. His body trembled, but this time with relief. He reached his arms up, lips quivering. Mom scooped him into her arms and held him close. His cries softened into little hiccups as he buried his face into her fur.
She kissed his tiny forehead and gently rocked him side to side. The tantrum faded, replaced by the warmth of her embrace. Lino had made his point—and now, all he needed was love.
And maybe a little fruit.
