The morning light peeked through the windows as the tiny newborn monkey, still adjusting to her new world, lay on the wooden table. Her body was fragile, her movements unsteady, and her cries were soft but desperate. She had just been fed earlier, but now she was alone—no warm hands holding her, no soft voice calming her nerves.
At first, she lay quietly, looking around with wide, curious eyes. But as the minutes ticked by, the silence around her turned into discomfort. She began to shift restlessly, her little hands twitching and her feet kicking the air. There was no one nearby to reassure her, no gentle presence to keep her calm.
Then came the cries. First soft, then louder, more frantic. She flailed her limbs, trying to get someone’s attention. Her tiny body wiggled across the smooth surface of the table, but she was too young to balance properly. Each attempt to sit up or roll over ended in a tumble, which made her more upset.
She started to cry uncontrollably, her voice echoing through the quiet room. It was the only way she knew to call for help.
Finally, the door creaked open. A caretaker rushed in, shocked to find the baby in such distress. Gently, he scooped her up into his arms, holding her close to his chest. The baby monkey’s cries slowed, her breathing softened, and her tiny fingers gripped his shirt tightly.
Wrapped in a small blanket, she snuggled close, finally calm and warm once again.
From now on, they promised, she wouldn’t be left alone—not even for a moment.
