The afternoon sun filtered through the small house, lighting up the old wooden table where baby monkey Ronaldo lay wrapped in a thin towel. His tiny body looked weak, his eyes half-open, searching for someone familiar. Then suddenly, his soft whimper turned into a loud, aching cry — a heartbreaking sound that filled the quiet room. Ronaldo was hungry again, his little stomach empty, and he couldn’t find his bottle or the warm arms he wanted most.
He kicked his tiny legs, his tail twitching restlessly against the smooth surface of the table. The wooden planks creaked slightly beneath his movements as he cried even louder, his mouth wide open, calling for attention. His face wrinkled with frustration and sadness, tears glistening under the warm light. He didn’t understand why no one had come yet. All he knew was the hollow feeling in his tummy and the need to be held.
From the kitchen, his caregiver heard the sound — that deep, pitiful cry that no one could ignore. She dropped what she was doing and rushed over, her heart aching at the sight of the little baby moaning helplessly. “Oh, Ronaldo,” she whispered, “you’re so hungry, aren’t you, my boy?”
She quickly prepared a warm bottle of milk and gently lifted him into her arms. Ronaldo continued to cry for a moment longer, his voice trembling, but when the bottle finally touched his lips, he latched on eagerly. The moment the milk filled his mouth, his cries faded into quiet slurps, his eyes fluttering in relief.
The wooden table, once echoing his sadness, now became the spot where comfort returned. His tiny hands clung to the bottle as if afraid it might disappear. Slowly, his eyelids grew heavy, and after drinking his fill, he let out a soft sigh.
The caregiver wiped the milk from his chin and smiled lovingly. “There you go, baby. You’re safe now.” Ronaldo snuggled back onto the warm towel, his belly full, his cries replaced with soft breathing. The wooden table was silent again — but this time, it was the peaceful silence of a baby finally content and loved.
