The tiny newborn baby monkey was only a few days old, still adjusting to life without the warmth and comfort of his real mother. Wrapped in a soft cloth and placed gently on the small wooden table, he began to fuss the moment Daddy stepped away to prepare warm milk. His little body trembled with frustration, and his face scrunched up with the kind of sadness only a newborn could feel—pure, overwhelming, and desperate.
He didn’t understand why Daddy wasn’t right there. He didn’t understand patience or waiting. All he knew was hunger and loneliness. His voice rose into frantic little cries, each one sharper than the last, echoing through the quiet room. He waved his tiny arms wildly, trying to grab onto something—anything—that gave comfort. In his tantrum, his tiny nails dragged across his soft face, leaving faint scratch marks that made him cry even harder.
Daddy heard the sudden sharp cries and rushed back instantly. His heart clenched when he saw the little monkey rubbing his own face in panic. Without hesitation, he scooped the baby into his hands, cradling him gently against his chest.
“It’s okay, baby. Daddy’s here,” he whispered softly.
But newborns take time to believe words. The little monkey kept trembling, his mouth open wide in a cry that seemed too big for such a small body. Daddy stroked the top of his head, calming him one breath at a time until the cries softened into tiny whimpers. Then, carefully, Daddy wiped the scratches with warm water and applied a soothing cream to protect his skin.
Finally, the bottle was ready. The moment the warm milk touched his lips, everything changed—the trembling stopped, his eyes slowly closed, and peace returned.
In Daddy’s arms, full and comforted, the tiny newborn finally drifted into a gentle sleep, safe again from his own frustration and fear.
