Baby Monkey Mini screamed the moment warm arms released her onto the quiet empty mat.
Her tiny face twisted with temper and fear as she realized Mom had stepped away.
A sharp cry burst out, louder than her body seemed capable of producing alone.
Mini kicked at the floor, rejecting the space that separated her from comfort.
Tears spilled instantly, fueled by anger and helpless confusion tangled inside her chest.
She reached upward again and again, grasping only air where safety had always waited.
The room felt suddenly vast, every shadow stretching the distance between her and Mom.
Mini’s cries rose into furious protest, a demand that the world return what it stole.
Mom stood nearby, heart torn between stepping forward and teaching brief independence gently.
Mini did not understand lessons, only the aching silence where steady warmth once lived.
Her anger shook her whole tiny frame, fury and fear burning through fragile muscles.
Breath came in ragged bursts as she fought the loneliness with every sound she owned.
Slowly the fire weakened, screams cracking into sobs that trembled through her small ribs.
Exhaustion crept in, stealing strength from tantrum and leaving only desperate broken whimpers.
Mini collapsed onto her side, still crying but no longer able to fight the floor.
Mom moved instantly then, unable to endure another shattered second of her baby’s pain.
Warm hands lifted Mini, and the world rushed back into color and familiar rhythm.
She clung with relief, temper fading into soft hiccups against her mother’s chest.
